Stilettos of the Languished Arches

Lena

In the pulsating heart of an Eastern European capitol, where shadows danced with neon lights, lay an underground haven for those seeking the unconventional - The Abyss Club. The club was a sanctuary for latex fetishists, a place where the boundaries of pleasure were constantly pushed.

Lena had heard whispers about Club Abyss from friends who thrived on the city's underground nightlife. At 31 years old, she was well established in the city’s underground fetish and techno scene. The club was known for its wild, unrestrained energy, a place where the line between reality and fantasy blurred, promising to perfectly combine fetish with music. Curious and seeking an escape from her monotonous routine, Lena decided to see it for herself. A notorious underground fetish club hidden in the back alleys of the city. A place where the music pulsed like a living heartbeat, drawing in thrill-seekers and curious souls alike.

Tonight, the air was thick with anticipation as Lena found herself drawn into the club's seductive embrace. But the real allure wasn't the music or the crowd - it was the legend of the Stilettos of the Languished Arches, a rumored test of pain and endurance for the BDSM enthusiast.

---

The entrance was guarded by a hulking figure in black, who barely glanced at her, seemingly satisfied with her choice of wardrobe in her leather jeans and tight black T-shirt, before letting her inside. The air inside was thick with smoke and anticipation, the bass thrumming through the floor and into her chest. Lena’s eyes adjusted to the dim, strobe-lit room, where dancers writhed to the relentless beat. The crowd seemed alive, moving as one entity, lost in the music's grip.

She wandered deeper into the club, drawn by the hypnotic rhythm. The dance floor stretched out before her, but her attention was drawn to the stage - a raised platform surrounded by heavy curtains. It was there the legend said the chosen one would dance.

A sudden hush fell over the crowd, and the music slowed, transforming into a predatory thrum. From the shadows behind the curtains emerged a figure - tall, statuesque, and cloaked in an aura of malevolence. The Hostess. Her name was Evelyn, a name whispered with a mixture of reverence and fear. Her dark eyes scanned the crowd with an unsettling intensity, her crimson lips curled into a predatory smile. The crowd hushed as a spotlight fount its way onto her, making her the centerpiece of Abyss.

Evelyn ruled over the club with a sultry smile and a glint in her eyes. Her latex-clad body was a sight to behold, dressed in a crimson rubber dress, covering her from the neck down to her ankles, and her heels clicked against the polished floor with a rhythm that matched the hypnotic beat of the music. As the night wore on, she announced the game that always sent a thrill down the spines of the club's patrons.

Evelyn carried a heavy aura, one fitting for a succubus or vampire. Her dark eyes piercing into everyones souls and emitting a dark malice. She was known to be enthusiastic with BDSM games of pain, especially when she could inflict it cruelly. But the rumors were, she was not too scared to take on pain herself if needed, and she had enslaved those who dared to challenge her rule. An otherworldly aura surrounded her, almost bordering on the supernatural. She seemed to be around 50 years of age, though her eyes hinted at a much older age.

Everyone knew the story, though few on the outside claimed to have seen it firsthand. Each night, one woman among the club’s patrons was chosen to wear the cursed heels and dance until the music stopped. Failure meant enduring the sinister bite of the heels' internal spikes, a punishment that left no physical scars but haunted the psyche. Lena had always dismissed it as urban myth, a scare tactic to keep newcomers wary.

"Welcome, my dear souls," she purred, her voice slicing through the air like a blade. "Tonight, again one among you will dance in the Stilettos of the Languished Arches on stage with me. Who will it be?"

The crowd buzzed with excitement and dread, a sea of eager faces and nervous glances. Evelyn raised a hand, and the spotlight followed her gesture as she pointed directly at Lena.

A chill ran down Lena's spine as the crowd parted, creating a path to the stage. Her heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment, she considered running. But the pull of the unknown was too strong. With a deep breath, she stepped forward, feeling the eyes of the entire club on her.

Evelyn greeted her with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Ah, a fresh face," she mused, her voice laced with wicked delight. "Are you ready to dance, my dear?"

Lena nodded, though her body trembled. She was led to a chair at the edge of the stage, where a pair of attendants brought out the infamous heels. They were sleek and silver, gleaming under the stage lights. The insoles were lined with dull knobs, each hiding dormant spikes beneath.

Evelyn knelt before Lena, her long fingers brushing against the girl's ankles as she took Lena’s feet out of her stilettos. Lena gasped in surprise as the Hostess, in one quick motion, ripped open her nylon stockings and unceremoniously pushed the shreds upwards and out of the way. Lena was shocked.

"In Abyss, we prove ourselves on our bare soles. Nothing shall stand between your delicate skin and the Stilettos of the Languished Arches, not even a sliver of nylon."

She couldn’t hide a satisfied grin as she slipped the special heels onto Lena’s now bare feet. They fit perfectly, as though made for her. A soft click echoed as the shoes locked in place, sealing Lena's fate.

"These are no ordinary shoes, Lena. They are ‘enchanted’. Well, by smart technology, anyways. They will guide you, ensure you never miss a beat. But be warned - if you falter, if you stop dancing or lose the rhythm, they will remind you in the most unpleasant way. You will dance on stage, and if you stop or miss a beat, dance of of sync with the music, the microphones and sensors embedded in the shoes will activate and push the spikes upwards out of the ominous knobs embedded in the shoe’s soles, and they will prick into your own sole. They will not puncture your skin, but they will be painful."

Lena's eyes widened in horror, but the woman's iron grip on her shoulder was firm, her fingers seemingly too long, feeling her thumb on her shoulder blade and the tips of her fingers on her collarbone. The music resumed, louder and faster than before. The crowd roared in approval as Lena began to move.

"The rules are simple," Evelyn said, rising to her full, imposing height. "Dance until the song stops. Stay in sync, or the heels will remind you."

The music resumed, a pulsing beat that demanded movement. Lena hesitated for a moment, feeling the slight pressure of the dull knobs against her soles. Then she began to dance, her body moving instinctively to the rhythm.

At first, it was easy. The music guided her, and the crowd's energy seemed to buoy her along. But as the tempo increased, so did the difficulty. The spikes within the heels pulsed upward whenever she faltered, sending sharp jabs of pain into her soles, but retracted quickly after and stayed down when she danced with the beat. It wasn’t enough to break the skin, but it was a brutal reminder to keep moving.

Lena danced with a desperate fervor, her body moving in ways she never thought possible. The music seemed to take control, guiding her limbs in a frantic, unrelenting rhythm. The crowd's cheers became a distant roar, drowned out by the pounding in her ears and the searing pain in her feet.

Lena gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay in step. The pain was intense, but she refused to give up. The crowd watched in rapt attention, some cheering her on, others jeering with delight at her struggle. Evelyn circled the stage, her gaze never leaving Lena.

"Don't stop, dear," she taunted. "The heels are hungry tonight."

Minutes felt like hours as Lena danced, her body drenched in sweat, her legs burning from the effort. The spikes seemed to have a mind of their own, punishing her slightest mistake. But she pushed through the pain, determined to see it through.

The music reached a fever pitch, and Lena felt her strength waning. Every step was agony, but she couldn't stop. The crowd's roars blurred into a cacophony, and Evelyn's voice echoed in her mind.

"Just a little longer," she whispered, her tone both mocking and encouraging.

Finally, the music began to slow, signaling the end of the ordeal. Lena’s legs quivered, but she kept dancing, willing herself to endure. With a final, triumphant beat, the music ceased, and Lena collapsed to her knees, the heels still gripping her feet.

The crowd erupted into applause, a mixture of admiration and relief. Evelyn approached, extending a hand to help Lena up.

"Congratulations, my dear," she said, her smile almost genuine. "Well done, Lena. You have survived the Dance of the Languished Soles."

Lena took the offered hand, her body trembling from exhaustion and pain. Evelyn led her to the edge of the stage, where a small box awaited. Inside was a cash prize, a reward for her perseverance.

But as Lena took the box, she couldn't shake the feeling that the real prize was something else entirely. She had faced the Stilettos of the Languished Arches and emerged victorious. Evelyn leaned in close, her breath warm against Lena's ear.

"You know this is a latex dance club. Come back anytime," she whispered. "The heels will be waiting. But next time, I expect you to dress appropriately. For you, kitten, that is latex only. Leather, satin, velvet and other materials are reserved for those who have already build up a good standing in Abyss."

Lena stumbled off the stage after being scolded for not wearing a kinky enough outfit. It dawned on her, that her being chosen to dance on her very first visit was therefore not a pure coincidence.

She left Abyss that night with a pocket full of cash and a story to tell, but the memory of those cursed heels lingered in her mind. As she walked away from the club, she couldn't help but glance back. The steel doors loomed in the shadows, a silent reminder of what lay within. Lena knew she had enjoyed the night, even a bit the pain, and the thrall of the vampire-like dominance of the hostess, but she also had a definite feeling that the Stilettos of the Languished Arches were far from being a one time event - if she dared to return.

---

The night after Lena's first performance passed not in sleep, but in fragments.

When she returned to her apartment, the ache in her arches and the ringing phantom pain of the spiked heels haunted every step. Even with her boots discarded and her legs elevated, she felt as though the floor of Abyss was still beneath her - the rhythm, the lights, the gazes. Especially the gaze of her.

Evelyn.

It was burned into the back of her mind. That glimmer of approval behind her cruel smile. That subtle nod as Lena collapsed onto the stage floor after her dance. Lena had danced until her legs buckled, until her composure unraveled before the crowd. She had made it, but her feet got stung. And Evelyn had adored every moment of it.

Lena should have hated that. But she didn’t. She felt a sense of pride, of accomplishment, of conquest.

The week after, she returned to the club.

Not to perform, she hoped. Not yet. But Abyss, once entered, had a gravity few escaped. And Lena, though still marked by her inexperience, felt that pull with uncomfortable ease. The club was still quiet as she was very early. The music was subtle, the main stage unlit, but the atmosphere remained thick with velvet tension. Few people danced to the slow techno beats. Patrons sipped drinks in shadowed alcoves, their eyes following every newcomer, every whisper of latex.

She wandered around, and entered into one of the secluded lounges - a low room lined with blood-red cushions, warm lamplight, and a large mirrored wall that seemed to double every motion. Lena was invited to join a woman, who was apparently alone. She, perhaps in her thirties, sipping from a slender glass. She wore a tailored corset over a wine-colored catsuit, her boots knee-high and polished. Her presence was casual, but the kind of casual one cultivated with years of practice.

"You must be Lena, I remember you from the last weekend." the woman said, smiling. "I’m Valeria."

"You were watching my dance?" Lena asked, feeling the sting of that memory pulse in her soles.

Valeria nodded. "Everyone worth watching was. You did well."

Lena blinked. "I fell."

"After the dance," Valeria said. "You fell. But not before you endured. That’s what Abyss tastes. That’s what it wants."

Lena tilted her head. "It?"

Valeria took another sip. "The club. The place. It lives, in a way. Not with breath and blood. But something older. It brings out negative emotions, envy, greed, anger, fear. It draws on them. You would be surprised how many people, even couples, or former couples, get into a fight, or a feud. Abyss creates … an atmosphere for that to fester. The sole dances happen, when nothing else is going on, but rarely a month passes without someone challenging someone to a duel."

"A duel?"

"Dancing duels. On stage, two pairs of heels, two duelists. One wins, one loses. Forfeits can be very personal in those feuds. Abyss draws from these drama. We all know the rumors. Abyss drains its guests."

Lena shifted. "The club itself? I thought Evelyn ran it."

Valeria smiled. "She hosts it. She feeds it. But she doesn’t own it. She thrives on the performances of the guests."

Lena shivered. Valeria noticed. "She sees everything. But she isn’t always the one pulling strings."

"The attendants?" Lena asked.

"Closer," Valeria said, her tone lower now. "They serve someone. Something. Even Evelyn bows to it. She never says the name. Perhaps she doesn’t know."

Lena frowned. "That doesn’t make sense."

Valeria chuckled. "No. Abyss doesn’t always offer sense. Just desire."

There was silence for a time.

Then Lena asked, "What happens to the ones who lose? Really lose?"

Valeria gaze wandered to the mirror wall. "Have you been at the bar already? Someone lost something. She’s hooded, anonymous. Someone’s easy to miss, look up when you are at the bar. Someone’s suspended above the counter in a latex sheet, as a decoration. Someone serves time there, on weekends. Someone is two weeks in now. I don’t know how much more someone has to do." Valeria giggled.

Lena swallowed. "I heard the rumors. Someone said the losers are drained. Not just tired. But emptied."

Valeria gave a slow nod. "I’ve seen it. After high-stakes games, especially. Some losers are hollowed out, sexually. Long-term orgasm denial. Latex enclosure. The forfeits can go well beyond their visit to the club. Psychological trials. Not everyone walks away whole. The forfeits are very real and have to be paid. When you consent to a challenge you have to pay up when you lose. My ex-partner, Alina, was always a big fan of denial. She is extremely into denial. Denied me always. She got off on me not getting off. Until I couldn’t endure that anymore, broke it off and found my satisfaction elsewhere. You better be careful that she doesn’t see you with me together here. She might challenge even you. She is very possessive and jealous, even though it is over now."

"Challenge me? You mean a dancing duel in spiky heels?"

"Yes. As I said, challenges, or games, between guests are quite common. Often fueled by personal motivation. Or instigated by Abyss itself."

"And Evelyn?"

"She thrives on it," Valeria said. "She seems not to age. Or she does, and then undoes it. Some weeks she looks forty. Others, fifty-five. It’s subtle. But noticeable if you watch closely. As if a good loss and sexual draining rejuvenates her. Maybe it does."

"The pain, the denial, the humiliation," Valeria continued, her voice now a whisper. "It produces something. Some say it's just psychological stimulation. Others think it’s more. Energy. Essence. Loosh. Mana, Prana refined by your emotions. Call it what you like. The club consumes it. Evelyn channels it. It is sexual, fetishistic. Bondage, denial, latex, pain, humiliation. Few things that can’t happen in Abyss. No blood, and always with consent given. Although some wish they had been more careful."

Lena felt a chill crawl along her spine. And yet, some part of her responded not with fear, but with a strange recognition.

"And why do you keep coming back?" she asked.

Valeria leaned in. "Because no pleasure outside these walls ever tastes as sharp. I feel so much more alive when living a bit risky, a bit kinky. Why does a mountaineer climb a cliff? Because nothing else makes us feel so… real."

---

Later that evening, as she stepped once more into the central lounge of Abyss, she noticed something new. Along one wall, a figure encased in full translucent latex knelt within a glass display. It was too small for her to stand up, too tiny to lay down and stretch. A simple glass cube, sixty centimeters is all directions. Unmoving. Head bowed. Vibrators gently pressed against sealed skin. The glass was foggy with condensation. A slow, steady pulse of red light illuminated her from beneath.

A small plaque read: Failure at the Gala Duel. Duration: 6 weekends. No name.

But Lena felt her breath catch all the same.

Was this what Valeria meant? Was this one being drained? She was suffering on a teasing vibrator, sweating in a difficult position. She would feel her joints and muscles tomorrow. Knowing she’d need to do this for six club nights. Lena understood, at least partially. She would need to check the bar and the space above the counter.

And Abyss closed around her like a second skin.

Lena's Return to Club Abyss

Lena stood once again before the unmarked entrance of Club Abyss, the crimson glow of the sign casting ominous shadows on the pavement. Despite the pain and fright she had endured two weekends before, she found herself drawn back, unable to resist the club’s dark allure.

Her life outside had become a blur of routine, and that night spent at the club, though torturous, had awakened something inside her - a strange, intoxicating thrill that she couldn’t ignore. Tonight, she had no illusions of safety or comfort. She knew what awaited her would be even more harrowing, if Evelyn really had set her dark eyes on her, as was her suspicion.

The burly figure guarding the entrance gave her a nod of recognition as she descended the narrow staircase. The familiar pulse of the music wrapped around her like a suffocating embrace, and the air was thick with anticipation. Lena handed her coat over in the cloakroom, revealing her black latex catsuit underneath.

Inside, the crowd was already in full swing, latex-clad bodies moving in perfect synchrony to the relentless beat. The lights painted the room in shifting hues of red and black, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance along with the guests.

Lena wove her way through the crowd, her heart pounding. She noticed the same whispers and glances, but tonight, there was an undercurrent of something more - a sense of impending dread. The music abruptly stopped, and the room fell into an expectant silence.

The spotlight snapped on, illuminating the stage. The elegant woman, the orchestrator of these macabre dances, stepped forward, her presence as commanding as ever. She surveyed the crowd with a wicked smile before her gaze settled on Lena.

"Welcome back, Lena," she purred into her microphone, her voice smooth and sinister. "It seems you cannot stay away. How delightful. And this time, you are dressed acceptable, rubber kitten." - She said kitten as a wolf would say.

Lena felt a chill run down her spine, but she held her ground. The woman’s smile widened as she turned to address the crowd.

"Tonight, we continue our tradition. The Dance of the Languished Sole. A test of spirit and rhythm, where only the most enthusiastic can endure without suffering."

The crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement palpable. The woman gestured, and two assistants emerged, carrying a pair of mid calves transparent plastic boots. They were exquisite, the plastic smooth and gleaming under the Club’s light, but Lena knew better than to trust their beauty.

"The Boots of the Languished Sole," the woman announced, her voice cutting through the noise. "These boots are enchanted. When worn, they remain dormant as long as the dancer is enthusiastic, fully immersed in the rhythm. But should the dancer falter, lose their spirit, or fall out of sync, the boots will awaken, and the torment will begin. Unlike the Stilettos of the Languished Arches, these boots will also target the top of the foot and the calves."

The crowd murmured in awe, their eyes wide with anticipation. The woman turned her gaze back to the sea of faces, her expression one of cold amusement.

"And now, we shall choose our dancer."

Lena held her breath, her chest tightening. A low hum resonated through the club as the crowd parted, revealing a woman in a short latex skirt, bare midriff and latex top at the center of the dance floor. Dressed to draw attention from men and women alike. Valeria, Lena recognized her instantly. She looked nervous but intrigued, maybe she drew too much attention, her eyes darting around as if seeking reassurance. The woman extended a hand toward her.

"You, my dear, have the honor of dancing in the Boots of the Languished Sole tonight. Step forward and tell us your name. Endure and you will be rewarded, fall and you will experience a delicate pain on your feet."

The woman hesitated, introduced herself as Valeria but eventually climbed onto the stage, her movements stiff with fear. The assistants helped her into the boots, their hands steady as they fastened the straps. As the last buckle was secured, the woman’s expression shifted - her fear replaced by a strange determination.

The music resumed, a deep, pulsing beat that seemed to vibrate through the very walls. Valeria began to dance, her steps tentative at first but growing more confident as she found the rhythm. The crowd cheered, their energy fueling her enthusiasm.

For a time, she danced with abandon, her body moving in perfect harmony with the music. The boots remained dormant, their enchantment lying in wait. But as the tempo increased, the woman’s movements became more erratic, her confidence wavering.

A single misstep. The crowd gasped as the woman stumbled, her enthusiasm faltering. The boots reacted instantly, their dormant sensors awakening. Spikes, hidden within the soles, sprang to life, pressing into the tender flesh under her feet. Valeria cried out in pain but tried to regain her rhythm. The spikes retracted again, giving her a brief respite, but the damage was done. Her spirit was broken, her movements now driven by fear rather than joy.

Each misstep brought another wave of pain, the spikes pricking deeper, their cruel bite a reminder of her failure. The crowd watched in rapt silence, their faces a mixture of fascination and horror. The woman’s dance became a desperate struggle, her body writhing in agony as she tried to keep up with the relentless beat.

Lena watched, her heart aching for the woman. She knew the torment she was enduring, the merciless punishment of the enchanted cursed footwear. She wanted to help, to intervene, but she was powerless against the club’s dark allure.

Finally, the song began to slow, the beat fading into a soft, mournful melody. The woman collapsed onto the stage, her body trembling, the boots still pressing their cruel spikes into her soles. The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers echoing through the club.

The elegant Hostess approached, her expression one of cold satisfaction. "Well done," she said, her voice devoid of warmth. "You, too, have survived the Dance of the Languished Sole, dear Valeria."

The attendants helped the woman remove the boots, the spotlight shone onto her feet showing the impressions the spikes left on her soles. She was led off the stage, her steps still unsteady, her face pale from the ordeal.

"Now enjoy the evening with drinks and dances, as for you have experienced the feeling of truly languished soles." the Hostess sent her off to join the crowd.

Lena watched as she disappeared back into the crowd. The Hostess turned her gaze back to Lena, her smile returning. "And as for you, Lena… I have no doubt we will see you again. After all, the rhythm of Club Abyss is not so easily forgotten."

Lena said nothing, her mind racing with thoughts of confusion and submission. She turned and made her way toward the dance floor, as the night was still young. She swayed to the seductive rhythms, replaying Valeria’s dance in her mind over and over again.

In the wee hours of the morning, Lena vowed to return. But even as she walked away, the rhythm of the music echoed in her mind, a seducing reminder of the torment and the dance she could never truly forget.

Dress Up

Two months later, Lena stood once more outside the steel doors of Abyss, her pulse quickening as the muffled bass thrummed against her chest. It had been not too long now since her own harrowing dance in the Stilettos of the Languished Arches, but the experience had left a mark deeper than any physical wound. Here she was, drawn back by an inexplicable force, the event having been too exotic, too strange, too kinky. The Hostess too seductive, too domineering.

The bouncer recognized her immediately, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he stepped aside to let her in. Inside, the club was just as she remembered - dark, smoky, and alive with the hypnotic rhythm of the music. Yet, there was an undercurrent of something new in the air, a palpable tension that set her nerves on edge.

The crowd writhed on the dance floor, but Lena's attention was drawn to the stage, where Evelyn stood like a queen surveying her kingdom. The hostess locked eyes with Lena, a sly smile playing on her crimson lips.

"Welcome back, my dear," Evelyn purred as Lena approached the stage. "I knew you couldn't resist."

Lena felt a chill run down her spine but held her ground. "What's different tonight?" she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

Evelyn’s smile widened, her dark eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "Ah, you sense it, don't you? Tonight, we’ve added to our collection. The Stilettos of the Languished Arches are no longer our only prize."

She gestured towards the stage, and from the shadows, attendants emerged carrying what appeared to be latex garments - a dress, gloves, even a corset - presented on a coat hanger to the audience. But Lena knew better. Each piece was lined with the same dull knobs as the heels, hiding the spikes that would activate at the slightest misstep.

Evelyn sauntered closer, her voice a velvet whisper of seduction in Lena’s ear. Loud, into the microphone she spoke "Tonight, one of the patrons will dance in the full ensemble - in the Dress of the Painful Rhythm. A long sleeved latex dress, short latex gloves, and corset, all designed to keep our chosen one in perfect sync with the music. A true test of endurance and grace."

The crowd murmured in anticipation, their faces a mixture of curiosity and dread. Lena’s heart pounded in her chest as Evelyn's gaze bore into her.

"And who better to showcase our newest creation," Evelyn announced, her voice carrying over the crowd, "than our returning champion?"

The spotlight fell on Lena, and the crowd erupted in cheers and gasps. She felt trapped, understanding that dressing in her catsuit was a mute effort to not be on the Hostess’ hit-list, her mind racing with the implications of Evelyn’s words. Yet, something within her - a defiant spark - refused to back down.

Evelyn extended a hand, her eyes glinting with challenge. "Shall we?"

Lena took a deep breath and nodded, stepping onto the stage. The attendants moved swiftly, leading her behind the curtains, helping her removing her shoes and catsuit. The dress was handed to her and the attendants helped her with wolfish smiles, dressing her in the Dress of the Painful Rhythm. The dress was of flowing black latex, deceptively soft and slick with silicone oil to the touch, but Lena could feel the dull knobs pressing into her skin. They were situated in the small of her back, over her pert cheeks, on her stomach, under her breasts, on her breasts were several, on her back and shoulders. The rubber corset cinched tightly around her waist, exercising pressure on several of the nubs, each piece locking into place with a soft, ominous click. Needless to say, the Stilettos of the Languished Arches completed the Dress of the Painful Rhythm.

Evelyn stepped back, her smile one of wicked satisfaction. "Remember, every beat demands perfection. The spikes will awaken if you falter."

The music began, a haunting melody that quickly built into a relentless beat. Lena felt the familiar pressure beneath her feet, now joined by the pricks of the dress. She moved with the music, each step calculated, every movement precise.

At first, the ensemble felt manageable, the pressure of the nodules a constant reminder to stay in sync. But as the tempo increased, the strain on her body intensified. The dress constricted her movements, the gloves forced her hands into rigid poses, and the corset squeezed her lungs, making every breath a challenge.

The spikes activated with brutal precision whenever she misstepped - a sharp jab to her soles, a prickling sting across her arms and torso. Lena gritted her teeth, determined not to let the pain consume her.

The crowd watched in rapt silence, their eyes fixed on her every move. Evelyn circled the stage, her expression one of sadistic pleasure. "You're doing well, my dear," she taunted. "But the night is still young."

Minutes stretched into eternity as Lena danced, her body aching, her mind focused solely on the rhythm. The song pushed her to her limits, the spikes punishing her slightest mistake. Sweat poured down her face and flowed freely under the latex dress, her muscles screamed in protest, but she refused to stop.

The melody reached its climax, the beat a relentless force driving her forward. Lena’s vision blurred, her strength waning, but she pushed through the pain. With a final, triumphant note, the music ceased, and Lena stood on stage, her hand on her knees, gasping for breath.

The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers echoing in her ears. Evelyn approached, her smile one of twisted pride.

"Congratulations, Lena," she said, extending her hand. "You've danced well yet again."

The attendants quickly removed the Dress of the Painful Rhythm behind the curtain, the dull knobs dormant and innocent as the garments were taken away. Lena stood, her body trembling from the ordeal, but a sense of triumph burned within her. She was less than excited when the attendants insisted on immediately forcing her latex catsuit back onto her sweat drenched body, but the alternative offer, to spend the night in the nude, was even less attractive.

Evelyn handed her the prize - another box of cash, a token of her victory. "You are truly remarkable, rubber kitten" she said, her voice dripping with admiration and something darker, her gaze lingering a bit too long on her heated, sweat slick rubberized body. "The Abyss will always welcome you back. You have earned your prize."

Lena nodded, taking an envelop with a hefty cash prize from Evelyn, her mind spinning with the events of the night. She had faced the Dress of the Painful Rhythm, and the experience had left a mark on her soul.

Later, as she left the club, the steel doors closed behind her, sealing the darkness within. Lena knew she had conquered the night again, and the lure of Abyss and its twisted challenges would always haunt her. The question lingered - when would she return?

Contract

Lena stood outside the ornate black doors of Club Abyss, her breath misting faintly in the cool evening air. The familiar pulse of bass-heavy music thrummed through the stone under her boots, and her stomach twisted in anticipation. She’d been here before - three times now - but tonight felt different. She was no longer just a curious outsider peeking into a world of elegance, cruelty, and allure. Tonight, she returned not as a tourist, but as someone dangerously close to surrendering to the Abyss itself.

The doorman, a tall figure encased in black latex from neck to toe, nodded once and opened the door for her. A rush of scent hit her immediately: warm candle wax, incense, and the sweet metallic undertone of latex. Inside, the club was alive. Dim lighting pooled in gold and crimson tones across the marble floor, shadows dancing on velvet-draped walls. Masked patrons glided through the halls in fitted latex and leather, whispering, laughing, toasting. Some looked content; others walked with trembling limbs, clearly recovering from earlier events. A few wore intricate collars or carried subtle marks of discipline - a welt here, a faint scratch there.

Lena walked past them all, trying not to look too interested, too eager. But her eyes were drawn to the bar ahead. A panel shimmered under spotlight glows, revealing the figure behind - a woman sealed tightly in a black rubber enclosure, breathing through a subtle face mask, visible to the audience but utterly motionless, confined as an ornament in a latex vacuum frame. Her stillness was haunting.

Lena’s breath caught in her throat. She looked away and headed toward the main lounge, where guests sat sipping dark liquors and watching the screen displays of past dances, dance duels and ongoing punishments. As she passed through the corridor lined with mirrors and blood-red drapes, she heard the raised voices of two women arguing - sharp, angry, emotional.

She slowed.

In a side lounge lit only by a central chandelier, two women stood facing each other across a low velvet couch. One was tall and statuesque, her blonde hair slicked back into a bun, her corset tight enough to make every breath deliberate. Valeria. Lena recognized her from a previous visit - Valeria had competed in a dance endurance game, wearing the Boots of the Languished Sole embedded with blunt spikes. She had screamed, then laughed, then danced.

The other woman was slightly shorter, with rich auburn curls cascading past her shoulders. Alina. Her outfit was more severe - high-neck latex dress, buckled sleeves, long gloves. She radiated a colder kind of dominance. If Valeria was fire, Alina was ice. That must be the ex partner she had mentioned during their conversation.

"You cheated on me," Alina said, her voice sharp with hurt. "Not once. Three times. I gave you my trust."

"And you gave me nothing in return!" Valeria snapped, crossing her arms. "No pleasure, no risk, no fire. What did you expect?"

Alina’s eyes narrowed. "I expected loyalty. You knew what I needed. You agreed to exclusivity."

Lena’s heart pounded. She took a slow seat in one of the side alcoves, pretending to sip her wine as she listened. The entire lounge had gone quiet, watching the two women spiral into confrontation.

"You were obsessed with control," Valeria spat. "You never touched me like you wanted me. You didn’t make me orgasm. You probably don’t even know how. Just rules and games and conditions. Abyss turned you into a stone-hearted statue. You are an Ice Princess!"

"And you," Alina replied coolly, "turned Abyss into your excuse. An excuse to break bonds and use others for your little highs."

From the far corner of the room, a new voice cut through the tension. Evelyn emerged from the shadows of the side stairway with the fluid grace of a predator, every inch of her shining black ensemble catching the low ambient lighting like a siren's lure. Her boots clicked softly as she ascended the stage, placing herself between the two women.

"Ladies," she said, her voice carrying with practiced ease, silencing the murmurs. "While I certainly enjoy the thrill of drama, we do prefer our conflicts at Abyss to be settled more… artfully."

Alina crossed her arms. "She dragged me here."

Valeria's voice was a low purr. "She begged to see me again."

Evelyn smiled indulgently. "It seems we are at an impasse. And what does Abyss do with unresolved tension, hmm?"

Evelyn took a sip from her glass. "Might I suggest something? A more civilized way to resolve your… misunderstanding."

Alina folded her arms. "Such as?"

"A duel," Evelyn said. "A dance duel. On stage. In the Stilettos of the Languished Arches."

Gasps filled the lounge. A hush followed. Duels between guests were considered highlights of the weekly club nights. Duels between scorned lovers were even more revered.

Even Lena felt the air grow colder. Of course, those heels. Evelyn smiled gently. "You both know them well. Sensors embedded in the soles, responding to rhythm, movement. Should you falter, should your dance lose grace… pain will remind you. A challenge of beauty, precision, and endurance."

Alina's lips twisted into a grin. "Afraid to lose again, Val?"

Valeria's eyes narrowed. "Only one of us came to win tonight."

Evelyn held up her hands. "Easy, my dears. There must be a prize. And a penalty. No duel without risk."

Alina spoke first, her gaze never leaving her opponent. "Chastity. A full year."

The word landed like a slap.

Evelyn’s smile widened. "How fitting! For infidelity? And for failing to satisfy your lover? A year in chastity seems more than appropriate. One of you will dance free. The other will remember this betrayal… for twelve long, untouched months."

Valeria raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her calm. Only the slightest wafer in her voice. "One year?"

Alina's voice was sweet poison. "You can’t last, can you? You always had trouble with denial."

Valeria paused, then nodded. "Fine. But if we're doing this, let's do it right."

She turned to Evelyn. "Let us duel in full latex suits. Hooded. Identical. No distractions. Just pure skill."

Alina grunted, "You are such a rubber slut! You think you can master latex better than me? I can endure it better than you. I’ll show you. Full latex it is."

Evelyn nodded with approval. "Accepted. Prepare yourself for your dance. The stage will be waiting."

In the brief silence, Lena caught her own reflection in one of the mirrored columns lining the stage. Her face was flushed, her breath shallow. She realized with a jolt that she was aroused - not just sexually, but intellectually, emotionally. Abyss stirred something deeper in her every time she visited.

She had not expected to see a raw feud laid bare in the heart of the club tonight. And yet, this was the very soul of Abyss: conflict transformed into art, into spectacle. Lena couldn't look away.

Evelyn gestured, and attendants began preparing the stage for the duel. As Alina and Valeria were led away for preparation, Evelyn approached Lena with a glint in her eye.

"You're enjoying this, rubber kitten," she said softly, her voice honeyed.

Lena blinked, unsure whether to deny or confess.

Evelyn didn't wait for an answer. She simply smiled. "Stay close. The best is yet to come."

And with that, she turned away, her heels clicking like punctuation in the silence.

Lena stood there, her pulse a metronome in her ears, and for the first time, she wondered just how deep the Abyss might go - and if she was already falling. This place - this twisted theater - was pulling her in. And she didn’t want to stop it.

---

The stage lights of Abyss dimmed to an atmospheric hush, casting the grand chamber in seductive shadows. A single beam of white light snapped into place, illuminating the dance floor in a pure circle, as if daring someone to step into its center. The audience around the raised arena leaned in, drinks paused midair, conversations falling silent. The energy thrummed with electric tension.

Two figures emerged at the edge of the light. Alina and Valeria, once lovers, now poised adversaries. They descended from opposite wings of the stage, the soft reflections of their latex catsuits almost complimented by the low ambient pulse of music. Identically clad in shimmering black latex from toe to crown, their figures glistened under the spotlight. Their bodies were sculpted and statuesque, each curve amplified by the tightness of the suits. Every movement whispered discipline and elegance, a final embrace of symmetry before combat.

The suits were flawless.

Each had a high-gloss shine that reflected the lights like mirrors, the thick latex hugging them with second-skin precision. Their gloves and boots were integrated seamlessly, the hoods molded to their heads and necks, facial features hidden behind glossy black anonymity except for the tinted eye visors and small breathing ports. They could have been twins, mannequins, or predatory shadows given form - except for the way they carried themselves. Valeria moved like a snake coiled and ready to strike, her every motion calculated and fluid. Alina, by contrast, was rigid with fury, the tension in her stance betraying an anger that had not softened with time.

Evelyn, Mistress of Abyss, stepped forward into a second spotlight, her silhouette commanding in a corset of blood-red latex and high-heeled boots that rang with each deliberate step across the glass floor. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, yet her voice was crystalline when she addressed the crowd.

"Loyal guests of Abyss," she purred. "Tonight, we are graced with a rare kind of conflict. A challenge born not of protocol, but of passion. Not of rules, but of rivalry."

She gestured to the two figures, who now faced each other in the ring of light. The audience, recognizing them, responded with ripples of whispers and knowing gasps.

"Alina. Valeria," Evelyn said. "Two former lovers, now estranged by betrayal and unmet desire. One claims infidelity. The other claims neglect. And tonight, they will resolve their grievances in the only manner Abyss recognizes: with grace, with pain, and with submission."

From stage left, a silent attendant emerged, bearing a red velvet pillow upon which lay a shining, steel chastity belt. The belt gleamed under the light like a cruel promise. It was unmistakably intricate: polished to a mirror finish, contoured to curve cruelly between the legs, its lock gleaming at the center of the waistband, and its rubber lining just visible along the edges for comfort that mocked the one who would wear it. It was tight. It was inescapable.

"This," Evelyn continued, lifting a slender finger toward the belt, "is the price of failure. The loser of this dance shall wear it for one full year. A token of surrender, of patience, of unfulfilled longing. The key will remain with Abyss."

A murmur rippled through the crowd again, and Lena, seated at one of the elevated side booths, leaned forward unconsciously. She could feel her breath quickening, her hands clasped in her lap as she watched the ritual unfold. Her eyes were locked on the belt, on the bodies beside it, on the tiny gestures and unspoken tensions vibrating between the two women.

Alina’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. It was muffled behind her hood, yet amplified by the microphone affixed near her breathing port. "One year? That's not enough. Not for what she did."

Evelyn turned to her with the faintest raise of her eyebrow. "Oh?"

Valeria blinked, but then her lips curved into a smile. "What I did?? You mean for what you did not!"

"Five," Alina said, fire in her eyes. "Five years. You betrayed me? You should learn chastity. You claim I didn’t make you orgasm. I’m happy now I didn’t, and since you never came in our nights, but in nights with others, I want you very much to experience the denial you would have felt under my tutelage, and to go on again without access to your own pleasure."

Valeria hesitated. She had suffered denial at Alina’s hands before, but often without a belt, honor code, and fled into the welcoming arms of other lovers. But if a belt was locked and the key was with Abyss, she would be bound in denial with no way out.

Alina didn't back down. "Five years, slut!" she said, slowly, each syllable like a falling stone. The audience collectively inhaled. "Let’s not pretend this is a game. Let’s punish betrayal the way Abyss intends."

"Are you mad?" Valeria hissed, stepping closer. "You want to sentence one of us to five years in chastity over a breakup?"

"No," Alina said icily. "I want to sentence you to it."

Evelyn’s smile widened. She turned to Valeria with deliberate calm. "And do you accept these terms or walk away?"

Valeria steeled herself, her voice wavering under the pressure, but not wanting to cave in front of her ex or the audience. "I accept. But this time I will make you pay by taking away your orgasms."

Evelyn clapped once, delighted. "Wonderful."

Valeria stared into the transparent lenses of Alina’s rubber hood, her hands curling in their latex gloves into fists at her sides. "You’ll regret this."

The chamber exploded in shocked murmurs and gleeful applause. The audience was on fire with the drama. The stakes had been doubled, tripled, five-folded, raised and warped into something epic and dangerous.

Evelyn lifted a hand, silencing them again. "Then let it be witnessed. Five years. One belt. One winner. One silenced flame. One languished clit. One starving pussy."

The two dancers stepped back to their starting marks. The music began to thrum softly - an ominous rhythm, slow and ritualistic. The Stilettos of the Languished Arches, glinting in the side wings, waited to be mounted. The cruel dance had not even begun, and already the crowd knew: this was one of the high stakes duels in Abyss history.

Lena could hardly breathe. Her heart was thundering in her chest. This wasn’t just a show - it was a revelation. The rules. The passion. The stakes. She had come here to observe, but she was falling deeper with every passing second. She knew already, when she’d got home she’d drain her favorite toy’s battery.

And Evelyn, watching her from across the room, knew it.

From the shadows, the belt was raised slightly higher, its gleam almost sentient in the dim light. One of these women would wear it for half a decade. But neither of them would walk away unchanged.

The stage was set. The duel was imminent. And Lena, caught somewhere between horror and fascination, felt the pull of Abyss stronger than ever before.

---

The stage was transformed. The glass floor shimmered beneath the lights, the reflections catching flashes of black latex and shining chrome fixtures. The audience, cloaked in their decadent uniforms of rubber, leather, and velvet, hushed with anticipation as the contestants were led forward.

Alina and Valeria stood on opposite sides of the stage, each flanked by a silent attendant clad in black rubber, faces obscured by smooth masks. Their identical suits - flawless black latex catsuits that clung to their every curve - reflected the stage lighting like liquid shadow. The suits were full-body, hooded, without a single patch of skin exposed. Each woman’s body gleamed, their contours a display of elegance and challenge.

The mood was taut, the silence broken only by the echo of high-heeled boots across the stage. The duel had escalated far beyond what any guest had anticipated. Five years of chastity. The forfeit of a lifetime.

The attendants moved with solemn precision. One by one, they knelt before each woman, removing their rubber boots. Alina shifted her weight with a hiss of discomfort as her boots were unzipped, the slick material sliding off to reveal bare feet. Her toes flexed involuntarily, the only sign of tension breaking her otherwise confident posture. Across the stage, Valeria maintained a stoic silence, though her breathing had become more audible, her chest rising and falling beneath the sheen of her suit.

The Stilettos of the Languished Arches were carried forward like sacred relics. Gleaming with chrome applications, impossibly tall and elegant, they looked almost ornamental - until one noticed the subtle protrusions embedded in the insoles, currently retracted, waiting. Locking clasps at the ankles would ensure they could not be removed until the dance was complete.

One attendant held the heels for Alina, who narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin defiantly before slipping her foot forward. As her bare sole made contact with the molded interior, her breath caught. Even inactive, she could feel the promise of pain resting against the arch and heel. The second shoe followed. The heels locked with a final, echoing click.

Valeria followed, her body taut as a wire. She didn’t hesitate, she remembered the nodules from her earlier performance. She lowered herself into the heels, her movements smooth but controlled. The nodules kissed her naked soles, a silent reminder of what was at stake. As the last clasp snapped shut, her jaw clenched beneath the hood.

Evelyn’s voice rang out like velvet thunder. "Tonight’s dance will last as long as it must. The Stilettos of the Languished Arches are activated by irregular rhythm - should your steps falter, should you fail to keep pace with the music’s demand, the spikes will rise and remind you of your failure. The more missteps, the sharper the reminders."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Above them all, suspended in a clear glass case, the chastity belt awaited. Shining and elegant, it was adorned with Abyss’s crest. The belt’s key rested in a crystal orb beside Evelyn’s throne. Five years of ownership, of denial, of silence beneath the steel.

A beat began - low, pulsing, hypnotic.

The duel had begun.

Valeria moved first, her steps practiced and rhythmic. Her background in ballet shone in every angle of her limbs, every graceful turn. But the rubber suit was unforgiving. Within five minutes, sweat collected beneath the tight hood, rivulets sliding down her temples and between her shoulder blades. Her breath fogged the transparent eye covers and her calves began to burn.

Alina was more impulsive in style, her hips swaying with forceful rhythm, her arms sweeping in dramatic flourishes. She danced like someone with something to prove, like someone determined to dominate through sheer defiance. Her heels clicked sharply on the floor, and a beat was missed - only for a moment.

Her gasp was nearly inaudible, but the slight twitch in her leg was visible. The nodules had struck.

Valeria saw it, and her confidence surged. She twirled in a tight arc, landing on the balls of her feet, narrowly avoiding a misstep. But the heat was catching up to her. Her thighs trembled beneath the latex, and her breath came faster. The suit, which she thought would be her advantage, was clinging to her like a second skin soaked in fire. The rubber trapped every drop of sweat, every degree of heat. It was like dancing in a furnace. She had build her hope on a fleeting remark of Alina, about disliking sweating in rubber. She had been sure, she’d handle the latex better than her opponent. Now, doubt was creeping in.

Alina, emboldened by the sting, pushed harder. She let the rhythm carry her, and for a stretch, she danced flawlessly, daring to draw close to Valeria, close enough that their bodies nearly touched. It was a taunt. A provocation.

Valeria’s jaw tightened. She surged forward in a sweeping spin, but her heel caught the edge of the rhythm. The nodules open and spikes surged upward into unprotected soles - blunt but fierce - and she stumbled. Just for a moment.

Alina saw it.

The music surged, faster now, more demanding. Evelyn watched, lips curled in amusement. Lena, now just a meter from the stage’s edge, stood breathless, her heart hammering in her chest. She was entranced - by the spectacle, by the stakes, by the raw elegance and torment etched into every movement. Her gaze darted between the dancers, the heels, the belt, the crowd.

She leaned forward, her gloved fingers clutching the edge of the table. This was Abyss. Not just sensuality or dominance. This was war by another name. This was power - its loss, its pursuit, its ultimate price.

As the music continued, the duel became a war of attrition. Alina and Valeria were no longer just dancers; they were avatars of pain, endurance, and vendetta. Every beat was a knife’s edge. Every movement risked the surge of pain beneath their feet.

And as sweat pooled in their suits, as their limbs trembled and their rhythm threatened to falter, they danced on - toward the ruin of one and the triumph of the other.

The Stilettos of the Languished Arches showed no mercy. The final movement approached, and one would fall.

And Lena knew, in her core, she would never forget this night.

Beneath the high, domed ceiling and moody, red-gold lighting, two figures continued dancing with the stilted grace of tension-bound athletes. Their identical black latex catsuits clung to every inch of their bodies, sweat sliding beneath the polished surface. Their faces were masked, identities anonymous in theory but intimately known to every eye in the room. Alina. Valeria.

Lena went and now stood near the edge of the velvet-rope perimeter, her breath shallow, her thoughts racing. She could feel the heat of her own body wrapped in her own simple latex catsuit, but it was nothing compared to the endurance demanded of the duelists. The Stilettos of the Languished Arches clamped to their bare feet were brutal - steel, elegant, spike-lined. The threat beneath their soles pulsed with every misstep. The nodules waited, silent and merciless. Lena had felt them herself and she was impressed on how long the two rivals were dancing in them already. The forfeit surely added tremendously to their motivation to withstand the pricks of the spikes. Better to endure pain now than insane denial afterwards.

She watched Alina's stride waver slightly again. Her movements became more erratic, less fluid, her rhythm just a heartbeat behind. And then it happened.

Alina stumbled.

The music didn't stop - it surged louder, amplifying the shock in the room. Her left foot slipped slightly, the slick surface of the stage and her perspiration combining into treachery. She faltered, and in an instant, her knees hit the floor. A gasp rippled across the room as the spikes beneath the heels responded. With the weight lifted from them, the mechanism engaged fully. The nodules sprang into motion, and the spikes rose in full extension - holding her soles hostage.

Alina froze in place, kneeling, trembling. The extended spikes now prevented any attempt to stand again. She knew it. The audience knew it. Her duel was over.

Valeria held her final pose a few beats longer, letting the music crescendo around her. She didn't need to speak; her victory was broadcast through the taut stillness of her body, the smirk evident even behind her faceless mask.

Evelyn stepped forward from the shadows, her presence commanding as ever. "And so it ends," she purred, her voice cascading through the room like velvet knives. She looked down at Alina. "The price of pride, the penalty of betrayal. Jealousy sealed in rubber, five years of desires sealed in steel."

The lights dimmed to focus on Alina as the attendants moved with silent, clinical precision. Her mask was unfastened, revealing her flushed, humiliated face. One attendant knelt before her, unlocking her heels and slipping her bruised feet out of them. Then they slowly began to unzip the front of her catsuit. The room was utterly silent as the rubber was peeled away, exposing Alina’s sweat-slicked skin. She didn’t resist - her trembling was enough rebellion. Nude and slick in sweat she stood on the stage, trembling in more than exhaustion.

The belt was brought forth on a red velvet pillow - sleek, custom-forged, engraved with the Abyss emblem. Valeria stepped forward, her smirk hidden still beneath a layer of black latex. She leaned down just enough to meet Alina’s gaze.

"Seems passion is something you can only learn the hard way. I'm sure you'll have lots of time to think about that… every night, every week, every month… for the next half of a decade."

Alina glared up at her, but the fury in her eyes couldn't hide the mounting despair.

The attendants secured the belt tightly around Alina's hips, locking it into place with a soft metallic click. Her body jolted slightly at the sound, the symbol of her fate now affixed. Cameras silently captured the moment - multiple angles, high-resolution. The still image was immediately printed, framed and displayed in the lounge, her flushed face, the belt glinting in the low light, and beneath it, the stark inscription. A digital countdown below it ticked down in red glowing number:

ALINA

ICE PRINCESS. CHASTITY. 5 YEARS.

4 y, 11 m, 30 d, 23:47

Lena stood still, entranced. She hadn't blinked. Hadn't breathed. The moment froze in her memory - the exact second the belt clicked, the resignation in Alina's face, the shimmer of sweat on her temple. The glittering frame now displayed her fate for all to see.

She looked around. No one recoiled. No one objected. This was Abyss. This was normal.

But more than normal, it was thrilling. Lena's heart pounded. A tingling tension swept through her. She had never seen anything so ruthless, so complete. The duel, the stakes, the punishment. And it was all voluntary. Voluntary.

She could see it now - how each decision led deeper. How one misstep didn’t end a game but began a sentence. And yet, none of it was hidden. It was recorded. Archived. Celebrated.

A new kind of hunger awakened in her.

The duel had concluded. Evelyn raised her hands again, commanding silence. "Behold, Alina has been sealed in chastity. Let all who witnessed this understand: the games we play in Abyss are not for spectacle alone. They are lessons in truth, power, and consequence. Let the belt be a reminder - our choices bind us far tighter than rubber or steel."

The audience erupted in applause. Valeria bowed. Alina was guided offstage, flanked by her silent attendants.

Lena didn’t clap. She simply watched.

Watched and knew: she wasn’t just visiting anymore.

She belonged here. She was hooked.

The night had grown darker, deeper, and yet the atmosphere inside Club Abyss felt only more vibrant, more intoxicating. The clinking of glasses, the thrum of ambient bass, the soft shuffle of latex against velvet made up the heartbeat of the club, steady and relentless.

Lena wandered around the club, stunned by the events she had witnessed, passing through the lounge again. The frame was prominent. Alina’s chastity belt was now locked around her trembling hips. Her name, photo, and timer had been added to the frame that hung in the velvet-draped gallery. Beneath her image were three lines etched in elegant script and her timer:

ALINA

ICE PRINCESS. CHASTITY. 5 YEARS.

4 y, 11 m, 30 d, 21:05

It ticked downward second by second, a mechanical countdown of endurance. Lena could not look away. The whole club, it seemed, ran on stakes and submission, on beauty and cruelty. She loved it. She feared it. She wanted more.

Lena wandered slowly back from the lounge, along the dance floor beneath the stage and towards the bar, still stunned by what she had just witnessed. A silent attendant appeared beside her, touching her arm, gesturing to follow them. She was led towards the back area of the night club. They came to a stop in front of an open door. As she stepped into the private lounge, her breath caught.

Evelyn was there, of course, seated on her usual black velvet chaise, a glass of garnet wine in hand. Her long legs were crossed, the sharp points of her stiletto heels glinting like daggers in the ambient candlelight. She looked over as Lena entered, her eyes gleaming beneath the shadow of her perfectly styled hair.

"Have a seat, Lena," Evelyn said, her voice as smooth and inviting as the room itself. She motioned to the chair across from her. Lena obeyed, her latex catsuit creaking subtly as she sat. Her face flushed with heat, anticipation, and an undercurrent of nervous dread.

"You look pale, my dear," Evelyn purred.

Evelyn poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Lena. "You’ve visited three times now. You’ve seen the games, participated in two heel dances - won a bit of money, earned the crowd’s interest - and mine. You know what Abyss offers: the power to gamble with your fate, to experience thrills and desires beyond the outside world. Pleasure, pain, power, humiliation, glory. Everything real, everything irreversible."

Lena nodded slowly, still trying to reconcile her sense of wonder and trepidation. She had danced twice before in the Stilettos of the Languished Arches. First time she won a thousand Lei. The second, for five thousand Lei. Equal to a small salary. Short games. Her feet had trembled, and the pressure beneath the spikes had made her cry out before the songs were finished. It had excited her.

"I… I just watched someone lose five years of her sexual autonomy," Lena said, her voice quiet but brimming with awe.

Evelyn chuckled softly. "You watched someone fulfill the stakes they themselves helped set. It was consensual. Alina and Valeria both agreed on the rules. This place does not deal in cruelty, Lena. It deals in truth. We are what we choose to endure."

Lena didn’t answer immediately.

"Would you like to see more of these games?" Evelyn asked suddenly.

Lena blinked. "I do."

"You know the rules. Everyone may visit a few times, three or four times, normally. Then they must decide. Stay or leave forever," Evelyn said, her voice light but intense. "Would you like to become one of us?"

Lena's mouth went dry. "You mean… sign the Contract?"

Evelyn smiled slowly, and without a word, she reached into a drawer beside the chaise and withdrew a sleek black folder. She opened it, revealing a thick document on smooth parchment paper. The first page was headed with the Abyss emblem. Lena had heard the rumors: the contract was the elusive membership to the Abyss, a door-opener for some, a trap for others.

"The Contract," Evelyn said reverently. "It is the final threshold. You have danced twice. You have attended three times. That qualifies you for membership. But it is not to be taken lightly."

Evelyn’s smile was knowing. "Then we begin. This contract - " she tapped the document lightly, " - is your initiation. It’s will define your journey. Once signed, you are a full member. From this point on, every forfeit you agree to becomes binding. Every challenge, every dare, every deal - it all matters."

She opened the folder and turned it toward Lena. The first page shimmered under the light, thin, almost translucent. The paper alone looked expensive. It detailed membership rules, and Lena leaned forward to read, her pulse rising as her eyes traced the clauses.

"It begins with consent. You agree to honor any forfeit you negotiate or are assigned as part of club games. This includes public performances, devices, lifestyle penalties, or social exposure. The contract exists to protect the game, Lena, and it protects you as well; nothing here happens without agreement, without consent."

Lena stepped forward slowly. She sat down across from Evelyn, her heart pounding. "What does it say?"

Evelyn sipped her wine slowly, the stem of the glass held delicately between her gloved fingers, and fixed Lena with a gaze that was more dissecting than welcoming. It wasn’t hostility - it was precision. Lena had learned already that nothing in Abyss happened without intent.

"You’ve asked to understand how things work here," Evelyn said, her voice low and even, yet charged with an energy that filled the silence around her. "So let’s talk rules. Formal ones. The ones we uphold with steel and contract ink."

She set her glass aside. "You have witnessed a duel tonight. You seemed particularly fascinated by this event. The core rule of Abyss’s duels is simple: the challenger issues the challenge. The one challenged decides the forfeit. They can also escalate it, as you’ve seen."

Lena’s eyes narrowed slightly. "So the punishment or consequence always comes from the one who didn’t ask for the fight?"

"Exactly," Evelyn replied, her smile thin. "It balances things. The one who initiates cannot dictate the entire game. They bring the fire, but the other sets the temperature."

She let that linger a moment.

"But," she continued, her tone sharpening slightly, "there are also House Challenges. These are issued by Abyss itself, or myself as its representative. In those cases, if you decided to enter on those nights, the challenge and the forfeit are predefined. No negotiation."

Lena sat a little straighter. Evelyn’s words moved like silk, but the edge beneath them was impossible to miss.

"The simplest example," Evelyn went on, "is the Weekly Drawing. If there is no other event or duel, we entertain ourselves with tradition. A guest is randomly selected for a short dance in the Stilettos of the Languished Arches. They must dance in the spiked heels. The pain is the forfeit. The reward? A modest sum. Just enough to make the possible pain worthwhile. And yes, they can refuse. But if they do?" Evelyn gave a little shrug. "The crowd doesn’t look kindly on cowards. Few ever walk away on that stage. You have been through that, twice, danced without hesitation and collected your prize."

Lena asked. "So, on a normal night I might get picked by random chance and have no say in the challenge or the forfeit?"

Evelyn nodded. "You wouldn’t be forced. You could still decline. But you’d be expected. And in Abyss, pressure weighs heavier than chains. If you keep declining always and everything, even the harmless challenges, we might cancel your contract, as what is the point in coming here then? But if you agree to the forfeit, there is no backing out."

She folded her hands neatly in her lap.

"During formal events," she said, "things escalate. Stakes are higher, and the House may offer challenges with fixed rewards - money, favors, desires fulfilled. These can be assigned directly to specific guests. And yes, everyone attending knows this risk beforehand. Consent is still sacred. But if you're here on gala night, you're fair game. Guests sign their consent on the guest lists for those evenings. If you are not willing to participate, you are free to not sign and be turned away and send home for those events."

Lena tilted her head. "To understand correctly, if I showed up as a guest at such a major event, and sign, I mean, agree to participate, then I have no way to decline the challenge or the forfeit?"

Evelyn nodded. "That's correct. Whenever you agree, there is no backing out. That is, if you are somehow ending up on the stage. You may have guessed already that it is good not to start feuds here, or people may be after you."

She leaned forward slightly.

"Now, on the other side," Evelyn continued, "there are guests who approach us. They come with needs - desperation, desire, or debt. Often, they ask for something specific: favors, influence, or a sum of money, if they are in need. We are very well known for making careers. Many of the top businesses in this country deal with us behind closed doors. We can open these doors for those who desire. Other times, they ask for things money cannot buy them, such as a single orgasm while they are enduring long-term chastity. Or for revenge on an ex lover as it was tonight."

A ghost of amusement crossed her face, while Lena’s thoughts drifted to Alina. When would she ask for a challenge to win an orgasm? What would Valeria or Evelyn demand as a forfeit?

"We grant it. Sometimes. If there was a duel involved, we always consult the winning party first. Some would never agree to any relief for the person they have beaten in a high stakes game. Often, there is resentment in those games, or a thirst for revenge. Of course, we honor these requests." Evelyn paused. They both thought again of Alina; and of Valeria, wondering if she would allow a game for relief before the five years were served.

Evelyn continued, "But the price must reflect the request. And the challenge and forfeit are ours to choose. We tend to give them slightly more than they can comfortably endure. That’s where the art lies. But - and this is crucial - the final choice always remains theirs. They may decline. But once accepted, the terms are binding. No mercy. No escape."

Lena absorbed it in silence, her mind racing beneath the calm of her face. Evelyn watched her like a chess player evaluating the next move.

"Membership," Evelyn concluded, "means access, status, connections, careers, and a degree of protection. But it also means accountability. You will be bound by the same rules as those you challenge, or those who challenge you. And once the dance begins, there is no stepping back."

A pause.

"Are you still interested?"

Lena didn’t hesitate. "Yes. But …"

Lena swallowed, thinking back to Valeria’s earlier words. "They say, you drain the guests. Sexually, mentally. Suck or harvest their energy."

Evelyn nodded. "Yes. We do. Abyss thrives on fetishistic suffering, pain, sexual denial, desire. It sustains Abyss, and us."

"Why would anyone agree to this?" Lena was confused again, as Evelyn was again referring to herself as "we".

"You mean, why would you agree to this? Being drained when you falter on stage? Because you also gain something. A relief from boredom. You gain experiences you cannot experience elsewhere. You can learn lessons here. Lessons about desire, lust, empathy, revenge. But also about compassion, empathy and love. High and low value emotions. To us, your emotions taste differently, depending on their quality, but we consume them all. We share into your emotions. Pain and suffering is our favorite flavor that you can provide. Some call it Loosh or Life, we consume your raw energy, call it Orgone or Prana, and it is refined by your emotions. We weave into it, siphon it. This is how you pay for your membership, by consenting to this drain as you called it. But you get your fair share of the deal too, you can grow sexually, even spiritually here in this place. Understand that we don’t drain you of your physical life. You may be exhausted, denied, sexually frustrated beyond belief, experiencing deep pain, but you will never be bodily harmed. We are not blood-drinking vampires. We, and you, we both draw something out of this arrangement. We drain your energy, you gain experiences and fulfill your wildest desires here, your deepest fantasies or your deepest fears."

"Let us take Alina as example, as you have witnessed her tonight. She consented, signed the same contract which now lays in front of you, on this very table. She will be drained by us. We enjoy the taste and sustenance of her emotions. There will be nights where she is fine with her sexual abstinence, and others, where she will bang her fists onto the metal shield of the belt. Fingers will try to sneak, vibrators will try to shake, but I guarantee you, there will be no satisfaction. She will weep and cry in frustration. This is how she is drained. She, on her side, got to pursue revenge on her ex partner. She escalated the forfeit herself, and Valeria obliged. Nowhere else could she have this experiences. Nowhere else would she had enjoyed the chance to seal her ex into chastity so deeply and fully. She will learn lessons in regret and humility. She will learn about, and experience, desire and domination, and now submission. She experienced lust, and now denial beyond ordinary means."

Lena needed a moment to comprehend the weight of this information.

Evelyn handed her the document. "Read. I’ll answer your questions."

Lena's eyes scanned the first few pages. Legalese, but poetic. Consent. The duels. Events. Things Evelyn just had explained. Responsibility. Awareness of risk. A clause stood out immediately:

Article 4, Clause 7: "Should a member accept a challenge, wager, or punishment within the bounds of Club Abyss, that member forfeits the right to later refuse fulfillment. Refusal to uphold agreed-upon terms shall activate enforcement provisions."

She read on.

Article 4, Clause 8: "All members, upon signing, agree to partial cession of assets, enforceable in local jurisdiction, in the case of forfeit breach or unauthorized withdrawal. Asset claim shall not exceed 80% but must include primary residence, if any."

Lena swallowed hard. "This would mean… if I backed out, I’d lose my apartment?"

"Yes," Evelyn said. "And at least 50 to 80% of your bank accounts, your salary, current or future, depending on the breach severity. For example, we take chastity very seriously, so in Alina’s case it would be 80%."

Lena stared.

"We don’t use such measures often," Evelyn said softly. "But they must be available. Some of our forfeits extend months. Years. Some involve more than pain. Some involve social exposure, long-term chastity, even public display."

"Like Alina."

"Like Alina," Evelyn echoed. "Five years is long-term. She could have declined the duel with no ill effects. The same goes for Valeria. She could have declined Alina’s escalation and walked. But after they agreed, neither could not run from it. If Alina as loser refused to honor the agreed upon stakes, she would lose her residence to us, 80% of her money, and be publicly exposed. But she didn’t, because she signed her contract long ago. That’s how it works. We never force anyone to play. It is consent and freewill. But don’t take it lightly. I openly warn you, there may come a time where you regret consenting. For Alina, that time came tonight and it will return over the next five years. Listen carefully, if you decide to play, by your own freewill, you don’t get to stop halfway. We only ensure that the forfeits are paid. Alina can even go to any locksmith to try to get the belt off early, we would not punish that. But no locksmith in a very large radius would touch a belt with the sigil of Abyss. And any beyond our reach… let’s say our locks and metals withstand purely worldly efforts. She can also try to get her fingers under its shield." She laughed.

Lena stared and turned another page. A section on documentation and recordings.

Article 5, Clause 2: "All members agree to be recorded during participation in games, challenges, or forfeits. Such footage is securely stored for enforcement and club archival purposes. Unauthorized release is forbidden. However, footage may be used as enforcement leverage in breach cases. Private recordings of members may be used between wagers of members."

"So… you film everything," Lena murmured.

"Yes," Evelyn said. "Discreetly. Always. Every game, every punishment, every duel. You saw the gallery. Those photos are taken seconds after the forfeit is applied. The threat is essential for accountability."

Lena felt a shiver run down her spine.

"Besides financial ruin, public exposure is a very strong motivator," Evelyn said simply. "Social ruin. We have footage of every member. In their latex suits. In the nude. In their punishments. If they break their word, betray their oath, betray other members freewill, they become our promotional material. Their names, their faces, their losses. Every person they love or work with will know who they really are."

Lena questioned further. "Private recordings of members, what does that mean exactly?"

She continued. "In forfeits between members, the winning party is also allowed to make their own recordings. For example, in the future, if Valeria would agree to let Alina try a challenge for a time out from her belt, she would be allowed, and be within her rights, to record the outcome in case Valeria would lose that. This would further enhance the winning party’s control and could be used in future… negotiations… between these parties. In these circumstances, Abyss merely provides the stage and oversees the rules."

Lena swallowed. Her body trembled slightly, more from adrenaline than fear. "And you’ve done it before? Ruined someone, in public?"

Evelyn nodded. "Only once. We rarely need to. The system works."

"Why?" she whispered. "Why do people agree to this?"

Evelyn leaned forward. "Because we want to live without limits," she said. "Because nobody wants to be cheated out of a victory when the loser can just bolt without paying up. Because we want to be seen, to be tested, to prove that we can suffer and survive. Because some of us are tired of safety."

Lena sat back in the chair, dizzy. "How many forfeits have been like Alina’s?"

"High stakes? More than you think," Evelyn said. "A few recent ones: there was Margot, who lost a debate duel and agreed to serve as a living statue of a period of six months, every club weekend. She stood on a pedestal, vacuum-framed, directly the bar, in heels, latex from head to toe, silent and unmoving. You might have seen her. A piece of bondage art to be admired. Slowly agitated by a vibrator."

She sipped her wine. "Before that, we had Cressida. She and a colleague from her office had a dispute over their work place hierarchy. They challenged each other in a matching endurance test. She lost and accepted a month of self-bondage each night. A sensor-controlled rubber sleeping bag with internal sleeves. It sealed her in for nine hours every night. At home. She only had to be in it at 9 pm every night. Miss it? Forfeit extension." Evelyn’s tone turned pointed. "She learned. They all learn. And Cressida? She's back. A little quieter now. And working under her colleague, quite literally. Rumor is, when Cressida enters her colleague’s office and they are alone, she is required to be on her knees. I’m very sure, private recordings of Cressida’s submission at the office exist as well. This would ensure to keep the established power balance and hierarchy."

Lena laughed, half in wonder, half in disbelief. "I can’t imagine losing a month of my nights."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "You can’t? After tonight, you will."

"And before her," Evelyn added, "was Yvette. You wanted to know if someone ran from the forfeit? She gambled against her ex husband and lost very heavily. Her forfeit was chastity and a lot of bondage over a long time. Chastity seems to be in high regard when it comes to break ups, as you’ve already seen. It’s more common than you think. Add in some clothes restrictions outside of Abyss. They really overdid it on the stakes. Anyhow, she refused to pay up and vanished. She was warned and reminded of her contract. She decided to not honor her forfeit. In turn, every detail of her submission was published in Abyss’ newsletters for two years and on the social media platforms as marketing material. Including a video of her being tied to a sybian, screaming through a series of orgasms from an earlier event. Her co-workers saw it. Her parents. The city is kink positive, but there is still shame associated with it, especially when her coming out was not in her own hands. Worse for her was that we foreclosed her apartment, took 50% of her finances and salary. Remember, she did consent in her contract." Evelyn stopped the story there and looked down at the leather-bound contract on the table.

Lena felt her throat tighten.

She slid a pen across the desk. "It never happened again with another patron. Everyone knows, it is not an empty threat. Stakes are paid, no matter how painful, no matter how many orgasms would be forfeited in belts. So, Lena. Are you ready to surrender?"

Lena hesitated. She looked down at the contract. Her name already printed at the top. A space waiting for her signature. Her thoughts spun - of Valeria, of the countdown, of the belts and bondage bags and bindings. Of the look in Evelyn’s eyes. Of the thrill she felt watching others surrender, watching them be punished.

Lena touched the contract. Her fingers trembled.

"What happens if I sign and never want to play again?"

"You don’t have to play," Evelyn said. "We don’t force participation beyond the random chose of a dance on stage. But this is not high stakes. You did this already. Some languished soles, not more. On event nights, such as Galas, if you are scared, you don’t need to come here. Don’t sign your consent at the entrance of a Gala night and be send back home. To be safe, but bored. But the moment you say yes to a wager, it becomes law in here. That’s what the contract means."

Evelyn nodded toward the clauses. "You endure, or you pay. And we always film."

Lena laughed nervously. "This is intense."

"Yes," Evelyn said. "But it’s real. And it’s beautiful."

Lena stared at the page.

She looked at Evelyn. "You’re sure I’m ready?"

"That’s not for me to say," Evelyn said.

And after a long pause, Lena picked up the pen. The air in the room seemed to still as she scrawled her name across the line, black ink blooming like blood on parchment. Her hand moved on its own. The pen trembled slightly in her fingers, but she didn’t stop. With a steady breath, she signed her name.

Evelyn leaned back, satisfied. "Welcome to Abyss, rubber kitten."

She snapped her fingers, and a concealed panel slid open in the wall. A subtle camera shimmered into view. Evelyn nodded to it. "We’ll film the oath. Just like everyone else. Stand here."

Her breath caught, the gravity of the moment clamping around her ribs like a vice. The weight of what she was doing pressed into her skin, invisible but irreversible. Evelyn stood just off camera, composed and patient. "Look directly into the lens," she instructed, her voice smooth, "and speak clearly."

Lena nodded, barely.

"State your full name," Evelyn prompted, "and confirm your willingness."

Lena took a breath. Another. Her throat was dry. The spotlight shone onto her shining black latex catsuit. She saw her own wide eyes in the small display of the camera in front of her.

"My name is Yelena Sonia Verrell," she began, her voice steadier than she felt, "I… I consent to the rules of Abyss. I enter as a member, aware of the stakes. I will honor the forfeits I agree to."

"And if you don’t?" Evelyn asked, the question velvet-wrapped steel.

Lena hesitated for a fraction of a second - just long enough to feel the abyss beneath her. She glanced to Evelyn. Then back to the camera.

"If I break my word," she said slowly, "I accept my ruin. I’ll be exposed for the world to see."

Her voice dipped lower, but not with fear - resolve began to spark behind her words.

Evelyn asked, out of frame. "You are aware that this includes your financial ruin and social ruin. You understand that Abyss has means to collect, to leverage, to make public what should remain private? You would lose your apartment."

"Yes, I do. If I refuse a forfeit I consented to, I accept ruin. My debts will be enforced. I lose my apartment. My name made synonymous with dishonor. And the humiliating footage stored here will be released in public."

Evelyn smiled faintly, approving.

The camera clicked off with a mechanical finality.

Evelyn walked over and handed her a copy of the contract. "You’ll be fitted for your member’s bracelet. It tracks your presence. Next time you return, you’ll be on the list. And Lena?"

"Yes?"

"Think carefully. From now on, everything is real. Every risk. Every loss."

Lena nodded slowly, her heart hammering. She stepped out into the hallway, the heavy door closing behind her. The sounds of Abyss rose once more - the music, the laughter, the whispered wagers.

And Lena smiled.

The games had just begun. Abyss had accepted her.

The contract slid back into its folder. The candlelight flickered. Evelyn smiled.

"Welcome to the edge of Abyss, Yelena," she said. "You’ve crossed it now."

The velvet curtains rustled behind them, and somewhere in the distance, the drums of a new challenge began to beat. And Lena, her heart racing, felt something else rise inside her: a hunger to belong, to be tested, to see how far she could go before she broke - or became something entirely new.

Mina

Lena was about to return to Abyss again. Perhaps it was the nagging curiosity, her thirst for more drama, the air surrounding the vampire-like hostess, or maybe it was the persistent pleading from her best friend, Mina. Ever since Lena had mentioned the club’s infamous dance trials, Mina had been insistent on seeing it for herself. At 27 years old, she was enthusiastic about anything BDSM, and always jumped at every opportunity to visit any kinky event. Lena’s memory of her last visit was still fresh - the drama, the duels, the moment her own signature sealed her fate with the club. Her blood still hummed with the intoxicating thrill of it.

Mina.

Lena had known her for years. A best friend, confidante, and devout seeker of all things thrilling. In university, they experimented. If Lena had a dark edge, Mina was practically polished obsidian. Always the one to push boundaries, always the one eager to explore. A curious car, always ready to burn her paws.

"You’re really not going to take me?" Mina had asked just a few days prior, her eyes practically shimmering with mischief. "I’ve heard the rumors for months. You went and didn’t even tell me until now. That’s betrayal, Lena. They say you have worn the heels. Those Heels. I need to see it. I have to."

"I didn’t hide it from you," Lena had replied defensively. "I just… wasn’t sure you were ready."

Mina had scoffed, folding her arms beneath her chest, lips curled into a daring grin. "I was ready before you even knew what it was."

Lena had rolled her eyes. "Mina, this isn’t just some rope demo or public play dungeon. This place is something else. It has teeth. It’s built on consent, yes, but once you say yes, you can’t go back. It’s not a game. Not really."

"I never said I wanted to go there to play," Mina had replied smoothly. "I want to see. Maybe feel, if it calls to me. You already signed, didn’t you?"

Lena hesitated. Mina's smile had widened.

"You did. Holy hell, Lena. What did you sign away?"

"Some things," Lena muttered, avoiding eye contact. "Control. Risk. You wouldn’t understand until you’re there."

"Then take me," Mina had said. Her voice had lowered to something more reverent, more urgent. "Please."

Mina leaned back, exhaling through her nose. She shook her head, not in disbelief, but in sheer processing. Her short black bob swung with the motion, catching the light. "You danced once, and they offered you a contract?"

"After I witnessed a duel," Lena corrected. "Valeria and Alina. It was brutal. Not violent - more like… intense. Controlled. Ritualized."

Mina raised an eyebrow. "Ritualized how?"

Lena looked down at her tea. "There was pain and rubber. Spiky shoes and a lot of sweaty rubber. Ex lovers, estranged. I got to know Valeria briefly before the duel. I don’t know how to explain it. Valeria danced like it was war. Alina… she lost."

A silence stretched between them. Mina was uncharacteristically still.

Then she said, "Alina - the one who lost - what happened to her?"

Lena hesitated. "She was fitted into a chastity belt. Long-term. The terms were part of the wager. She’ll be wearing it for five years."

Mina’s spoon clinked sharply against her cup as her eyes went wide.

"Five years?"

Lena nodded. "Alina escalated the stakes herself. It wasn’t just about who danced better. It was about endurance. About who would own the terms of their denial. Poetic justice, maybe? She fell into her own trap, her own forfeit. And she denied Valeria’s orgasms when they were still together. There is some irony here."

Mina’s eyes glazed over for a second. Then she grinned. "God, that’s terrifying. And weirdly hot."

Lena chuckled. "I knew you’d say that."

Mina leaned in. "So. Tell me about your own dance. Don’t leave out the details."

"It was part of their weekly challenge," Lena said. "The Stilettos of the Languished Arches."

Mina smiled knowingly. "Yeah. I’ve heard. Spiked insoles, right? You danced in those?"

"I did," Lena said. "The insoles are not spiked, but have nodules from with the spikes will jab upwards. I lasted until the end, then collapsed. Evelyn was pleased. I even won money."

Mina’s smile faded into something more thoughtful. "Evelyn. That’s the host, right? The Mistress?"

Lena nodded. "She watched the whole thing. Didn’t say much at the time. But her eyes…" She trailed off, unsure how to describe the way Evelyn saw her.

Mina was quiet again, clearly processing, her finger tracing the rim of her cup. "You said they offered you a contract after witnessing that dance duel. So they’re always watching. Even when you’re not on stage."

"Yes. She had her eyes on me. Even before that."

Mina let out a long breath. "I want to come."

Lena blinked. "What?"

"I want to see it," Mina said, her eyes bright. "The club. The duels. You. I want to be there next time you go. I want to feel it for myself. You’ve lit something up in me, Lena."

Lena studied her. Mina was curious by nature, always had been. Adventurous. But this wasn’t idle interest. This was hunger.

"You’re not scared?" Lena asked.

"I’m terrified," Mina said, grinning. "But I can’t stop thinking about it. You looked so calm describing it, but I can see it changed you. You’re sharper. Heavier. Like something’s been unlocked."

Lena didn’t know what to say to that.

"Besides," Mina added, voice dipping lower, "we’ve danced before. Back in University. In other ways."

Lena smiled. "We have."

Their hands stayed together, a quiet pact sealed between them, not with blood, but with breath. They’d argued. They’d laughed. They’d joked about the heels, about the outfits, about being called up to perform. But in the end, Lena had relented. She knew Mina - knew that if she didn’t bring her tonight, Mina would show up on her own soon enough.

"Yelena," Mina said, using her full name with a knowing smirk, "you don’t get to act like some stoic veteran. You were hooked the moment you saw that Evelyn, weren’t you?"

"It wasn’t Evelyn." Lena said softly. "In fact, she is creepy, cold. Seductive. But something is off. Like a vampire. They say she drains people, sexually, painfully. No, it was the rules. The duel. The forfeits. The structure. The transformation. You watch someone go from confident to crumbling and then rebuilding. There’s something almost… sacred about it."

Mina’s eyes twinkled. "Sounds like someone found her religion."

"It’s not that," Lena said quickly. "It’s just… I thought I understood control and discipline. But Abyss…" She exhaled. "It reshapes you. Even when you’re just watching."

Mina reached for Lena’s hand, squeezing it. "Then let me watch too. And if I get picked, I’ll dance. Hell, I’ll crawl if I have to. You know I never back out of a dare."

"This isn’t a dare, Mina," Lena said. "It’s a declaration. You step in there, you’re announcing to the whole room who you are. And they will test it."

"Let them. You have to take me," Mina had said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I’ve heard the rumors in the scene, but I need to see it with my own eyes. Even if I’m chosen, you know I never say no to a bit of pain games", winking at Lena.

"Then dress kinky, in latex, my dear Cosmina. Otherwise, you can bet, you will be dancing on stage. But even in proper dress code, I’ve the feeling, Evelyn has set her eyes on me. And on you when you come with me."

"Don’t call me that. You know I hate that name, Yelena."

"Touché, sorry Mina. But you started. But understand that this will be pain you can’t run away from, with the eyes of the crowd on you on stage. You dance. You just dance in those heels or that spiky dress!"

Mina reached across the table, fingers brushing Lena’s. "So take me with you. Let me see what it’s really like. I want to understand."

Lena turned her hand over, curling her fingers around Mina’s. "Alright. Next weekend. But only as a guest. Watching. I will protect you."

"Of course," Mina said. "For now. But don’t be my babysitter."

Lena had tried to dissuade her, sharing just enough about her own kinky experiences to highlight the danger, but Mina was undeterred. Now, as they stood before the imposing steel doors of Abyss, Lena felt a deep unease settle in her stomach.

"Are you sure about this?" Lena asked, giving Mina one last chance to back out.

Mina nodded, her grin unwavering. "Absolutely. Already after you told me about the heels you had me. After you told me about the chastity duel between the women, you’d need to chain me to the bed to hold me back. You already signed your membership. I have to see it. Let’s go."

---

The bouncer at the door nodded in silent recognition of Lena and then gave Mina a slow, appraising glance. Not leering, just assessing - the way all staff in Abyss did, as if checking for invisible marks of potential. Inside the coatroom, they stripped down to their sleek black latex catsuits. The material clung to every curve, every line of their bodies. For Lena, it was almost familiar now. For Mina, it was new - but she wore it like she’d been born in it.

"You look like you belong here already," Lena murmured.

"I do belong here," Mina replied. "I just needed an invite."

The pulse of the music wrapped around them, vibrating through the marble floor, the scent of latex, sweat, and anticipation heavy in the air. As they made their way through the patrons, Lena couldn’t help but feel the familiar thrum in her veins. This was her world now. And tonight, she was sharing it.

"Come on," she said, guiding Mina by the wrist. "Let’s find the stage. There’s always something happening."

"I hope someone gets their soles spiked tonight," Mina whispered conspiratorially.

"Don’t tempt Evelyn," Lena replied. "She loves volunteers."

The familiar pulse of the music was enveloping them. The atmosphere was as electric as ever, the crowd moving like one living organism to the relentless beat. The air was heavy with the aromas of sweat and rubber. Lena led Mina through the patrons, her eyes scanning for the stage and the ever-watchful Evelyn.

It didn’t take long. Evelyn stood at the edge of the stage, her dark gaze locked onto Lena the moment they entered. She beckoned them with a curl of her finger, a predatory smile spreading across her crimson lips.

"Welcome back, Lena," Evelyn purred as they approached. "And I see you’ve brought a friend."

"This is my friend Mina," Lena said, her tone guarded. "She wanted to see the club."

Evelyn’s eyes flicked to Mina, sizing her up with a look that sent a shiver down Lena’s spine. "A pleasure," Evelyn said smoothly. "It’s always delightful to welcome new faces."

Mina, oblivious to the tension, smiled brightly. "Mistress Evelyn, I’ve heard so much about this place. I couldn’t resist."

Evelyn chuckled, her eyes never leaving Lena. "Indeed. And you, Lena, returning so soon yet again. I must say, I’m impressed by your persistence. More games to watch?"

Lena narrowed her eyes. "I hope to just watch. But you kept choosing me the last times."

Evelyn’s smile faltered, replaced by something darker, more intense. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "You intrigue us, Lena. Your youth, your strength - it’s captivating. We envy it."

Lena blinked, caught off guard by the admission. "Envy? What are you talking about?"

Evelyn’s eyes glittered with a mix of bitterness and longing. "I’ve lived through more nights than you can imagine. Each dance, each trial, feeds this place, feeds me, feeds my hunger, keeps Abyss alive - and me along with it. But time has a way of taking its toll, even on those of us who linger. Watching you… it reminds me of what I once was." Mysteriously, she added "Maybe we have open business from a previous life. I see you, I sense you."

Before Lena could respond, the music shifted, signaling the start of the night’s main event. The crowd hushed, turning their attention to the stage as Evelyn raised her arms.

"Tonight," she announced, her voice echoing through the club, "we present tonights challenge - the Boots of the Languished Sole!"

She leaned in to Lena and whispered into her ear, so her words were only shared with her. "I don’t keep choosing you. You don’t even come every weekend. But from now on, you may be chosen, rubber kitten. Only the gods of pain will know?"

Two attendants emerged, dressed themselves in full black catsuits complete with gloves and full hoods, carrying a pair of tall, black boots. They gleamed under the lights, the same dull knobs lining the insoles, hiding the torturous spikes beneath. The crowd murmured with excitement and apprehension.

"But who will wear them?" Evelyn continued, her smile returning. "Tonight, we leave the choice to you."

The crowd erupted into cheers and shouts, each person pointing and calling out names. Lena’s heart sank as she realized what was happening. She grabbed Mina’s arm, her voice urgent. "We need to hide - now. To the bar. Get off of the dance floor."

But it was too late. The spotlight swept across the crowd, following pointed fingers of the crowd as the two women moved away from Evelyn, finally settling on Mina. The cheers intensified, and Mina’s face lit up with a mixture of surprise and excitement.

"It’s me!" she gasped, her face surprised in its expression.

Lena shook her head, panic rising, her being concerned for her friend. "Mina, you don’t understand. She plays with us! She wants you in pain for her enjoyment."

Mina shrugged off Lena’s warning, stepping forward eagerly. "Come on, Lena, don’t overreact. I’ll be fine. I’m a great dancer. And that’s why we came here anyway, isn’t it?"

Evelyn watched with a satisfied smirk as Mina ascended the stage. She leaned towards her and whispered. "Your wish to see some soles getting spiked may be granted. It just may be your own two soles." Mina’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. How could she possibly have heard her comment? The attendants guided her to a chair, slipping her boots and socks off of her feet. They were quickly replaced by the Boots of the Languished Soles. They fit snugly, locking into place with that same ominous click Lena remembered all too well.

"The rules are simple," Evelyn explained, her gaze fixed on Mina. "Dance with enthusiasm, stay in sync with the music, and the boots will remain kind. But falter, and they will remind you of the cost."

Mina nodded, undeterred. The music began, a lively, infectious beat that had the crowd moving instantly. Mina took to the challenge with gusto, her body flowing with the rhythm, her movements confident and graceful.

At first, it seemed Mina would breeze through the trial. Her natural talent for dance shone through, each step perfectly in time with the music. But as the tempo increased, so did the demands on her stamina and focus.

The first misstep came with a sudden sharp gasp. Mina faltered, and the spikes within the boots responded, sending a jolt of pain through her feet. She recovered quickly, but the brief lapse was enough to rattle her.

Lena watched helplessly from the crowd, her heart pounding. She could see the strain on Mina’s face as the music pushed her harder. Each misstep brought another painful jab upwards into her unprotected soles, lower calves and tops of her feet, the spikes relentless in their punishment.

The crowd cheered, oblivious to Mina’s growing struggle. Evelyn circled the stage like a shark, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Keep dancing, Mina," she taunted. "The boots demand it."

Mina gritted her teeth, determination etched on her face. She fought to keep up with the relentless beat, her body moving out of sheer willpower. But the spikes were merciless, exploiting every slip, every stumble.

Finally, the music slowed, signaling the end. Mina collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath, the boots releasing their grip as the last note faded. The crowd erupted into applause, some cheering her perseverance, others reveling in her suffering.

Evelyn approached, helping Mina to her feet. "Well done, my dear," she said with a mocking smile. "You’ve survived the dance."

Mina accepted the cash prize of a thousand Lei with trembling hands, her earlier excitement replaced by a weary, haunted look. Lena rushed to her side, supporting her as they made their way off the stage.

"Are you okay?" Lena asked, her voice filled with concern.

Mina nodded weakly, her eyes distant. "I didn’t think… it would be like that. This is intense."

Lena tightened her grip on Mina, guiding her friend towards the exit. "Now you know," she said softly. "Let’s get you out of here."

As they stepped into the cool night air, Lena glanced back at the steel doors of Club Abyss. Evelyn’s words echoed in her mind, a chilling reminder of the club’s dark allure.

"You’re done with this place," Lena said firmly, wanting to protect her friend. "I’m sorry for bringing you here."

Mina nodded silently, and they walked away, leaving the shadows of Abyss behind. But Lena knew the club’s hold was not so easily broken. The Boots of the Languished Sole had intrigued another victim, and the dance would continue, as it always did.

Return

The haunting memories of her dance at Abyss refused to fade. Each night, Mina would replay the relentless beat of the music, the searing pain of the spikes in the Boots of the Languished Sole, and the twisted satisfaction on Evelyn’s face. Despite the agony, the submissive part of her craved more. The challenge had awakened something within her - a need to test her limits, to prove her strength.

Lena didn’t want her to return. But Mina couldn't shake the pull of the club, the lure of another chance to face its dark trials. Lena's warnings echoed in her mind, but the intrigue was too strong. She had to know what lay beyond the previous challenge. She had seen the display of Alina’s chastity timer. She was hooked. For the lasts nights, she kept masturbating for hours thinking of the painful boots, the challenge burned into her mind. She could not deny it, she liked it. She liked the pain. No, she did not like the pain. But she loved the challenge, trying to dance perfectly, avoiding the kisses of the spikes. She needed to know the story behind Alina. The dominant eyes of that succubus named Evelyn. She masturbated again to satisfaction to help her fall asleep.

One evening, without telling Lena, Mina made her decision. She dressed simply in latex gear, threw over a leather coat and headed out. Her heart was pounding as she approached the familiar steel doors of Abyss. The city’s lights loomed around her, casting eerie shadows that seemed to guide her forward.

Inside, the club pulsed with its usual life - a relentless, almost otherworldly energy that seemed to breathe through the walls. The crowd was as wild as ever, bodies in rubber and latex moving in sync with the pounding bass. Yet, everything felt different to Mina. The faces seemed more distorted, the music more menacing, and the atmosphere charged with anticipation.

Mina’s gaze immediately sought out the stage. There, standing with her signature air of dominance, was Evelyn. Their eyes met, and a slow, knowing smile spread across the hostess’s face. The club’s lights dimmed slightly, leaving only her in a soft spotlight. A hush fell over the onlookers, their gazes drawn to her like moths to flame. Her eyes roamed over the crowd until they found their mark - Mina.

"Mina," Evelyn purred, voice carrying through the club like silk wrapped around a blade. "You returned without your precious Lena tonight. Bold. Curious. Vulnerable. I knew you’d be back," Evelyn purred as Mina approached the stage. Her voice dripped with satisfaction, a mixture of amusement and something darker. "You couldn’t resist, could you? How are your soles feeling tonight?"

Mina stood tall, forcing down her nerves. "I’m well. My soles are fine again. It was tantalizing. I wanted to see more. Mistress Evelyn, I’m ready for whatever you’ve got.", submissively lowering her eyes.

Evelyn chuckled, circling Mina like a predator. "Oh, my dear, you have no idea how much you amuse me. Did you just really offer me your soles again, voluntarily? Did your friend tell you about her membership contract? You want to see more now? Careful, you are the submissive type. A pain kitten. Those tend to dance, to suffer, to languish. You want to see more or dance again? Have a look at these marvelous heels."

Evelyn motioned to her attendants, who carried a velvet case to the center of the stage. With a flourish, Evelyn opened it to reveal a pair of heels unlike any Mina had ever seen. They were transparent, delicate-looking, and eerily beautiful. But as the light caught them, Mina saw the true horror: inside the translucent nodules on the insoles were rows of sharp, slender needles instead of spikes, each poised to strike upwards. Evelyn took her microphone and turned to the crowd.

"Behold," Evelyn announced to the crowd, "the Translucent Torment Heels. We did not dance with these for quite some time. These special heels are equipped with sensor-activated needles instead of the standard blunt spikes. They won’t draw blood, but they promise a pain far more excruciating."

The heels gleamed in the low lighting, glass-like and almost ethereal, with faint glimmers hinting at the mechanical menace hidden within. The crowd gasped, a ripple of anticipation washing over them. Whispers broke out - had someone actually agreed to wear those?

She turned back to Mina, eyes locked onto her. She muted the microphone and whispered to her. "But tonight, I’ll personally invite you to the stage again, and we’re raising the stakes." Slowly she added "Just for you, pain kitten."

"These have been waiting especially for you, my dear Mina," Evelyn said, including the crowd again, her voice wrapping around the girl like a trap. "We have been waiting. You danced once before, protected by your friend’s presence. But now, it is just you. Alone with a pair of beautiful and glittering heels."

Mina’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at the heels. There was a surge of fear - real, primal - but laced with it was that irresistible thrill she couldn’t deny. The promise of pain. Of challenge. Of being seen.

"I…" she hesitated, heart pounding, "I didn’t meant to offer my soles. I didn’t know I would be - "

"You entered willingly," Evelyn cut in gently. "And here, at Abyss, you can choose. I give you the choice, your soles, as offered, in these Heels, or you retract your delicious offer and will never experience the pain they can invoke. You can satisfy your curiosity, or you can leave the club, forever. The choice is yours. Consent, or don’t."

Mina swallowed hard. Her knees trembled slightly. Never come back here, never find out what happens here? While Lena went and she’d stay behind? No. She had to do it. She managed a nod. How bad could the heels be? Needles. The spikes were painful. How much worse would these be. Needles. This was what she was here for, wasn’t it? She masturbated to the spiked heels. Many times. "I am ready, Mistress." she heard herself say, casting her eyes down.

The attendants glided forward - mute, masked in black latex - and guided her to a waiting chair. Her boots were removed, and the cool air kissed her bare feet before the transparent heels were placed delicately onto them. The shoes fit like they were made for her. Because they were.

As they locked into place with an ominous click, Mina felt a cold shiver run through her body. Beneath the surface of each heel, she could feel the presence of the dormant needles - in their nodules, waiting, patient.

Evelyn smiled and took a slow step back. "Remember, pain kitten, every step must be perfect. The music will guide you, but if you falter… your soles will pay. The price is higher this time."

The music started slow - a haunting melody that pulsed deep in her chest. She moved carefully at first, testing the heels. They were light and flexible, but she could feel the faint press of the small nodules in which the needles were hidden, a constant reminder of the stakes. Mina moved cautiously, adjusting to the height and weight of the heels. They were light, eerily light, and flexible. But she could feel the knobs pressing faintly into her arches, constant reminders of the danger that lurked just under the surface.

As the beat picked up, Mina fell into rhythm. Her body moved gracefully, each step more confident than the last. The crowd watched, breath held, enraptured by the tension, the courage, the raw sensuality of the performance. And for a while, it seemed she might master it. Mina moved like poetry - fluid, controlled, radiant under the colored lights.

But then, the music changed. It sharpened. The tempo became erratic and volatile. Mina’s breath caught, and she struggled to match its pace. Her arms flailed ever so slightly for balance, her body tensed. A single misstep. A tremor in her footing. The response from the heels was immediate. A flash of pain shot through her feet as the needles activated, stabbing into the delicate flesh of her soles. This was nothing like the spikes. She cried out aloud, knees buckling for a heartbeat, barely catching herself. The crowd cried out, some in horror, others in perverse thrill.

Mina pushed through, staggering back into the rhythm. Every step now was a negotiation with agony. Each misstep of her foot brought sharp reminders of her failure to remain perfect. But she danced on, defiant, sweat glistening under the stage lights, her body trembling but unbowed. And above it all, Evelyn watched from her dark throne, the corner of her mouth curved in approval. The crowd’s energy shifted, their cheers becoming more frantic. Some shouted encouragement, while others seemed almost gleeful at her suffering. Evelyn watched with a cruel smile, her eyes never leaving Mina.

Finally, the music slowed, signaling the end. Mina’s legs buckled, and she collapsed onto the stage, gasping for breath. The needles retracted with the last note falling silent, their torment momentarily ceased.

The crowd erupted into applause, but Mina barely heard it. Her body trembled, her mind reeling from the experience. The attendants removed her heels. Angry red dimples adorned the soles of her feet. Evelyn examined her soles and licked her lips with a hungry smile, approaching, her smile growing into one of twisted satisfaction.

"You’ve done well, my dear," she said, helping Mina to her feet. "Few have endured the Translucent Torment Heels until the end of the song."

Mina accepted the prize - a larger sum than before - but her hands shook as she held it. The thrill of victory was overshadowed by the lingering pain and the weight of what she had endured.

"You’ll come back," Evelyn whispered, her voice a promise and a threat. "They always do."

Later that night, Mina stumbled out of the club, her soles still hurting, the cool night air hitting her like a wave, sending shivers of cold through her catsuit. Her mind swirled with conflicting emotions - pride, pain, fear, and an unsettling desire for more. She had survived the needle heels, but what now?

As she walked away from Abyss, Mina knew tonight she would masturbate again, she needed it, badly. The challenge had grown more brutal, the pain more intense, but the thrill of the dance, the promise of proving herself, had also grown. It was a temptation too powerful to ignore.

Mina’s steps faltered, her feet aching from the needles’ cruel bite. Yet, deep down, a part of her already longed for the next challenge. The Abyss had ensnared her, and she would dance again.

Duel

The whispers of Mina’s performance echoed through the underground scene, each tale bolder than the last. The thought of her best friend enduring such agony filled Lena with rage. She knew she couldn’t let this stand. Evelyn had gone too far. That night, Lena stood once more outside Abyss, the steel doors looming before her. She wasn’t here to dance; she was here for answers - and retribution. The thought of her best friend enduring such agony filled Lena with anger and guilt. Mina had gone without her - alone. And worse, she had fallen into a trap Lena should have seen coming. She knew she couldn’t let this stand.

Inside, the club pulsed with its intoxicating rhythm. The crowd, clad in their usual latex and leather finery, moved like one living organism to the beat. The air was thick with heat, sweat, and anticipation. Lena moved through them with purpose, her eyes locked on the stage where Evelyn stood like a dark queen, observing her kingdom. Evelyn saw her before Lena could even speak. A smile curled at her lips, sly and mocking. She descended from the stage, her heels clicking on the glass floor.

"Well, well," Evelyn purred as she approached. "Back again, my dear rubber kitten? You only have this one outfit? Or are you simply hoping to catch my attention - again?"

Lena folded her arms. "I’m here because of Mina."

"Ah, yes," Evelyn murmured, her voice like silk over razors. "Your brave little friend. She danced beautifully. A little unprepared, perhaps, but very spirited. The Torment Heels were designed especially for her."

"She didn’t know what she was getting into!" Lena hissed. "She thought it would be the spike heels - like mine! Why did you trick her with the needles?"

Evelyn tilted her head. "Because she expected the spikes. Expectations are meant to be broken, dear. That’s the entire philosophy of Abyss. She didn’t object. She danced."

"But needles? That’s going to far. Way too far for Mina. This has to stop!"

Evelyn chuckled, her dark eyes gleaming. "Stop? Oh, Lena, Abyss is a place for those who crave the edge play, who seek the thrill of pain and pleasure intertwined. Your friend knew exactly what she was getting into."

Lena’s fists clenched. "You pressured her into these heels, Evelyn. You feed off of her pain."

Evelyn stepped closer, her voice a whisper only Lena could hear. "Of course I feed off of her pain. And yours. And you’re different? You came back. You can’t resist the lure, just like the rest. But you’re not angry at me. You’re angry because you weren’t there to protect her. Because she did it alone."

Lena stepped back, her heart pounding. Evelyn had hit her weak spot.

"What do you want?" she asked coldly.

Evelyn straightened. "Justice. Drama. Entertainment. And I think you do too. You’re here, aren’t you?" Her smile widened, a glint of malice in her gaze. "How dare you to confront me over something as mundane as a dance in needle shoes? You’ve seen nothing yet. Then let’s see if you’re as strong as you think."

She turned to the crowd, who by now had begun to circle. Their murmurs quieted as Evelyn raised her hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have a special treat! Our rubber kitten Lena accuses me, confronts and challenges me, for seducing her friend to a dance in the Translucent Torment Heels. Therefore, we shall settle our argument in the tradition of Club Abyss: A duel between myself and the illustrious Lena, who has graced our stage before."

The crowd erupted in cheers and gasps, the energy in the room shifting to feverish anticipation.

Lena shook her head. "Don’t do this."

Evelyn smiled. "Oh, but I must. And we shall let her prove her strength. I accept her challenge. A duel. Myself against Lena. A dance, yes, but not just any dance."

Attendants stepped forward, carrying two sets of shoes, their transparent bodies lined with countless tiny nodules. "The Heels of Fire," Evelyn said, gesturing. "Equipped with needle points that don’t merely prick. They burn. Electrified, heated by an integrated circuit just enough to sting like fire. Your soles, and the sides of your feet - all fair game."

Gasps echoed through the room.

Evelyn continued. "And the stakes? The loser shall spend eight hours in the Abyssal Needle Frame - bound, still, pressed between two plates of needled agony, the pressure adjusted to maintain a perfect amount of pain, never enough to break the skin, just enough to beg. Every minute, an hour. Every breath, a lesson in pain."

The room hushed.

Evelyn turned back to Lena. "Do you accept, rubber kitten?"

Lena hesitated. Her mind screamed no. She didn’t mean to her argument being seen as a formal challenge against Evelyn. She could refuse - the contract allowed her to decline the forfeit, but if she agreed she could not refuse to pay the forfeit. But the crowd stared, waiting. Evelyn stared, smiling. The eyes of Abyss were on her. Lena felt a chill run through her, but she refused to back down, how could she run when challenged like this in front of an audience? She’d lose face and would not be taken seriously if she refused her first challenge up on center stage. But a needle frame? What does that even mean?

And then Lena nodded. "I accept."

Cheers erupted. Evelyn beamed.

Attendants stepped forward, seating them both in opposing chairs. The heels were placed carefully, reverently, onto their feet. Lena’s breath caught as the first wave of pain pulsed through her arches - not sharp yet, but threatening. The shoes locked with a soft mechanical click.

Evelyn stood tall, radiating confidence. Lena, despite her nerves, met her gaze unflinching.

The lights dimmed. The music began.

A slow, pulsing rhythm, seductive and dark. Lena took her first step. The needles under her soles stirred. She danced. Each movement was an act of defiance. The heels responded to every shift in weight, the heated needles pressing, withdrawing, pressing again. The pressure built, sweat already beginning to form beneath her latex suit.

Evelyn danced too, graceful and precise. She was practiced, controlled, but even she couldn’t mask the wince as the shoes punished an imperfect pivot. The tempo rose. Lena adjusted her rhythm, following the beat with sharp precision. Her calves burned. Her feet screamed. But she kept moving. The music twisted, turned erratic. The beat faltered, challenged them to follow. Both stumbled - for half a second. The needles surged upward, and Lena cried out. This was very different form the spikes she had felt on her earlier visits. But she kept dancing. She had to.

Evelyn faltered again. A misstep. A slight hesitation. Pain twisted her features. Lena pushed harder, her steps sharper, more controlled. Her eyes narrowed. Sweat dripped into her eyes. But she didn’t stop.

The crowd was breathless. The music built toward its climax, thundering in her ears. Lena matched it, step for step, pain exploding in her soles. She was barely conscious of the fire searing up her legs. She was inside the beat. Then Evelyn missed a cue. One foot slipped. The shoe read the instability. All the needles extended at once as her weight left the insoles. She went down with a cry, collapsing to her knees. The needles fully deployed. She couldn’t rise. Any movement sent another wave of fire through her body.

Lena danced the last few bars, her body trembling, barely upright. As the music stopped, she fell too, collapsing to her knees, but the needles stayed retracted inside their nodules. But she had danced until the end. The crowd exploded in a frenzy. Evelyn looked up, face twisted in fury and disbelief.

The crowd roared with applause, their excitement at the unexpected turn palpable. Evelyn stood frozen, her face a mask of fury and disbelief. How could she have lost to the newcomer?

Lena forced herself to her feet, her body trembling but victorious. She met Evelyn’s gaze, her voice steady despite the lingering pain. "You lost."

Evelyn’s lips curled into a malicious smile. "Congratulations, Lena. You’ve earned your victory. But this isn’t over."

The attendants approached, ready to escort Evelyn to the basement. Evelyn raised a hand, stopping them. "I’ll go willingly. But remember this, Lena - I’ll have my revenge."

With that, Evelyn allowed herself to be led away, disappearing into the shadows of Abyss.

Lena stood alone on the stage, the crowd’s cheers fading into the background. The victory felt hollow, the threat of Evelyn’s revenge lingering in her mind. She had won the duel, but the cost was high. The pain of the Heels of Fire still burned in her feet. Later that night, as she limped out of the club, the steel doors closing behind her, Lena knew this wasn’t the end. Evelyn would return, and the darkness of Abyss would continue to haunt her.

The Price of Defeat

The dim, flickering lights of Club Abyss cast long shadows across the silent, cavernous space. The crowd had dispersed, their cheers and jeers now just echoes in the cold, empty air. The stage, once alive with the feverish energy of the dance duel, now stood as a silent monument to the night’s brutal spectacle.

In a hidden chamber beneath the club, the elegant woman - once the untouchable hostess - lay suspended in a grotesque contraption. Metal frames held her nude body aloft horizontally, her arms and legs spread-eagled wide, rendering her completely immobile. The chamber was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a series of small, harsh lights aimed directly at her.

Her face, once a mask of composed dominance, now bore the unmistakable signs of anguish. The relentless needles of the full-body torture device pressed into her flesh, thousands of tiny points digging into every inch of her skin. The contraption was merciless, designed to keep her on the brink of agony without causing actual harm - a cruel, calculated punishment, the needles never drawing blood.

The mechanism pulsed in rhythm with the faint, ghostly echo of the club’s music, a slow, haunting beat that mirrored the torment she endured. Each pulse triggered a slight shift in the needles, varying their pressure just enough to keep the pain fresh, never allowing her body to grow numb to the torture.

She had known the stakes when she issued the challenge. She had relished the chance to assert her dominance over Lena, confident in her ability to emerge victorious. But now, as she hung in the hot and humid, silent chamber, she reflected on her hubris. She would languish, she herself would be drained.

The eight hours stretched before her like an eternity, each second marked by the relentless bite of the needles. Her mind, sharp and cunning, now struggled to remain coherent under the unrelenting assault. There was no escape, no reprieve, only the cold, clinical precision of the punishment she had once so easily doled out to others.

Despite the agony, her lips curled into a faint, bitter smile, sweat dripping from her naked body. She had underestimated Lena, a mistake she would not forget. The younger woman had proven herself resilient, stronger than the hostess had ever anticipated.

But maybe this would work to her advantage if well played. She had not worn the Heels of Fire for a long time and had forgotten their heated bite. They were more painful than she remembered. Giving Lena a victory, even if it was not planned, robbed her of her short term satisfaction of seeing Lena in needles, but it would build up her confidence, lure her into thinking that she can actually win. She would be willing to accept higher stakes in the future. She would lose when it would really matter. A plan was forming.

As the hours dragged on, the elegant woman’s thoughts drifted between regret and resolve. She had lost this duel, but she was not broken. The punishment would end, and when it did, she would rise again, wiser and more determined than ever. For now, though, she endured. Each pulse of the needles was a reminder of her failure, but also of the lessons learned. The club’s dark atmosphere had claimed her for the night, but she would endure, as she always had.

And when she returned to the stage, she would be ready. Ready to reclaim her place, to reassert her dominance, and perhaps, to challenge fate once more. She would get Lena to pay, and she’d not only pay with pricks to her soles.

---

Lena sat curled up in the large armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window of her apartment, the muted glow of the city lights outside casting long shadows. The smooth embrace of her silk pajama flowed over her body. She had once dreamed of nights like these - enigmatic, dangerous, tinged with sexual power and gamesmanship. But tonight, she couldn’t relax. Her mind was a tangle of worry, curiosity, and slow-burning anger.

The room around her was warm, silent, and scented faintly with vanilla oil, yet her thoughts were loud and insistent. She couldn’t stop replaying the events of the past few days - how everything had escalated so fast. Abyss was a playground, a theater of extremes. That was what had fascinated her. That was what had seduced her. But she had not intended to dive so quickly into the fire.

She clenched her hands in her lap, as she remembered the moment she had found out Mina had gone back to Abyss - alone.

Alone.

The word echoed in her skull. Mina had always been impulsive, always too drawn to shiny, dangerous things. But Abyss wasn’t just a club. It was a living entity, cunning and cruel, that watched and chose and tested its guests. And Evelyn, the woman who ruled it, was no less dangerous. When Lena had confronted Evelyn, she had expected a lecture, perhaps a warning. What she received was far more chilling: a spontaneous challenge.

Lena remembered the murmur of the crowd then. The needle frame. She had only heard of it. Extreme. Horizontal. Suspended. A device build for pain. A grid of pain and pressure, tailored to the contours of the victim's body. It didn’t draw blood - no, Abyss didn’t break the skin. But it made the body beg to break.

To everyone’s shock, including her own, Lena had won. The challenge had been grueling, a test of poise and control and endurance. Evelyn had underestimated her. And now, for the first time in Abyss’s long, twisted history, the Mistress of Pain herself had been confined to her own invention. She remembered how she came home, still high on adrenaline, masturbated furiously to her victory over Evelyn. More than once. But there was a risk. She didn’t plan to antagonize Evelyn by sending her into the needles. But it happened.

Lena pressed her forehead against the cool windowpane, closing her eyes.

It was thrilling. Exciting.

No - exhilarating. To face someone like Evelyn, to endure her challenge, and to win. The sense of power that surged through her afterward had been like nothing she’d ever known. But with that power came something else: unease. She had not meant to create enemies. Especially not Evelyn. Abyss thrived on memory. Its architecture remembered every cry, every fall, every failed challenge. Its guests remembered too. And Evelyn - Evelyn would not forget this humiliation.

"I just wanted to watch," Lena whispered to herself.

That had been her plan all along. She had even told Mina, weeks ago, how thrilling it was to observe the high-stakes duels and forfeits. Alina’s fate had captivated her. The way Evelyn had orchestrated her downfall into that belt for five years. It had been erotic, cruel, operatic. Alina was a recurring visitor in her nightly fantasies when she was seeking relief from the tension Abyss created in her. Five years of denied sexuality, of orgasmic starvation. Lena felt her own wetness just thinking about the plague with the slowly ticking counter. Lena had wanted more of that - as an audience member, not a performer.

But Abyss had other ideas.

She had entered the world of spectatorship and been thrust into the ring in a matter of weeks. And now, having stood victorious on the stage, having challenged the throne itself, she could feel the tide shifting. The club would never let her return to anonymity.

And then there was Mina.

Lena's mouth tightened. She didn’t know what bothered her more - that Mina had gone without her, or that Evelyn had deliberately used her absence to target her friend. The Translucent Torment Heels weren’t standard. They were something crueler. Advanced. Mina had agreed, yes. But had she known what she was agreeing to? Would she have accepted if Lena had been there to warn her?

The answer was complicated. Mina had always chased pain like a drug.

Lena shifted in her seat, pulling her legs up under her. She looked over at her phone, sitting silent on the glass table. Mina hadn’t messaged her since that night.

Was she embarrassed? Was she angry?

Or was she, too, intoxicated by the club’s grip?

Evelyn had won something that night too, Lena realized. She had driven a wedge between them. Maybe not intentionally. Maybe just as part of the game. But it was there.

Lena stood up, walking slowly through the apartment, each step of her boots clicking against the polished floor. She paused in front of the long mirror near her bedroom door. Her reflection stared back at her: tall, elegant, powerful.

She looked like she belonged in Abyss. That thought both thrilled and frightened her. Because belonging in Abyss meant something. It meant forfeits. It meant stakes. It meant being remembered. She touched her fingers to the mirror, the cool surface anchoring her. She had entered Abyss as an observer. But now, she was a player. Perhaps a rising one. And there was no way to un-sign the contract she had written her name on.

The club would not forget her name.

And neither would Evelyn.

But despite the risk, despite the whisper of dread curling in her stomach, Lena could not deny one truth: She still wanted more.

Dance of Deception

Lena and Mina stood outside Abyss once more, the cold night air prickling their skin. It had been weeks since Lena’s duel with Evelyn, and the memory of her victory still lingered. Evelyn had been led away to the basement for her eight-hour ordeal, and rumors of her humiliation spread quickly. For a long time in Abyss’ dark history, the queen had fallen.

Lena had expected the club to maybe shut down or at least change its painful dancing program, but to her surprise, it remained as lively and dark as ever. Tonight, she and Mina had come to celebrate what they thought was the end of Evelyn’s reign.

"I can’t believe we’re actually doing this," Mina said, her voice tinged with excitement and a hint of nerves. "Celebrating Evelyn’s downfall in the very place she ruled. Tickling the dragon’s tail."

Lena gave a wry smile. "She deserved it. After everything she put us through, it’s time we enjoyed a night on our terms."

The steel doors opened, and they stepped inside, clad in latex mini dresses. The club was as they remembered - dark, pulsating with music, the crowd moving like a living entity. But there was something different, an undercurrent of anticipation that set Lena’s nerves on edge.

As they made their way through the crowd, they noticed whispers and glances directed their way. Lena felt the weight of those stares, a mixture of admiration and curiosity. They reached the edge of the stage, expecting it to be empty, but to their surprise, someone was already there. A tall, striking figure in a rubber dress stood in Evelyn’s usual place, her back turned to the crowd. When she turned, Lena’s heart skipped a beat. It was Evelyn, but she looked different. Gone was the arrogance and cold dominance - replaced by a calm, almost serene expression.

"Welcome back, kittens," Evelyn said, her voice soft but carrying the same edge. "I see you’ve come to celebrate."

Lena exchanged a glance with Mina, her unease growing. "We didn’t expect to see you here, Evelyn. After what happened…"

Evelyn’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. "Ah, yes. My little vacation in the basement. It was… enlightening."

Mina stepped forward, her voice bold. "We thought you were done. Why are you here?"

Evelyn chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth, her eyes gleaming with calculated malice. "You think a little pain would break me? No, my dears. I’m stronger than ever. But tonight isn’t about me. It’s about you." She stepped forward, commanding the attention of the crowd with a simple raise of her arms. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we honor the champions of Abyss, Lena and Mina!" The audience erupted into cheers, their excitement surging through the club like a tidal wave. Lena’s stomach twisted as the overwhelming energy of the crowd bore down on her. She could feel something was coming, and she didn’t like it.

Evelyn let the cheers build before raising her hand to silence them. She gestured to the attendants standing at the edge of the stage. They stepped forward, carrying a velvet case, and opened it with a dramatic flourish. Inside lay two pairs of dazzling, fully transparent high heels, their cruel design unmistakable. Too many rows of needle-filled nodules sparkled under the lights, glinting menacingly as the crowd gasped in awe. Evelyn smiled, savoring the growing tension. "These," she announced, her voice full of theatrical flair, "are the Glass Agony Heels. Tonight, Lena and Mina will duel each other!"

Lena recoiled, her eyes widening in disbelief. "No," she said sharply. "We’re not doing this." She glanced at Mina, expecting her to protest as well, but instead found her friend frozen.

Evelyn’s smile turned wicked, her voice softening but losing none of its edge. "Oh, but you will. You see, Mina, you came here tonight with secrets. You danced on my stage once before, without Lena knowing. And Lena, you’ve been so quick to step into my games, so eager to protect Mina and seek revenge on her behalf. But tell me, did you ever stop to ask her what she wanted? Did she agree that you act as if you were her chaperone? Did you ever consider her freewill, her right not to be protected by you? Did you ever wonder if she resents your constant need to fight her battles for her?"

The crowd murmured, the seeds of doubt taking root in the tension between the two friends. Evelyn seized the moment, her voice rising again. "This is your chance to settle it, once and for all. Don’t allow this conflict to fester. Show each other your true strength. Show the audience what champions are made of." Her gaze turned icy as she delivered the final blow. "Or refuse to duel, and I offer that you just dance side by side, together, instead of against each other. If one of you doesn’t last the song, both of you will face eight hours in the Needle Frames, together. That’s the alternative, my dears. Eight hours. Together. Think about it. Or walk away from an Abyss challenge."

Lena’s mind raced. She wanted to walk away, to refuse this twisted game, but Evelyn had expertly trapped them. Refusing wasn’t just about the physical pain of the Needle Frames; it would be public humiliation, she would face and respect in the club. The crowd was watching, their cheers now tinged with anticipation. If they walked away, they would look like cowards. But that was not it, there was another feeling, another reason she couldn’t just walk out of this. She couldn’t put her finger on it, yet. And the thought of being strapped into the Needle Frames, side by side with Mina, enduring untold agony together for eight long hours, was unbearable. The stakes were impossibly high.

Lena grabbed Mina’s arm, her voice urgent but trembling. "Mina, we can’t let her win. We walk away, she does not get what she wants. The crowd, the humiliation, everything, I don’t care. And the Frames… we won’t make it. Not together."

Lena looked into Mina’s eyes, searching for clarity, but all she found was fear and determination. She felt the weight of the crowd pressing down on them, their chants of "Dance! Dance!" growing louder. Evelyn stood nearby, radiating smug satisfaction as she watched the trap close around them. They couldn’t just leave. Not now. Not in front of everyone.

Lena spoke out aloud. "We choose to walk away from dueling or dancing."

Mina hesitated, freeing her arm from Lena’s grip. "Why do you think this is your decision? You don’t speak for both of us!"

"Mina, do you want to duel?"

Mina looked at her, with a strange look in her eyes, "I don’t want to duel. But even less I want you to take my decisions for me."

"I didn’t mean it like that. I want to protect you…" Lena started but Mina interrupted her mid-sentence, louder than she wanted to. "I didn’t ask you to. It is my decision to reject the duel as much as it is yours. But you cannot always speak on my behalf."

Evelyn’s voice added drama, cutting into the argument like a blade. "What will it be, ladies? Will you rise to the occasion, show us your strength, and settle your differences here and now? You are both quite new in Abyss. Lena, isn’t duels and challenges what drew you in in the first place? Mina, aren’t you always looking to prove how tough you are? Or will you turn tail and flee as cowards, leaving your dignity behind, or would you prefer playing strong and facing a joint fate in the basement?

Lena was insistent. "We walk."

Evelyn played her card at the perfect moment. "Did you know that Mina signed her own contract?"

Lena gasped. "You did what? Why didn’t you ask me?"

"Because I don’t have to ask you! I will not walk away from this! You are not my babysitter!" She paused, then silent as a whisper added, "Maybe I should dance against you."

"What?" Lena gasped, as her heart sank as the reality of their situation set in. "Don't do that. We won’t dance against each other."

Something in Mina snapped. She shouted, loud and uncontrolled this time. Raw in emotion. "You don’t get to decide for me!"

Mina would not back down and was willing to dance against her. Just to prove her point, to counter a decision she was excluded from making. There was no way out, no path that wouldn’t lead to pain. Lena clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she turned to face Evelyn.

"Then we’ll dance," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, their cheers deafening as Evelyn’s smile grew sharp and triumphant. The game was set, the trap fully sprung. Lena and Mina had no choice but to play, and Evelyn, as always, held all the cards.

The crowd roared as the silent latex-clad attendants approached, slipping the Glass Agony Heels onto Lena and Mina’s feet. The transparent design made every needle underneath the insole and heel visible, their sharp points a constant reminder of the stakes.

The music started, a slow, haunting melody that gradually built in intensity. Lena and Mina faced each other, their movements cautious at first. Every misstep sent a jolt of pain through their feet, the needles pushed upwards, biting into both their unprotected soles.

The crowd watched in rapt silence, their eyes fixed on the visible torture. The transparent heels revealed everything - each flinch, each moment of hesitation, each needle pressing against the delicate underside of their feet.

As the tempo increased, so did the challenge. Mina moved with grace, her body flowing with the music, but Lena could see the strain in her eyes. She felt it too - the expected pain, the pressure to keep moving.

The music quickened, the beat becoming more erratic and unforgiving. Both women struggled to maintain their rhythm, their movements becoming more desperate. The needles responded to every misstep, sending sharp, searing pain through their feet. The music reached its peak, a relentless, pounding rhythm that demanded everything they had. Lena’s vision blurred with tears, her body screaming in protest. She could see Mina faltering, her steps becoming erratic, the needles punishing her with brutal precision.

Lena pushed through the pain, focusing on the beat, her movements precise and controlled. The crowd’s cheers and gasps blurred into a cacophony, her world reduced to the music and the agony of the heels.

Finally, Mina stumbled, a sharp cry escaping her lips as the needles sprang hard into her soles. She collapsed to her knees, taking her weight of her feet. The transparent shoes revealed the needles now fully extending into the soft skin of her soles, to punish this act of rebellion which brought another scream from her mouth. Gasping for breath, unable to continue, she lay on the stage, her fingers frantically trying to remove the locked devilish shoes. The music stopped, and Lena stood victorious, all needles retracted fully in both pairs, her legs trembling, her feet on fire.

The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers deafening. Evelyn approached, her smile one of cold satisfaction.

"Well done, Lena," she said, her voice dripping with mock admiration. "You’ve won again. But your friend… the needles in her heels are by far not the only ones she will feel tonight. Take her away."

Mina was lifted by the attendants, her body limp from exhaustion and pain. Evelyn turned to the crowd. "As promised, the loser will face the basement. Eight hours in the Needle Frame!"

Mina’s eyes met Lena’s, filled with fear and resignation. She didn’t speak, only looked for something to hold onto.

"Mina, I’m sorry," Lena whispered, her voice cracking with guilt.

Evelyn’s smile widened. "Don’t worry, Lena. You’ll have plenty of time to reflect. I’ll see you again… soon."

As Lena watched Mina being taken away, the weight of her victory crushed her. She had won, but at what cost? The mental image of Mina suspended in the Needle Frame, enduring eight hours of torture, haunted her.

Lena limped out of the club, the steel doors closing behind her. Their celebration had turned into a nightmare, and she knew Evelyn’s revenge was far from over. Abyss had claimed another victim, and the darkness within it continued to grow. She had won two dance duels in a row, the second one leaving a very bitter taste. Two women she had now sent into the needle frame, without knowing what that exactly entails. She dreaded to learn the details from her friend.

Lena vowed to return, not for the thrill, but to confront Evelyn once more. To challenge her to not lay her hands on Mina. The dance wasn’t over - it had only just begun.

Later that night, Evelyn sat in her private chambers. The seed of conflict and resolution had been planted. A new feud. Lena was drawn by the high stakes gambles, even if only as an observer, not a player. That changed, she would play, and Evelyn would escalate it. As she read Lena, Lena would come back to complain about Mina’s ordeal. She would move both women like pawns on her private chessboard, and when the time came, she’d drain them both. Languishing them, taking their sexual energy, giving her sustenance. Pain would be good, chastity and languishing in sexual denial would be better. To extinguish Lena’s orgasms and to put her desires under a lock and out of reach. Evelyn observed how often Lena had wandered by the plagues in the lounge, how she had stared at Alina’s counter ticking down. She was into denial. But was she ready to be denied herself? It didn’t matter if she was ready, as Evelyn was ready. She’d not resist if the stakes were raised again, she was too fascinated by what could happen in Abyss.

She embraced the idea, ready to ignite an inextinguishable flame between Lena’s legs, to take away her orgasms. And Mina’s would be a collateral. Played carefully, she’d have two kittens in unquenchable heat to drain.

Framed

Darkness enveloped the basement of Abyss, a space far removed from the pulsating energy of the club above. The air was thick, hot and humid. In the center of the room, the grotesque metal frame hung suspended, its cold, gleaming structure casting eerie shadows against the walls.

Mina hung in the Needle Frame, stripped naked and shimmering in a sheen of oil, her body stretched and immobilized by metal clamps around her waist, wrists and ankles in to an X, face down. Her weight was supported just enough to keep her from collapsing, leaving her suspended in the air like a puppet. Above and below her, racks of needles gleamed in the dim light, their sharp points poised mere millimeters from her skin.

The attendants had provoked a cry of pain from Mina. Two cries actually, as they pierced her nipples and slipped a barbell piercing through which could stay in until it was healed. This gift awaited everyone who had the honor of visiting the Needle Frame for their first time.

The ordeal had begun with a jolt, the frame adjusting her position with mechanical precision. The first wave of needles pressed into her back and legs, sharp enough to send spikes of pain through her body but careful not to break the skin. She moved her body downwards, away from these needles from above, only to be met by the needles below her. Each movement she made, no matter how small, triggered another set of needles to press against her flesh, an unrelenting reminder of her captivity.

Mina clenched her teeth, trying to steady her breathing. The pain was excruciating, a searing fire that spread through her body with each slight shift. The needles pressed against her arms, her torso, her legs - even her neck - making it impossible to find any relief. Time lost meaning, the hours blending into a haze of agony and exhaustion. At least her feet were free from the needles in her horizontal suspension.

The frame was designed to keep her awake, her body constantly on edge, unable to relax or succumb to unconsciousness. Each time her muscles sagged or her head drooped, the needles would press deeper, forcing her back into painful alertness. The clever mechanisms jabbing her but just without actually piercing her skin.

Her mind drifted to Lena, to the duel they had fought. To their fight before the duel. She didn’t blame her friend - she had chosen to return, knowing the risks, even signed the contract. But the reality of the punishment was far worse than she had imagined. The frame was a cruel, merciless device, designed to strip away dignity and replace it with pure, unrelenting pain.

In the solitude of the basement, Mina’s thoughts spiraled. Memories of their nights at Abyss played through her mind, each one tinged with the darkness that now consumed her. The club had seduced her with its promises of thrill and challenge, but it had taken far more than she was willing to give.

As the hours dragged on, Mina’s body screamed for release. Her muscles ached, her skin burned from the constant pressure of the needles. Tears streamed down her face, her sobs muffled by the thick air of the basement. She felt as though she was being slowly dismantled, each piece of her soul chipped away by the endless torment.

At some point - though she couldn’t tell when - her mind began to fracture. The pain became a constant companion, a rhythm that beat in time with her heart. She no longer tried to fight it, instead surrendering to the dark embrace of the frame and surrendering her body fully to the needles and their pain. She went limp, sagging into the needles below her, she no longer tried to avoid them, accepting their painful kisses. It was in this surrender that she found a twisted kind of peace, a quiet acceptance of her fate.

When the eight hours finally ended, the frame released her with a mechanical hiss, the needles retracting back into their racks. Mina’s body sagged, her limbs too weak to support her as she crumpled to the stone floor. The attendants lifted her carefully, her body limp and trembling.

They dressed her in her latex dress and as they carried her back to the surface, Mina’s mind remained foggy, the world around her a blur. The vibrant, pulsating music of Abyss greeted her ears, a stark contrast to the silence of the basement. The crowd cheered as she was brought out, their applause a cruel mockery of her suffering.

Evelyn stood at the edge of the stage, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Welcome back, Mina," she said softly, her voice laced with cold triumph. "You’ve survived the Needle Frame. Few can say the same."

Mina didn’t respond. Her eyes were distant, her spirit battered but not broken. She had endured the worst Abyss had to offer, and though the scars of the experience would linger, she had survived.

As the attendants guided her out of the club as the sun was just rising above the horizon, the cold morning air hit her like a balm. Lena was waiting for her in the almost empty lounge. Mina took a deep, shuddering breath, the pain still etched into every fiber of her being. Mina’s eyes narrowed as she limped away, the distant hum of the club fading behind her. There was a storm brewing within her, a quiet, burning resolve. Abyss had pushed her to the edge, but it had also awakened something stronger, something darker that wouldn’t rest until Evelyn and the club’s dark grip were broken for good.

---

The rain had stopped by the time Mina arrived at the little corner café. The place was quiet, half-empty, with the warm scent of coffee and baked goods mingling in the air. A small table in the back had already been claimed. Lena was there, seated with her back to the wall, a nervous look flickering in her eyes as she glanced at the door.

Mina approached quietly. Her gait was still careful, slightly favoring one foot. The Needle Frame left no visible scars, of course, but the memory was written into her movements, into the tension in her shoulders.

Lena stood halfway up, then stopped herself, unsure. Mina sat down across from her. Neither spoke for a few moments. The sound of clinking cups and soft music filled the silence between them.

"Thanks for coming," Lena finally said, her voice low and tentative.

Mina nodded, her expression unreadable. "We needed to talk."

Lena looked down into her coffee, then up at Mina again. "I… I don’t even know where to begin. I’m sorry. For everything. For not stopping you, for not protecting you, for winning that damn duel."

Mina tilted her head slightly. "You think you should have protected me? Again?"

Lena winced. "That’s not what I meant. I mean… back when Evelyn made you dance in those shoes. The needle ones. Before you ever signed your contract. I should have said something. I should have stopped her."

Mina sighed softly. "But you didn’t. Because you didn’t see me yet. Not really."

"I wanted to," Lena said quickly. "I just didn’t know how."

"You looked at me like I was someone fragile. Still the girl you used to hook up with in college. Still someone who needed rescuing. But I’m not that girl anymore. I made my own choice. I joined Abyss. And yes, I dragged you into that duel. I said yes to Evelyn, knowing what it might cost."

Lena shook her head, pain flickering across her face. "But you lost. You ended up in that frame for eight hours. And I was the one who beat you. I stood there… and I didn’t even know what that meant. Not really. I didn’t know what the Needle Frame was. Evelyn never explained. I only knew it was pure pain, a pain theater."

Mina gave a small, humorless laugh. "It’s not theater. It’s pain science. Eight hours of constant, calculated agony. You're suspended horizontally between them, unable to rest. Needles above and below you, thousands, everywhere, just brushing the skin. Move too much, and they push deeper. Sag, and they punish you. Stay still, and they ache. There’s no escape from it. It strips away everything from you, down to your core."

Lena stared at her, stricken. "I had no idea. I - "

"And the piercings," Mina added quietly, looking away for the first time. "They put bars through my nipples. A welcome gift for first-timers, apparently. No anesthesia. Just pain. Permanent now."

Lena covered her mouth with her hand. "Mina, I - God. I didn’t know. I didn’t want you to go through that."

"But I did. Because I chose it. That’s what you need to understand."

"Because you couldn’t stop. That’s how Abyss works. Evelyn knew exactly how to corner us. She sensed our … conflict. And I didn’t back out either. I could have refused, walked away alone. I didn’t. I wanted to prove something to you - and maybe to myself."

Lena's voice dropped, raw. "And I let you suffer. I saw you collapse. I heard you scream. And I had to finish the last dance steps. That’s going to haunt me, Mina."

Mina's eyes softened. "You think it doesn’t haunt me too? But it was my decision, Lena. I said yes to that dance. I pushed for it because I was tired of you speaking for me. Tired of being the one who always had to be saved, especially by someone who couldn’t even tell me what she felt."

Lena flinched. "You think I didn’t want to? I was terrified. You meant something to me. You mean something to me. That duel broke something open, but it wasn’t the first time I wanted to tell you. It goes all the way back to college. We experimented, and then we drifted apart again, and I always thought maybe you moved on."

Mina looked at her, long and steady. "I didn’t. I just moved forward. And I waited. But you only ever showed up when you could play hero. Not as someone who saw me as an equal. Not as someone who was brave enough to say, 'I care about you, and I want more than this game we’re playing.'"

"I was scared," Lena admitted. "Of what it would mean. Of losing you. Of stepping over a line and finding out it was only me who felt this."

Mina reached for her coffee, then paused. "That’s just it, isn’t it? You never asked. You assumed. You assumed I needed saving. You assumed I was still yours to look after. And when I started making decisions that didn’t involve you - Abyss, the contract, Evelyn - you panicked."

Lena nodded slowly. "Yeah. I did. And when I saw your face as they took you to the basement… God, Mina. I didn’t sleep for two days. You looked so scared. Your eyes - wide open, searching for something, anything - and I just stood there. I didn’t even know what the Needle Frame was. Evelyn never explained it, and I didn’t ask. I just… watched you disappear behind those doors. I kept thinking, 'What did I let her walk into?'"

"No," Mina said, more firmly now. "I went through that because I chose it. It wasn’t about proving something to Evelyn. It was about showing you that I can endure, that I can decide. And yes, it hurt. Very badly. It broke a part in me. I’m scared to go back there again in the future. But it also brought us here, didn’t it?"

Lena leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. "You’re stronger than I gave you credit for. I should have seen that a long time ago."

"I didn’t want to be strong on my own," Mina said quietly. "I wanted to be strong with you. But that meant you had to see me. Really see me. Not as someone to shield, but as someone to stand beside."

Lena reached across the table, tentative, her fingers brushing Mina’s. "I do now."

Mina met her touch. "Then we have a chance. But only if we stop fighting battles that aren't ours to fight. Only if we listen."

"I want that," Lena whispered. "I want you. Not as someone I have to protect. As someone I want to stand next to. Someone I can finally say the truth to."

"Then say it," Mina said.

Lena swallowed, eyes locked on hers. "I care about you. More than I ever let myself admit. And I miss what we had - back then, when things were simpler, when we still touched without asking why. I’m sorry I never told you that. I think I buried it because I didn’t know how to carry it."

Mina's lips trembled, then curled into a faint smile. "I missed your mouth."

Lena laughed, breathless, tears in her eyes. "Then come get it."

The kiss that followed was slow and aching, years of longing packed into a single moment. It wasn’t perfect - it was raw, bittersweet, healing. Their hands held firm, fingers intertwined.

Outside, the rain had started again, a soft, rhythmic tapping on the windows. The world moved on, indifferent. But at that small table, two hearts, once splintered, began to beat in time again.

Candle light

The pulse of the music thrummed through the floor of Club Abyss, the beat deep and slow like a steady, hungry heart. It was a Friday night and the air shimmered with heat and latex polish, every movement from the patrons radiating intensity. Lena and Mina stood near the bar, their forms clad in glistening black catsuits, the tight latex hugging every curve. They returned, of course they did. They were part of Abyss now. Their eyes gleaming with excitement as they watched the crowd, the stage, and Evelyn herself, moving like a dark queen through the sea of rubber and desire. The air buzzed with pulsing basslines and flickers of strobe light, casting silhouettes of masked dancers across the lacquered floor. Lena and Mina, draped in their latex catsuits, leaned against the bar sipping chilled cocktails, their breath still catching at the edges of the thrill that came with being recognized as full members. Patrons nodded knowingly to them, greeted them. They belonged.

They laughed together, the sound low and conspiratorial, before their attention was drawn to a pair of women arguing a few stools down the bar. The tension between them was palpable - Eastern European accents flared sharp across their biting words.

"I told you it was over when you broke the vow," spat the taller one, a statuesque brunette in shimmering dark purple latex. Her name was Ramona, sharp-jawed and rigid with fury.

"And I told you, it wasn’t a vow if you kept flirting with everyone at the gym!" snapped Daria, shorter, more sinewy, her blonde hair drawn tight into a high braid that glistened under the red lights. Her ruby suit clung to her with defiant elegance.

A crowd was beginning to form. Evelyn, ever attuned to the scent of potential spectacle, drifted toward the pair like a dark queen descending from her court. Her presence alone shifted the energy, and the arguing women grew quiet.

"Ladies," Evelyn purred, hands clasped before her. "Is this dispute one of passion, or one of endurance?"

Elena snapped first. "Endurance."

Daria, her lip curling, didn’t flinch. "Balance. Let her prove she can hold herself upright for once."

Evelyn asked. "And the forfeit?"

Elena responded first. "You decide. But it can’t exceed this evening. But make it a hot one."

Evelyn’s smile widened. "Then I propose this: An Endurance Balance Duel. One meter above the stage. Locked heels. If one of you falters…" she paused, letting the silence build, "you will receive a punishment suited to the heat of your tempers that will be indeed very hot."

"And what would that be?" Ramona asked, but Daria already looked intrigued.

"A foot candle display," Evelyn said casually. "An old classic. One hour strapped to the bench, feet bare, oiled, and a tray of open candles dancing just beneath your tender soles. The loser will face heat that matches her pride."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Lena felt Mina shift beside her. Lena grinned wickedly. "This club is a fever dream."

Mina looked into her eyes. "Even after our duel? We're practically veterans."

"You mean even after you spent the night in the needle frame?"

Mina rolled her eyes. "Of course. That was my own decision. I don’t want to go back into the frame, but I do want to go to Abyss."

"Do you both agree to these terms?" Evelyn asked, gaze shifting between the two women. With both contestants agreeing - perhaps too quickly for their own good - the stage was set. The heels were brought forth, elegant and deadly, bolted to twin podiums elevated just above the main stage. The women were helped into position, their feet locked down, a safety harnesses clipped on so they wouldn’t hurt themselves should they fall, the cruel challenge begun.

The rules were simple: remain upright, maintain posture, endure. The first to drop would face the bench and the flames.

For the first half-hour, both women held their own, although tremors already ran through their thighs and calves. Sweat pooled inside their latex outfits. Daria shifted her weight more than Ramona, her toes flexing with agitation.

But in the forty-third minute, Daria faltered. Her heel gave, her body pitched, and the harness caught her before she could tumble. The lights flared. Evelyn’s voice rang out, triumphant.

"We have a winner. And we have… soles waiting for a romantic candlelight event to begin."

The bench was brought center-stage. It looked deceptively simple - flat, padded in black, a tray of shallow candles flickering beneath the platform edge. Daria was strapped down by the wrists, her back to the bench, her feet dangling just inches above the rising flame. Her big toes were quickly tied together, robbing her of the option to spread her feet and let the rising heat escape between them.

Elena looked on with smug satisfaction. Mina gripped Lena’s arm as they stood stage-side, their eyes riveted.

At first, Daria remained stoic. The heat licked her soles like warm breath, and the oil on her skin shimmered in the stage light. But as the minutes passed, so too did the illusion of endurance. The heat intensified.

Her toes curled. Her ankles strained against the leather cuffs. Ten minutes in, sweat was pouring from her temples, her mouth tightening with every new lick of fire beneath her.

By the twentieth minute, Daria’s composure was visibly unraveling. Her knees jerked slightly in her bondage as her soles twitched and spasmed above the candlelight. The oil on her skin was beginning to glisten from more with added sweat - it was a conduit now, amplifying the heat.

At the half-hour mark, her breath came in high, audible gasps. "Ahh - nnh - fuck!" she hissed, her feet flexing, toes clawing at air, trying to escape the rising burn.

Evelyn approached calmly, her presence chilling in contrast to the heat below. "How does it feel, Daria?"

"Hot - please, it’s - it’s too much!" Daria gasped, squirming on the bench.

The crowd murmured in fascination, some leaning forward, some biting their lips. Mina’s nails dug into Lena’s arm. "This is insane. It’s beautiful."

By the forty-minute mark, Daria was wailing in ragged bursts, each cry more desperate than the last. Her legs strained against the cuffs, her feet arching away from the flame only to sink back down from exhaustion. The air around the candles shimmered, visible waves of heat distorting the view.

On the darkened stage, Daria’s reddened bare oily soles were illuminated by the dancing flames beneath. Not touching, not burning, but sending their heat upwards, kissing the tender underside of her feet. A fascinating display, Evelyn observing the dancing toes and waving soles mesmerized as if getting lost in the display of a lava lamp.

"Please! Please take them away! It burns - it hurts!" she sobbed.

"No safe word here, darling," Evelyn said, almost kindly. "You agreed. One hour."

Mina looked at Lena. "No backing out of an agreed upon forfeit." Lena nodded slowly.

As time dragged toward midnight, Daria’s resistance gave way to raw vocal agony. Her screams grew shrill, her back arched, sweat streaming from every pore in her latex suit.

And through it all, the flames danced, just out of reach - but never far enough. When she was released, Evelyn caressed her oily soles with a vampire-like smile. No blisters nor burn marks were to be seen. Abyss thrived on pain but not on injury.

Lena watched with fascination and unease as Daria lay strapped to the candle bench, her feet hovering just inches above the flickering flames. The soles of her feet were slick with oil, glistening in the amber light. The air smelled faintly of wax and tension. Daria's breathing was steady for now, interrupted by occasional small cries when she tried to jerk her feet away. Lena could see the tremble in her thighs, the way her toes clenched each time the heat licked upward.

"It’s hard to watch," Lena murmured.

Mina stood beside her, arms crossed, eyes focused but unreadable. "It’s supposed to be. That’s the point. Not just pain. Ritual. A decision between Ramona and Daria."

Lena nodded slowly. "You said something like that back then. When you talked about the frame. About it stripping everything away."

Mina didn’t look at her, but her voice softened. "Because it does. You don’t leave those kinds of ordeals the same. Daria won’t, either."

They stood in silence for a while, watching as Daria tensed, biting back a groan. Her soles hovered desperately, her arches trembling with restraint.

Then Mina leaned in, her voice low but tinged with dry humor. "Maybe next time you start an argument with me, maybe I’ll suggest the candle bench for a duel. Imagine what a second hour on it would feel."

Lena gave her a sidelong glance. "You’re joking now? After everything?"

Mina smiled faintly. "A little. But I meant it, too. This kind of ordeal… it’s intense, but nowhere near the needle frame. I could live with it. Could you?"

Lena exhaled, the candlelight casting soft shadows across her face. "I still see your eyes. That night. When they took you to the basement. I didn’t know what the Needle Frame meant, but I saw the fear. I still carry that."

"So do I," Mina replied. "But not as blame. It happened. And it brought us here."

Lena looked at her. "I missed this. Being beside you, feeling like we’re… not at war with each other."

Mina finally turned to her, expression softer. "We are not. Let’s just be here. Together."

She took Lena’s hand. On the stage in from of them, Daria whimpered as the candles flared slightly higher, her body reacting with tiny, involuntary jerks, accompanied by another scream. The scent of hot wax thickened.

Lena shook her head slowly. "Abyss doesn’t stop."

"No," Mina said. "But neither do we."

They stood shoulder to shoulder, their hands touching, fingers intertwined, close enough that they could feel the warmth of each other. The candles kept burning. So did they.

---

Lena had turned the lights down low in her apartment, the kind of dimness that swaddled guilt and unwanted thoughts in a gentle haze. Outside her window, the skyline burned with neon and a thousand lies. The world beyond the glass was alive with oblivious motion, but inside, everything was still. Still and sharp. The couch beneath her barely creaked as she shifted her weight for the third time in as many minutes. She had not left it for hours. The tea she had made had gone cold. The steam, like her resolve, had long since dissipated. Mina’s voice kept returning to her. Not the soft ones from their shared nights, or the clever barbs she was so quick to throw when flirting. No. It was that joking tone, barely masking real pain.

She kept hearing Mina’s voice. Not in anger, not in pain. But from that last moment at Abyss, watching Daria on the candle bench together.

"Maybe next time you start an argument with me, maybe I’ll suggest the candle bench for a duel."

Lena had dismissed it as a joke. But she knew, Mina was at least half serious about it. Lena hadn’t laughed. Not quite.

The duel still haunted her. Not in the same way. Not as a wound. More like an old scar she’d finally come to trace without flinching.

Evelyn had staged it like a performance, wrapped in elegance and menace. But the choice? That had been theirs. Mina had made hers. And Lena… Lena had made hers too.

What lingered wasn’t just guilt anymore. It was the memory of Mina’s eyes as they led her toward the basement. Wide, searching. Not pleading. Just aware.

Back then, Lena hadn't known what the Needle Frame truly was. She hadn’t asked. She’d only imagined it, feared it abstractly. That mystery had made it worse. Made her fill in the blanks with nightmares. And Mina’s silence afterward had only deepened that fear - until they finally talked. Until Mina told her the truth. Not just about the pain, but about the choice behind it.

Lena let her head fall back against the couch. She had been trying to protect Mina without asking if Mina even wanted that. She had wrapped her care in control. That wasn’t fair to either of them.

Now? Things were different. Mina had made it clear: she wanted a partner, not a guardian. And Lena - she wanted to stand beside her. Share the risks. Share the burn.

What Evelyn had seen between them hadn’t been weakness. It had been potential. Emotional leverage, yes - but also something powerful. Something real.

Lena smiled faintly. She remembered the spike-lined dress, the Languished Arches, and the humiliation that followed each loss. Evelyn had always orchestrated suffering like a composer. But Lena wasn’t afraid of that anymore.

Evelyn.

Evelyn had smiled the whole time.

The decision came as a tremor. Then a quake. She would return to Abyss. She had to speak to Evelyn. Not to plead. Not even to accuse. But to challenge. Not with rage in her chest or guilt in her gut, but with clarity. Not to demand answers, but to confront Evelyn on equal footing. She didn’t want vengeance, she wanted justice.

Evelyn.

Evelyn had no right to play on their emotions, even if now Mina was much closer to her than ever before. She could not let Evelyn’s manipulation slide, setting them up to duel against each other for the needle frame.

She knew what that meant. Knew what would happen. But the festering guilt would not recede until something changed. This could ruin everything. Evelyn was not an enemy to provoke lightly. She ruled Abyss with elegance and cruelty, with mystery and mirth. She never gave anything away. Not unless it could be used to draw out something deeper in return.

She wanted truth.

And if that truth came with new challenges, new trials, even pain - so be it. This time, she wouldn’t be manipulated into guilt or silence. She would step onto the stage of Abyss with open eyes.

Not for Mina. Not even just for herself.

But for them. Whatever they were becoming.

Together.

Ultimate Dance Duel

The dark allure of Abyss was a siren call Lena could no longer ignore. Mina’s time in the Needle Frame had left her emotionally charged, and Lena’s guilt had festered into annoyance. Evelyn had tricked them both, and now Lena was back - not for the thrill, but for answers.

The steel doors of Abyss loomed before her, cold and unyielding. This time, Lena didn’t feel the usual trepidation. She felt only resolve. Pushing the doors open, she stepped into the club, the pulsing beat of the music echoing through her veins. The crowd was alive, dancing to the relentless rhythm, but Lena’s focus was solely on the stage where Evelyn waited.

Evelyn spotted her immediately, a wicked smile curling her crimson lips. She didn’t expect to get an opportunity at taking on Lena so soon again. "Back so soon, Lena?" she called over the music. "Have you come to test your luck again?"

Lena made her way through the crowd, her eyes burning with fury. "I’m here for one thing. You tricked us into dueling each other!"

Evelyn chuckled, the sound low and menacing. "So, you seek revenge on me, is it? How delightful. But does Mina want you to act for her? What if Mina actually desires revenge on you? After all, you sent her into the Needle Frame. But you know how things work here. If you want a chance at me, you’ll have to play by the rules and risk the needles yourselves."

"Yes, I take my chance at you! I already know I can beat you. Let us dance for the candle-lit bench." Lena smirked.

"Very well then, rubber kitten. I love your fire. You are one of my most intriguing new members. But for this impudence I shall destroy you in pain. You will pay dearly for not letting this go. The challenger is challenging but the challenged one choses the forfeit. Unless it is a demanded rematch."

Evelyn raised a hand, and the music softened, the crowd’s attention turning to the unfolding spectacle. "Tonight," Evelyn began, her voice smooth and commanding, "Tonight, I am challenged by the rebellious rubber kitten Lena, because she is angry that she came out victorious of her previous dance duel. Apparently she did not like winning that duel, so she keeps tempting fate. Maybe she secretly wants to lose? As she already won her previous duel against me, and she has no right to challenge me again. I could indeed refuse her advances. But I won’t, in fact I am delighted to take up the chance to have a little revenge on her myself. She shall have her duel, but just for her, we raise the stakes higher than ever before. We prepare the stage and a dance of languished soles shall commence "

The music swelled up again, and the crowd danced. Lena stood, somewhat lost on one side of the stage, but after just a few minutes, the music ebbed away. Evelyn was back on stage and with a wave, attendants brought out a large, ornate wheel divided into five sections, each labeled with the name of a different pair of heels. In front of the wheel stood five pedestal-mounted displays, each holding a unique pair of heels, their cruel designs glinting under the dim club lights.

"These," Evelyn said with a flourish, "are the finest creations Abyss has to offer for a dance of languish and attrition. Each pair designed to test the limits of pain and endurance."

She gestured to the first pair, their transparent design eerily familiar. "The Glass Agony Heels - sharp needles waiting in the nodules visible for all to see, jabbing upwards with every misstep."

The second pair was sleek and black, their insoles lined with clusters of tiny, cruel spikes instead of needles. "The Thorned Embrace - a relentless assault on your soles, non-retractable permanent spikes, pricking with every step."

Next was a pair of shimmering silver heels, their surfaces adorned with small metallic studs. "The Blistering Blades - each step rubs and grates, turning even the smoothest movements into agony."

The fourth pair gleamed with an otherworldly glow, their soles embedded with fine, hair-like, very short, but permanently extended needles. "The Venomous Stilettos - designed to feel like thousands of pinpricks, each step a symphony of unavoidable pain. Only the strongest can endure even a minute in them."

Finally, Evelyn motioned to the last transparent pair, their insoles covered in narrow, stiff and hard spikes. "The Infernal Spires - a pair of mules designed to pierce just deep enough to press against every nerve without breaking the skin, a true test of constant pain endurance. They are permanently extended, no sensors here. You would need to embrace the pain to even take a single step."

The crowd murmured with a mix of awe and horror as Evelyn turned to Lena. "One of these will decide our fate tonight," she said, her voice dripping with delight. "The wheel will choose, and we’ll dance. But this time, the loser faces a fate far worse than before."

Evelyn stepped closer, her smile widening. "The loser will endure the Needle Frame once more, but with an added twist."

She described it in detail, savoring every word. "Special needle pads will be placed on the soles and toes, pressing into every inch, even sliding beneath the toenails - just enough to cause exquisite pain without drawing blood. Also, this time we grant the loser even a real piercing! Free of extra charge. Right through the clitoris."

Lena gulped. Maybe it was a bad idea to challenge Evelyn again. Refuse and walk, said a tiny voice in her mind. The audience held their breath in a second of silence before erupting into applause.

Run, said the voice in her mind, now louder.

"Now, dear rubber kitten. Do you act or only talk? Walk away in shame, or accept the stakes? So far you had indulged in observing other people’s high stakes, getting off on seeing the games. Sending your dearest friend in to the Needle Frame. So we think it is appropriate to raise your stakes as well."

Everything in Lena screamed to run. Reject the challenge. She could still refuse within the terms of her membership contract. Lena’s fists clenched at her sides, but she didn’t bolt. "Spin the wheel," she said coldly, suppressing the fear and an underlying tingle of something else.

Evelyn’s eyes sparkled with malice as she motioned to an attendant. The wheel spun, the sections blurring together as the crowd held their breath. Slowly, it began to slow, clicking past each name until it finally stopped.

The Infernal Spires.

Evelyn’s smile turned vicious. "How fitting."

The attendants approached Lena and Evelyn, fitting the Infernal Spires onto their feet, securing the mules in place with lockable ankle straps which looped under the shoe’s sole. The moment Lena’s feet settled into the heels, she felt the narrow spikes pressing into her soles, sharp enough to send jolts of pain with even the slightest movement. Pain endurance.

Evelyn whispered into Lena’s ear as they made their way to the center of the stage, "I promised, I will destroy you for your impudence."

The music began, a slow, sinister rhythm that quickly built into a frenetic tempo. Lena and Evelyn moved in sync at first, their bodies flowing with the beat. Each step was a test of endurance, the spikes digging deeper with every step, not just missteps.

Lena gritted her teeth, focusing on the rhythm, determined to outlast Evelyn. The crowd watched in hushed anticipation, their eyes flicking between the two dancers. She felt the spikes pressing into her feet, the pain evident in every flinch and stumble.

Evelyn moved with practiced grace, her expression one of cool control despite the constant bite of the spikes. Lena fought to keep up, her legs burning, her feet screaming in agony. The spikes felt like they were drilling into her nerves, each step a new wave of torment.

As the music reached its crescendo, Lena felt her strength waning. Her vision blurred with tears, her steps faltering. Evelyn seized the moment, her movements flawless as she pushed through the final beats, her face a frozen mask.

Lena stumbled, the spikes biting just too hard into her feet. She gasped, collapsing onto her knees as the music stopped. The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and gasps, the realization of her defeat sinking in.

Evelyn stood victorious, her breath steady despite the pain. She approached Lena, her smile one of cruel satisfaction. "It seems you’ve lost, my dear."

Lena looked up, her body trembling. "You tricked us. You tricked Mina."

Evelyn knelt beside her, her voice a soft whisper. "And now, you’ll pay the price, my dear rubber kitten."

The attendants lifted Lena, guiding her towards the basement. The crowd parted, their cheers fading into a low murmur as Lena was led away. She felt the weight of her defeat, the looming nightmare of the Needle Frame and The Bane of Rest Boots pressing down on her. Tonight, she would be learning all about the needle frame by experience, having only heard from Mina how painful it could be.

In the dim, hot basement, Lena was secured in the nude in the Needle Frame. The new special needle pads were pressed against her soles and toes, the thin needles sliding just beneath the first two millimeters of her toenails. Lena let out ten individual screams, the pain sharp and unrelenting as each needle found its home. The sole’s part of the pads consisted of moving needles in wave-like patterns over her soles, from the underside of her suffering toes to her heel. They pushed deep and hard, stopping just before the point of actual punctures.

The attendant held one piercing needle in front of Lena’s pain distorted face. Only her mouth was visible under her black featureless hood, anonymous and beautiful. She gave Lena an evil smile as she vanished with the needle underneath the Needle Frame and Lena felt her spread her labia. Her clitoral hood was pushed back, a wet kiss sucked longingly on her exposed clitoris. It was a godly feeling. The tongue curled in impossible patterns, circles around her pearl. Long and thin, its tip curled around it. No human tongue would be able to move like this. Too long, too firm, too flexible. She rapidly approached her orgasm. The clitoris was slowly sucked into the mouth again, and just as Lena hit the edge, ready to crest, she was let go. Then the feeling abruptly changed. A long guttural scream echoed through the basement as the piercing needle found its home and then made its way fully through it, the needle’s tip re-emerging on the other side. The attendant carried on as she pierced her nipples as well and slipped a barbell piercing through which could stay in until it was healed. This unwanted gift was the tradition for everyone who had the honor of visiting the Needle Frame the first time.

For the next eight hours, Lena endured the full body needle torture in solitude, her mind and body pushed to their limits. Each time she thought she might pass out, the needles pressed deeper, keeping her awake, keeping her in agony.

When the ordeal finally ended, Lena was released from the frame, her body limp and trembling. Her legs barely supported her weight, and her breath came in shallow, shuddering gasps. The raw memory of the needle pads haunted every step, the sensation of those thin, merciless tips still alive under her skin. She made her way home slowly, wrapped in silence, cradling the wounds etched not just into her flesh but into her mind. The apartment was dim, quiet, a sanctuary of stillness. She collapsed onto the couch, curling inward, letting the pain settle into her bones as if to lick her wounds in private. The echoes of the frame lingered with every heartbeat. But even in her suffering, Lena’s resolve didn’t waver. She had lost this battle, but the war wasn’t over. Evelyn might have won this time, but Lena would return, stronger, ready to end Evelyn’s reign once and for all.

The next day, Mina arrived unannounced, having heard the rumors swirling about Abyss, about the duel. Her face was drawn with worry, eyes scanning Lena’s pale, worn expression. She set down her bag quietly, as if entering a hospital room. Nothing needed to be said at first. The silence spoke volumes.

Mina arrived shortly after, her expression a mix of concern and determination.

"Lena," Mina said softly, kneeling beside her. "It’s over. You did it."

Lena gave a weak smile, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Barely."

Mina sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You’re stronger than you think. Evelyn might have won this round, but we’re not done."

Lena nodded, the fire in her eyes rekindling. "No, we’re not. I want her to pay for this."

"You still want your revenge?"

"I want to repay her a hundredfold."

They spent the next few days recuperating, Lena gradually regaining her strength with Mina’s help. As the physical pain began to fade, their minds turned to plotting. They knew they couldn’t challenge Evelyn outright again - not yet. Mina thought, they shouldn’t challenge her at all. But Lena insisted, like a hurt animal, ready to pounce. She would plan, prepare, and ensure the next encounter would be on their terms. Mina could do little to make her abandon the idea.

"If you must, if you can’t let go, we need to outdance her. I will help you," Mina said one evening, her voice firm. "Not just in strength or endurance, but in skill. We have to beat her at her own game."

Lena nodded, the idea sparking something deep within her. "If we can’t outlast her in pain, we’ll outshine her on the dance floor."

They began training in secret, pushing their bodies to their limits. Every night, they practiced in Lena’s apartment, honing their movements, perfecting their rhythm. They studied Evelyn’s style, learning every nuance of her performances, and worked tirelessly to craft a routine that would surpass anything the club had ever seen.

Mina brought a sense of hope and energy that helped pull Lena from the shadows of her torment. Together, they found strength in their shared determination, each move bringing them closer to their goal.

"We’ll need more than just a great performance," Mina said one night, wiping sweat from her brow. "We need to find a way to tip the scales."

Lena’s eyes narrowed as she considered the options. "We know Evelyn thrives on control. If we can break that - disrupt her confidence - we’ll have the upper hand.

---

The plan took shape slowly, each detail meticulously considered. They would return to Abyss, but not as victims. This time, they would come as challengers with a carefully orchestrated routine designed to dazzle and dominate. But their strategy went beyond just dancing; they would manipulate the environment, subtly undermining Evelyn’s control.

Mina nodded, already considering who they could approach. "There are plenty who’ve suffered under her reign. If we can convince them, they’ll help us. Cheer us on from the dance floor, unsettling Evelyn."

As the days turned into weeks, Lena and Mina grew stronger, their confidence building with each practice session. The memory of Lena’s time in the Needle Frame and The Bane of Rest Boots became fuel for their resolve, a constant reminder of why they couldn’t fail.

They worked tirelessly, knowing that their next encounter with Evelyn would be their last chance to bring her down. The pain they had endured, the humiliation, and the suffering - it all culminated in this single goal: revenge.

One evening, as they sat together after another grueling practice, Lena turned to Mina, her expression serious. "Are you ready for this?"

"I’m not sure. I will stand with you, if you really pull through with it. But is revenge on Evelyn really worth it?"

"I want it. She had no right to do what she did. Needle heels for you, or ban you. Manipulate us into dueling each other."

Mina countered, "Technically, she had the right. I accepted my dance over needles. And the duel brought us closer. Very close indeed. I’m happy for that."

"You mean the outcome justify the means?"

"Kind of."

"No, I want her to pay. At least spend a night in the needle frame." Lena insisted.

"But you had her there once already. Does it really change anything? Do you really need to prove your point?"

Lena met her gaze, her eyes burning with determination. "More than ever."

Together, they had faced Abyss’s darkest challenges and survived. Now, they were ready to take control, to outdance and outlast Evelyn, and to reclaim their power.

The stage was set, the plan in motion. When the time would come, they would step into Abyss, it would be as conquerors - not victims. The dance wasn’t over. Their final showdown with Evelyn was yet to come, and this time, they would emerge victorious.

Promotions

The lights of Abyss shimmered off high-polish marble and velvet drapery, casting a moody, intoxicating glow across the main lounge. Patrons drifted like shadows, adorned in latex, leather, and the quiet confidence of secrecy. Elise stood by the glass rail above them, surveying the room like a queen in her court. Her satin blouse hugged her frame perfectly, a subtle contrast to the rigid formality worn by others. She preferred leather, velvet, or satin - never rubber. Rubber, she liked on others. She liked it tight, hot, sweaty and humiliating. She called it her rule, whenever she got the opportunity to dominate another member: Rubberization Rules.

Her boots clicked lightly against the inlaid stone as she shifted her weight, eyes narrowed with the satisfaction of belonging. Abyss wasn’t just her playground. It was her mirror. A world of carefully orchestrated dominance, whispered power, and clear social lines - even if Evelyn pretended everyone was equal here. Elise knew better.

Tonight, she had been summoned, to be present at this dance night. The club was already heavy with music, a woman had completed a dance on stage, in spike-laden heels. The dance floor was busy now. Evelyn never called without reason. The message had arrived in its signature black envelope - unmistakable. Elise had spent an extra hour on her look: sleek updo, flawless lipstick, a scent of something expensive and rare. Her heart beat a little faster than she let on.

She was sitting in her favorite spot in Abyss’ lounge, where it was quieter and words carried meaning. Evelyn joined her at her table, a vision of timeless composure in emerald velvet. There was no age to her. Elise hated that - envied it.

"Elise," Evelyn said, her voice the sound of red wine poured in candlelight. "How nice to see you."

Elise sat in the low chair across from her, crossing her legs with elegance she’d practiced since adolescence. Her posture was perfect. Her poise, calculated. But a flicker of anticipation burned in her chest like an ember.

Evelyn steepled her fingers. "I have an opportunity. One of our most powerful associates is looking to mentor and elevate new talent. I thought of you. If you win this, I will personally make the introduction. The account could be transformative."

A current of excitement rippled through Elise’s veins. She saw herself already there: inside boardrooms with people who mattered, carrying portfolios that shaped markets. This was the fast lane. Her lane. "And the catch?"

Evelyn leaned back slightly. "We only will help to accelerate one career. There is another one beside yours."

Elise’s brow arched, tension tightening her voice. "Who?"

"Claudia."

Elise blinked. "Claudia? The girl in retro heels? The waitress?"

Evelyn’s smile didn’t falter. "She’s not staff here. She’s a guest, like you. Different industry. Her promotion path is unrelated - it would be local, a managerial position offered through the owner of her current restaurant. If she wins, she’ll get that. If you win, you’ll be introduced to a global-level client. Two paths, both meaningful."

Elise couldn’t contain the scoff that slipped out. "You’re comparing a restaurant job to international finance?"

"In Abyss," Evelyn said coolly, "we do not rank by wealth or title. Only performance. You know that. You are all equal here. You’ve benefited from it before."

Elise's jaw clenched. That stung. Evelyn had helped her once, early on. Not with cash or favors, but with positioning. With chances. And Elise had seized them all. She had paid for that rise in sweat, risk, and the occasional strategically performed ritual. She had earned this.

But now - measured against Claudia?

"I see," Elise said, forcing her voice to stay level. "And what’s the… performance?"

"A trivia quiz," Evelyn said smoothly. "On folklore and vampires in history and media. Ten questions, alternating turns. The audience will be engaged."

Elise resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. Quizzes felt childish. Exposing. But she’d never back down. Not in front of Evelyn. Not when something was on the line.

"And the forfeits? There will be forfeits, right?"

"Always. You choose one each. Something suitable, something humiliating, but safe. You will both offer a forfeit for the loser - one night only, no needle frame." Evelyn’s eyes glimmered. "Be creative."

Elise folded her hands in her lap. She hated that Evelyn was enjoying this. She could see it - how the woman’s gaze probed her, always testing, always evaluating. As if Elise were some performer she’d taken a bet on.

"I’ll do it," Elise said, her voice sharp. "And I’ll make sure Claudia regrets even showing up."

"Excellent." Evelyn rose to her feet. "Prepare yourself. The quiz is scheduled for next month. On stage. Before the crowd."

As Elise walked out, her heels tapped like quiet threats on the stone floor. Her thoughts churned.

She would need to study, yes. Rewatch films. Reread stories. Memorize trivia. She would dig deeper into folklore than she ever had before. Because this wasn’t about vampires. It wasn’t about quizzes.

It was about status. About who belonged. About reminding Abyss, and Evelyn, and especially Claudia, that Elise wasn’t just another player in this dark little world. She was a queen.

And queens don’t lose. But as Evelyn left her, a whisper lingered.

What if she’s smarter than you?

She banished it.

She would win. Because losing meant more than embarrassment. It meant seeing herself bound, undone, and worse - equal. Elise wouldn’t let that happen. Not for anyone.

The Game Within the Game

Lena and Mina stood outside the steel doors of Abyss, their nerves hidden beneath a veil of confidence. They were ready to issue a challenge, to throw the gauntlet into the ring. It had been weeks since Lena’s new piercing and torment in The Bane of Rest Boots and the Needle Frame. The pain and suffering had hardened them both, and tonight, they were back - not as victims, but as challengers.

The plan was simple: outdance Evelyn, outshine her, and finally put an end to her reign of terror. They had trained relentlessly, their bodies honed, their routine perfected. The thought of Evelyn’s smug face crumbling under the weight of defeat fueled their determination.

The doors creaked open, and they stepped inside. The familiar pulse of the music welcomed them, the crowd moving like shadows in the dim light. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Evelyn waited at the edge of the stage, her dark eyes gleaming as she spotted them. She wore her usual sly smile, but there was something different - a hint of amusement, almost as if she were anticipating something beyond the night’s challenge.

"Well, well," Evelyn purred as they approached. "Lena and Mina, back for more. I hope you’re ready."

Lena stepped forward, her voice steady. "We’re here to finish this. We challenge you."

Evelyn chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "Yet another challenge? You never fail to entertain me. Very well. Let’s not waste time, then."

Evelyn raised her arms, silencing the crowd. "Tonight, we have a special treat," she announced, her voice carrying through the club. "Lena and Mina have returned to challenge me once again. They will dance as a couple against me. But this time, I’ll make it easy for them, as they are weak."

The crowd murmured in confusion, and Lena and Mina exchanged wary glances.

Evelyn continued, her smile widening. "We’ll dance in The Velvet Spikes - a simple pair of heels, far less cruel than those before. I don’t want my kittens to cry before the dance is over. And for the stakes? The loser will spend eight hours in the Needle Frame, of course. To be easy on you, kittens, no toe needles involved."

Lena’s eyes narrowed. It seemed too easy. The shoes seemed easy, and the needle frame, she remembered well. Evelyn had always thrived on pushing limits, on pain and spectacle. Why was she not raising the stakes now? Lena was relieved but also unwary; she had expected worse.

Mina leaned in, whispering, "It’s a trap."

Lena nodded slightly but kept her focus on Evelyn. "We accept."

Evelyn clapped her hands, and attendants brought out the Velvet Spikes - a pair of sleek, clear heels with only relatively few nodules containing spikes lining the velvet insoles. No nodules under the balls of the feet, toes or heels. The spikes would go exclusively for the arches. They look beautiful but seemed almost tame compared to the horrors they’d faced before.

"Let’s see what you’ve got," Evelyn said, slipping on her heels with a smirk.

The music began, a slow, sultry beat that quickly escalated into a driving rhythm. Lena and Mina moved in sync, their bodies flowing with the music, each step precise and confident. The crowd watched in awe, their eyes fixed on the duel.

Evelyn danced with her usual grace, but Lena could see it - small, deliberate missteps, a slight falter in her rhythm. Evelyn was holding back, pretending to struggle. It was subtle, but Lena and Mina had studied her too well not to notice.

The spikes occasionally extended upwards from their homes in the nodules when they misstepped, biting into their soles, sharp but bearable. The pain was nothing compared to what they’d endured before, but it was slowly building. They pushed through, their movements growing more confident as Evelyn continued her feigned struggle.

As the music reached its climax, Evelyn stumbled, collapsing to her knees with a dramatic gasp. The crowd erupted into cheers and gasps, believing the queen of Abyss had finally been defeated.

Lena and Mina stood tall, breathing heavily but victorious. They exchanged a look, knowing Evelyn’s fall had been too easy.

Evelyn knelt on the stage, her head bowed, a picture of defeat. The attendants approached, lifting her to her feet as the crowd continued to cheer.

"Well played," Evelyn said softly, her voice carrying a hint of sarcasm. "You’ve won."

The attendants guided her towards the basement, where the Needle Frame awaited. Evelyn looked back, her eyes meeting Lena’s with a glint of something unreadable - amusement, perhaps, or something darker.

"You’ve earned your victory," she said. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

As Evelyn disappeared into the shadows, led by the mysterious silent attendants, Lena felt a strange unease settle in her chest. This wasn’t the end. Evelyn’s defeat was too convenient, too orchestrated.

Mina placed a hand on her shoulder. "We did it, Lena. She’s done." Lena forced a smile, but the nagging doubt remained. "For now. We wanted to win, but she also wanted us to win. What gives?"

In the depths of the basement, Evelyn endured the Needle Frame with a twisted smile. The needle pressed into her from above and below with excruciating precision. The pain was intense, but Evelyn welcomed it. It was a reminder of her control, her ability to endure and manipulate.

She had lost on purpose, orchestrating her defeat to lull Lena and Mina into a false sense of security. This was merely the prelude to the real game - a trap set to ensnare them in something far more sinister.

A month later, when their guard was down, she would issue the ultimate challenge - a revenge duel with stakes so high, they wouldn’t be able to refuse without losing face in the club’s community, even in the whole city’s fetish community. Their names would be tarnished if they refused. And this time, she would ensure they suffered beyond anything they had ever imagined. That would be the point to drain them. To feed upon them.

Evelyn’s smile widened as the needles pressed deeper, the pain fueling her resolve. The game was far from over. The next time they faced each other, Lena and Mina would realize the true cost of their victory.

In the days following their victory, Lena and Mina tried to savor their triumph, but a lingering sense of unease shadowed their celebrations. Lena couldn’t shake the feeling that Evelyn’s defeat had been too easy, too staged.

"She let us win," Lena said one evening as they sat in her apartment, the memory of Evelyn’s parting words echoing in her mind. "She almost made the needle frame sound harmless, without the toe and foot attachments."

"Almost. My time in it was still a nightmare. You experienced it with the toe pads… I never want to go through that, Lena."

Lena looked at her, showing her protective side once more, "My dear, not if I can prevent it."

Mina frowned, her brow furrowed in thought. "You think she’s planning something?"

Lena nodded. "I’m sure of it. She’s not done with us. This was just the beginning."

Mina leaned back, her expression grim. "Then we need to be ready. Whatever she’s planning, we’ll face it together."

They continued to train, their resolve hardening with each passing day. The next time Evelyn came for them, they would be prepared. They had beaten her once, and they would do it again - no matter the stakes.

As the month drew on, Lena and Mina waited, knowing the challenge would come. The tension between them grew, their anticipation mixing with a growing dread. They knew Evelyn too well to believe she would accept defeat easily.

When the invitation finally arrived - a cryptic message summoning them back to Abyss for a "final reckoning" - they felt a mix of fear and determination.

"This is it," Lena said, her voice steady. "The real challenge."

"We have to go," she added, tapping the letter for emphasis. "It says if we refuse the rematch, we’ll be banned from Abyss for life. That can’t happen - not after everything we’ve been through."

Mina nodded, her eyes burning with resolve. "A request for a rematch can not be turned down without being expelled, correct. We’ll face her, Lena. But don’t you see? This has Evelyn written all over it. She’s baiting us, setting the stage for something cruel. She wants us to fall into her trap."

Lena smirked, folding the letter carefully. "Of course it’s a trap. But traps can be outsmarted. Evelyn thinks she’s unbeatable, that we’ll break under her games. She’s wrong."

"Then we’ll make her regret it," Mina said firmly. "If she wants us to play her game, we’ll play. And this time, we’ll win on our terms. We will practice to dance long, hard and praise to any beat. We’ll dance with uncooked rice in our heels to prepare us to ignore the spikes."

Lena laughed, "That’s actually a good idea. We will come more prepared than she can hope for."

Together, they prepared for the ultimate showdown, knowing that Evelyn’s vengeance would be calculated and unforgiving. But the fire in their hearts burned brighter than fear. Whatever Abyss had in store, they were determined to face it - and Evelyn - with everything they had.

The final dance was coming, and this time, the stakes would for sure be higher than ever before. They walked on slowly, and Alina’s plaque came into view - its familiar etching glowing with quiet authority.

ALINA

ICE PRINCESS. CHASTITY. 5 YEARS.

4 y, 7 m, 25 d, 14:32

The countdown flickered with every second, a quiet hum of submission eternalized in digits.

"Still ticking," Mina said.

"It’s beautiful," Lena replied. She was soaked, and she didn’t care. Her voice was hushed, reverent. "So many women here just… giving it all up. For nothing but the edge. For the thrill."

Mina gave her a look. "And for opportunities. But you're really into this."

"Of course I am," Lena said, eyes never leaving the plaques. "I want to see how far they’ll go."

"Could you take it?" Mina asked.

"I hope I don’t find out. I mean… I find the concept of chastity so incredibly hot. But for myself? I prefer to have my orgasms."

She grabbed Lena’s arm and pulled her away, forcefully, back towards the bar.

Lena was startled "What are you doing?"

"You do realize that when we issue our challenge, Evelyn could very well set the forfeit to include chastity? Especially when we are seen hanging around at the chastity plagues too long!?“

Lena looked sheepishly into Mina’s eyes. "If we end up locked for a year, maybe we should make the most of our time. You know… as we did… back in university?"

They stood there in silence, Mina squeezed Lena’s hand and smiled.

Quiz

The month that followed Evelyn’s offer became a crucible of obsession for Elise. Her modern apartment, normally pristine and austere in tone, transformed into a war room. Texts on folklore, thick books with gold-embossed covers and fragile pages, lay open across the counters. She had a dozen tabs open on her laptop: Romanian vampire mythology, European witch trials, vampire films from the 1920s to the streaming era. Her morning routine now included a review of Dracula film adaptations. Her fitness sessions were overlaid with audiobook lectures on Slavic mysticism.

She barely slept. Not out of nerves - at least, that’s what she told herself - but because there was too much material to master, too much at stake. Elise had always succeeded by outworking everyone. It wasn’t talent, it was perfectionism. Ruthlessness. The quiet voice in the back of her mind never let her forget that she wasn’t born into this world - she had clawed her way in. And she’d be damned if some girl with soft hands and a basic service job would edge her out of the chance at a major client.

She began practicing aloud, repeating complex names and historical facts while pacing the corridors of her penthouse. Mirrors served as silent audiences to her sharp, confident recitations. Her self-worth fused with her ability to recall even the most obscure detail. The need to dominate Claudia consumed her thoughts.

Elise studied at her desk late into the night, taking notes with a fountain pen, sipping black coffee from a porcelain cup. When her vision blurred, she splashed cold water on her face and opened another document. At work, she minimized spreadsheets and scrolled through vampire encyclopedias instead. Her assistant noticed, but Elise's name carried too much weight to question.

Meanwhile, Claudia moved through her own preparation with quiet steadiness. She had grown up hearing tales of forest spirits and blood-thirsty strigoi from her grandmother. Her knowledge wasn’t academic - it was intimate. The details of cultural myths were second nature. She read a few articles, revisited an old journal where she’d once jotted down eerie stories told to her as a child, and made a list of common vampire tropes.

Unlike Elise, Claudia didn’t view the event as a career-altering battlefield. It was a performance, a display, a nice to have opportunity. She trusted her instincts, and while she wasn’t thrilled about the stakes, she accepted that this was Abyss. Everyone consented. Everyone took risks.

The night of the quiz arrived. Abyss glowed more theatrically than usual. Crimson and silver lights shimmered from high chandeliers. The crowd had gathered in full force, seated around the central stage as if for a cabaret show. Word had spread: Elise vs. Claudia. An unusual pairing, but Evelyn had personally announced it as a spectacle not to miss.

Backstage, Elise stood in front of the mirror, applying final touches to her makeup. Her long dark gown of velvet and lace hugged her figure like shadow incarnate. Her nails, lacquered in blood red, tapped against her bracelet as she muttered vampire trivia facts under her breath. She turned sharply as Claudia entered.

Claudia wore a folkloric-inspired ensemble: a corset laced over a long black skirt, embroidered subtly with crimson thorns. Her dark curls fell over one shoulder. Her presence was magnetic in an earthy, feminine way that irked Elise.

"Good luck," Claudia said casually.

"You’ll need it," Elise replied, her voice sweet with venom.

Then Evelyn arrived, flanked by two silent attendants in latex. She smiled like a queen about to watch her court fight for her favor.

"Ladies," she greeted. "You know the rules. Each of you will answer ten questions. Alternating, with a chance to steal if the first falters. Audience may react but not assist. You both agreed to propose forfeits for the loser. Let us hear them."

Claudia stepped forward first, composed. "If I win, I want Elise on stage. Full nudity. Bared for all. Oiled up. And whipped. Ten strokes for every point difference. I want her to feel the sting of humility."

A murmur rippled through the audience. Elise's lips parted slightly, a flicker of disbelief passing through her eyes. Stripped, her, in front of everyone?

"That’s bold," Evelyn mused.

Elise inhaled. She refused to show how rattled she was. "Very well. If you win, enjoy your fantasy. But if I win…"

She turned, fully facing Claudia.

"You will spend the night in full rubber enclosure. A complete suit. Toe socks, gloves, hood, gag. Arms in a reverse prayer tie. Hogtied. No comfort. No mercy."

Claudia blinked. Her mouth opened, then closed. She hesitated, visibly unsettled. "That’s a bit extreme… Could we - maybe something else? I don’t do well in full enclosure."

Elise’s smile widened. "Oh no, darling. This is Abyss. And you set the stage with your little whipping fantasy. You wanted stakes. Now you'll get them."

She turned to the crowd with a performer's flair. "Picture it. You, sealed up, latex gripping every inch of you. Your arms folded tight behind your back, your legs pulled up in that delicious curve. Breathing shallow through your hood. Time dripping by as slowly as your sweat beneath the rubber."

Claudia flushed. But she didn’t step back. After a long pause, she gave a tense nod. "I accept."

Elise smiled coldly. "Good."

From one of the sofas near the back of the lounge, Lena sat with a drink in hand, her eyes locked on the stage. The quiz had begun only minutes ago, but the tension was already tightening like a drawstring. She leaned slightly toward Mina, who sat beside her in a deep green latex sheath that gleamed in the crimson light. "Tell me that woman didn’t just wager a full hogtie gagged in latex," Lena murmured, her voice a blend of incredulity and reluctant admiration. "That’s not a forfeit. That’s a nightmare night."

Evelyn clapped once. "Then let the game begin."

The spotlight fell upon them. Evelyn read each question with the tone of a priestess announcing prophecy.

Round One:

Evelyn: "Elise, name the 18th-century French vampire trial that inspired numerous romantic vampire novels."

Elise: "The Trial of Arnaud Pallier, 1761."

Correct.

Round Two:

Evelyn: "Claudia, what is the difference between a strigoi and a nosferatu in Eastern European lore?"

Claudia: "Strigoi are the reanimated dead who return to drink the blood of the living. Nosferatu is a modern fictional term, popularized by Murnau’s film."

Correct.

Round Three:

Evelyn: "Elise, what vampire myth originated from the village of Medveja in Serbia?"

Elise: "The tale of Petar Blagojevich, one of the earliest recorded vampire cases."

Correct.

As rounds continued, Elise racked up correct answers at lightning speed. Her tone was clipped, her answers precise. Claudia kept pace but faltered in Round Six on a film question. Elise stole the answer.

By Round Eight, Elise’s confidence began to bloom outward - her shoulders straightened, her smile curled with satisfaction. She could feel the crowd leaning in, drawn to her momentum. Claudia faltered again in Round Nine. Another point.

In the lounge, Mina chuckled softly, not taking her eyes off the stage. "Elise doesn’t play. I don’t know whether I hate her or want her to mentor me for a week. Look at her - she’s answering these like she wrote the books herself." Her eyes tracked Elise’s precise posture, the way she seemed to recite answers with the coldness of a litigator and the flair of a stage queen. "She’s not just trying to win. She’s trying to end Claudia."

As the point gap widened, Lena took another sip and sighed. "Claudia walked into this thinking it was a simple game. Elise brought a war plan. You can see it in her eyes - this isn’t just about trivia. It’s a reckoning. You don’t hit someone with full enclosure reverse prayer unless you’re settling scores. I bet she holds a personal grudge against Claudia."

By the final round, the difference was five points.

Claudia’s final answer was incorrect.

Evelyn announced with slow pleasure: "Final score: Elise eight, Claudia three."

Evelyn smiled, delighted. "A decisive victory. Ten lashes per point difference, was it not? That would make fifty lashes Elise is not going to feel. And Claudia’s body shall be gifted to the rubber for the night."

Elise let out a soft exhale. Not quite a laugh. But close.

Claudia bowed her head respectfully. She did not flinch. She had lost. She accepted it.

The crowd stirred with anticipation. The two attendants stepped forward, one placing a hand on Claudia’s shoulder, guiding her backstage. The audience didn’t cheer, but they buzzed with quiet thrill. The evening had delivered exactly what Abyss promised - grace and cruelty in equal measure.

When the final question was called and Evelyn announced Elise as the winner, Mina leaned back in her seat and gave a low whistle. "Eight to three. That’s brutal." She glanced sidelong at Lena, her latex gloves resting lightly on her thigh. "And now Claudia’s going into the suit. Full rubber, reverse prayer, hogtie - she’s going to be one tight breath away from madness by midnight."

Lena nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on the retreating figures on stage. "It’s cruel, yeah. But honestly? Still more merciful than the Needle Frame. No sharp points, no nerve-mapped precision pain. Just… silence, sweat, and rubber. I’ve seen worse." She swirled her drink absently. "Though that reverse prayer tie is no joke. Elbows kissing behind your back for hours? You either break mentally or you sink into some kind of trance. Either way, it’s not just a punishment - it’s a mind game."

"I heard," Mina said, lowering her voice slightly, "that Elise has a history of this. That she doesn’t go for traditional punishments. No crops, no whips. Not much pain. More … sophisticated. Just rubber. Lots of rubber and denial." She shook her head, half in awe, half in disapproval. "There’s something surgical about the way she punishes. She doesn’t want screams - she wants total surrender."

Lena exhaled, her eyes still on the stage. "Well, Claudia’s about to learn exactly what that looks like. We’re just here to witness it."

Elise didn’t watch Claudia go. She looked to Evelyn instead.

"Tomorrow?" she asked.

Evelyn gave a rare nod. "He’ll contact you personally. You did well tonight. Efficient. I expected no less."

As Elise descended the stage steps, applause ringing in her ears, a strange emptiness settled beneath her pride. She had crushed her opponent. Won the opportunity. Ensured her standing.

And yet, the fire in her chest didn’t burn clean. It felt more like smoke.

---

Elise floated on victory. She descended the steps of the stage like a queen retreating from coronation, her heels clicking against the dark lacquered floor, the echo chased by the whispers of a hundred admirers. Abyss throbbed with warm approval. The crowd, sated by the spectacle, turned now to drinks and soft laughter, their eyes glittering behind golden and silver masks. Elise basked in their regard. The evening’s spectacle had left the crowd buzzing. Elise was riding high. Everything had gone to plan. No - better. The questions had come easy, her answers sharp, her poise untouched. Claudia? Predictably shaken. Predictably defeated. And now, the time had come for her reward - not just the rubber, not just the spectacle, but the power of watching another woman descend into the depths she had meticulously prepared.

Claudia had been led off without drama, her head bowed but her spine straight. Elise admired that, distantly. But admiration was not forgiveness. Not for the humiliation of suggesting she be whipped on stage like a common degenerate. No, Claudia would suffer her own imagination now - and Elise would make sure of that. Backstage, under the red-hued low lighting, Claudia stood quietly near the preparation area, nude, arms folded tightly across her chest, jaw tense. The rubber suit lay in glistening folds beside her on a stainless steel tray - black, thick, and gleaming with an almost organic sheen. Its presence was heavy. It seemed to breathe on its own, pulsing slightly under the light. Elise hovered nearby, arms crossed, radiating superiority, a slow smirk resting on her painted lips. Two attendants stood at attention, masked and silent as always, awaiting the signal.

"Shall we begin?" Elise asked, her voice honeyed and theatrical, directing the question not to Claudia, but to Evelyn, who watched from a velvet-backed chair near the edge of the room. Evelyn nodded once, the gesture subtle but decisive.

Claudia took a step forward, then hesitated. "I’d like to offer a different forfeit," she said quickly, her voice low. "Something less… enclosed. Perhaps something public instead? Whip me?"

Elise blinked once and then laughed softly, like a cat purring before the pounce. "Oh, no. You’d probably like that. That won’t do. Not after all this planning. We agreed. You said yes. And Abyss honors consent, not excuses. It is time for your binding.“

She stepped closer, her voice lowering into an intimate murmur, just for Claudia. "This suit is your lesson. A lesson in submission. A night of clarity. And most importantly: a reminder that you are under my rubberization rules."

Claudia’s eyes flicked to Evelyn, but there was no rescue to be found in the Mistress’s calm, indifferent gaze. Elise leaned in again, enjoying the tension in Claudia’s posture.

"You’ll be sealed completely," Elise whispered, voice edged with theatrical cruelty. "Toe socks, gloves, hood, every inch of you gone. And not just worn - no, bound. I want your elbows kissing behind your back. Your legs bent tight, heels touching that lovely little backside of yours. And the silence will stretch on… for hours."

Evelyn added, "Until sunrise."

She turned to the attendants. They waited for her without expression, clothed head to toe in the latex of their silent authority.

"You heard her forfeit," Elise said, her voice velvet-laced steel. "But I want it exact. No approximations."

The taller of the two gave a slight nod.

"Reverse prayer. Elbows touching. Palms flat together. Full hogtie, and I mean full. Sink her heels into her ass cheeks, ankles tight. I want to see tension, not slack."

She stepped slowly into the suit, guided by expert hands. First the legs - each inch of her calves and thighs consumed by the clinging latex. The material was dense and unyielding. The toe socks forced each digit apart, confining them in strict order. Then came the gloves, one finger at a time, sealing her hands away. The attendants pulled the suit taut over her torso, smoothing the material with gloved hands. The back zipped closed.

When the hood was brought forward, Claudia instinctively flinched. The latex slid down over her crown, enveloping her scalp, her jaw, her brow, sealing her completely. She moaned quietly as the rubber tightened around her cheeks, compressing her expression into something featureless. The mask settled into place as its zipper was closed. The zippers of her hood and catsuit were joint by a padlocked. Unnecessary in her bondage, but it added to the display. She squirmed slightly. The sensation was intimate. Disorienting.

Elise leaned in again. "Gorgeous," she said, eyes shining. "Let the silence settle in. No one will hear you. No one will see you. Just the rubber and the rhythm of your own breath. That’s all you are tonight. Sink her heels, make sure they touch her ass."

The attendants moved behind Claudia and began to position her arms, carefully guiding them into the reverse prayer. The strain was immediate - shoulders twisting, muscles stretching unnaturally. Straps fastened tight, unyielding. Claudia’s breathing changed slightly. Her chest trembled. Then the final motion: her legs bent backward, one at a time, as the attendants guided her heels toward her rear. She groaned again when the hogtie strap was drawn - firm and slow - until her heels pressed firmly into her ass cheeks, the rubber squeaking faintly as the tension increased. The position was brutal, rigid, and absolute.

"She’s learning," Elise said aloud, voice sharp with triumph. "Learning what it means to be seen and not heard. What it means to embrace silence, to embrace the rules of the game. My rule. My rubberization rules, under which you are now. And you - well, you’re practically made for them."

Elise put her hand on Claudia’s rubber-clad feet. Feeling the soft, smooth, and warm material. She pushed down on the foot, sinking it another inch into her cheeks. The waitress groaned under the tension in her tendons and in the ropes. The feeling of a rubber submission under her hands. She thought back. To Samira. A decade ago, she was still in her first semesters, tutoring her. She found her ways around to exercise control, and controlled she was. In rubber. She was her first.

Claudia struggled briefly, her bound body writhing within the strict confines of her latex prison. But it was futile. Every breath was now measured, monitored. Every movement countered by pressure and restraint.

Elise turned to the Evelyn again, her eyes glinting with a particular malice reserved only for those she considered bold enough to defy her. "No hogtie is complete without a gag," she said smoothly, savoring the moment. "She wanted to play brave. Let’s give her something intimate to breathe in. Something she knows well."

Evelyn smiled and nodded. She stepped to the side, her heel tapping with soft menace. She gave a gesture to one of the attendants, "One of her shoes. The black suede heels. The left one. I saw her wear them for more than one visit to Abyss. Perfect."

Claudia’s eyes widened behind the hood as one attendant quietly retrieved the heel from her discarded outfit. Elise cradled the shoe like an offering, tilting it upward and inhaling with exaggerated theatrics. "Mm. Worn. Humid. Smelly. Real." She turned it toward Claudia. "Let this be the scent of your insolence." Then she guided the insole, darkened with use, the imprint of her sole clearly outlined on the leather, to Claudia’s hooded face, placing it directly over her nose and mouth. An attendant produced black latex straps, securing the shoe to her face, forcing her to inhale its humid interior with each filtered breath. It was a gag of shame as much as shame - personal, degrading, inescapable.

To Claudia, the moment the damp insole pressed against her lips and nose was more than humiliating - it was intimate, invasive, and deeply psychological. She had worn those heels for hours on end, barely thinking about their growing warmth, their scent, their gathering tension. Now that essence was being used against her. The slightly sour musk of worn leather, the faded notes of body heat, mingled with her filtered breath. Each inhale pulled her deeper into Elise’s cruelty. Her jaw ached beneath the press of the shoe, and the straps bit into her cheeks with every subtle movement. It wasn’t just discomfort. It was a branding. A reminder that Elise hadn’t merely defeated her - she had personalized her punishment.

Elise stepped back to admire the tableau again, this time more satisfied. "Yes. Now you’re complete," she murmured. "You wanted to run your mouth in public. Now you’ll breathe in your own arrogance all night. And if you forget why you’re here, just… inhale." Her smirk deepened. "You’ll remember."

Elise turned to Evelyn, her posture regal. "Will you see that she remains displayed until dawn?"

Evelyn nodded once, approvingly. "Of course. The club will appreciate the visual. She’ll be out on stage to be admired in her predicament. A night in bondage purgatory."

Elise stepped back, hands on her hips, surveying the bound woman like a sculptor admiring her own work. Evelyn stood and gestured subtly to the attendants. They lifted Claudia’s bound form with care, placing her gently onto a black pedestal cushion. Her position was perfect. A piece of living art. She was carried outside, onto the center stage. Patrons would dance and glance. Some would pause. Some would whisper. Some would admire. But no one would interrupt.

A single spotlight followed her as she was positioned on a low pedestal at center stage. Her body, encased head to toe in unyielding black rubber, gleamed under the lights. The reverse prayer was brutal - shoulders pulled unnaturally back, elbows pressed flush together, forearms vertical, wrists bound so tight the rubber squeaked faintly with every minor involuntary shift. Her legs were tucked in close, heels flattened against her rear, held in place by an arched tension rope that made her entire lower half tremble in its restraint. The shoe strapped to her face was unmistakable - even from a distance, the familiar curve of a black suede pump pressed to her hooded mouth like a mocking kiss.

Mina gave a sharp exhale through her nose, her eyes narrowed behind her visor. "Fuck. I’ve never worn suits like that. That tie is obscene. Her shoulders will cramp in half an hour. Her hands will go numb by midnight. And by the time the sun rises? She’s not going to know where her body ends and the rubber begins."

Lena nodded grimly, her gaze focused, studying the shoe gag with a kind of clinical curiosity. "You can tell it’s hers. Elise didn’t even go for something symbolic. She went for something personal. That’s not just degradation - that’s psychology. Claudia’s breathing in her own foot sweat. Every breath, every twitch - it’s a reminder she doesn’t belong to herself tonight."

"God," Mina murmured, leaning forward as if to see more clearly. "I still say the Needle Frame is worse. I mean, sure, the frame hurts - on a whole other level. But this? This is slow. It sinks in. You start by counting seconds."

"She’ll be silent the whole time," Lena added. "No begging. No screams. Just a silent, anonymous figure writhing under the lights while the club drinks and dances around her."

They both sat in silence for a few beats, watching Claudia’s chest expand and contract beneath the rubber, her breath rising against the sole of her gagged mouth.

"Elise doesn’t need to break her," Mina said quietly. "She just needs her to remember."

Tomorrow, Elise’s victory would be complete. The client would call. Her name would rise again in the corridors of power.

"Enjoying your moment?" Evelyn asked, voice as quiet as a needle slipping beneath silk.

Elise smiled and turned toward her. "She tried to humiliate me, Evelyn. On stage. In front of them."

"And now she will spend the night tasting latex and regret."

"Precisely."

Evelyn turned slightly, watching the crowd ebb and shift. "You were excellent. Precise. Cold. The client will be pleased."

"He will be lucky to have me."

Evelyn's mouth twitched. "Do not underestimate how lucky you are to be seen by him."

Elise nodded once, curtly. "I won’t."

That night, Elise took a rare drink alone at one of the upper-tier lounges. From her vantage, she could see the ripples her performance had created. Patrons whispered about her poise, her precision, her cruelty. Good.

She craved attention, validation even more. She demanded position. And tonight, she had claimed it. Tomorrow, the client would call. Abyss had given her what she asked for. Prestige, respect, the power to rubberize those beneath her. She adored this power of the material. Neither leather nor plastic could offer the same enclosure. She shivered in delight.

But as she sipped her iced water and watched the dancers below, a flicker of something stirred inside. Not guilt. Elise didn’t suffer that. Not for them. Only for her, more than a decade ago, and ever since. A guilt that never left. But an echo. A whisper. Of how close she’d come to being the one bent and bare before the crowd.

She banished it. She’d won. Like always, when it counted. That was what mattered.

Across the room, beneath layers of rubber and darkness, Claudia lay bound and breathless.

Elise smiled.

She would sleep well tonight. Unlike Claudia.

Vanity

The pulse of Abyss pulsed through the air, the club thick with fog and anticipation. The scent of latex, faint perfume, and electricity hovered like a veil over the main stage, where Evelyn stood elevated before a riveted crowd. On either side of her stood the evening's rivals: Astrid, statuesque and proud in a tailored latex ensemble in storm-gray, her shoulders sharp and her corset tightly laced; and Teodora, her curves gleaming beneath a liquid metal latex catsuit that shimmered with the stage lights.

What had begun as a trivial argument in one of the club's side lounges had escalated quickly into performance-worthy tension.

"It’s not just about looking good in rubber," Astrid had declared hours earlier, her tone edged with superiority. "It’s about commanding it. Wearing it doesn't mean you're one of us. It’s style, not sweat, that reigns."

Teodora had laughed, slow and dismissive. "Then put your money where your fashion is, darling. Let’s see what happens when we test who really lives and breathes latex."

Now, under Evelyn's gaze and the attention of every masked guest and attendant, the challenge had crystallized into something more formal - and far more serious.

"Evelyn," Astrid began, her voice tight with frustration, "you have to settle this for us. Everyone knows Abyss isn’t just about the dance, it’s about the style. We need to know who’s truly the best-dressed for a latex club."

Teodora smirked, crossing her arms. "She thinks sequins are the epitome of elegance. Let’s settle this on stage and let everyone see who has the upper hand."

Evelyn’s gaze flicked between the two women, her expression unreadable. But the subtle curl of her lips betrayed her amusement. A duel born of pride and vanity - perfect material for the stage.

Evelyn’s voice rang clear and measured. "Tonight, a duel of aesthetics becomes a trial of endurance. These two beauties wish to determine who truly embodies the essence of Abyssian fashion. But latex is not simply worn. It is endured."

She turned to both women, her eyes glinting with dark mirth. "Very well, a duel it is. But what shall the stakes be?"

Astrid hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Teodora. "We’d rather not have the stakes involve pain," she said, clearly measuring each word. "Something fitting for the occasion but not… cruel."

Teodora nodded in agreement. "Something that challenges fashion, endurance, and commitment. We’ll let you decide."

Evelyn’s smile widened. "Ah, endurance and elegance - very well. A fitting punishment for a challenge born of vanity. I have just the thing."

She gestured, and two attendants emerged from the shadows, wheeling forward two sleek black harness chairs and a custom-built breathing apparatus that immediately drew murmurs from the crowd. Resting beside them were two full-body latex suits, complete with fitted hoods and integrated boots and gloves, and two glossy black gas masks. Between the chairs hung a 2-liter rubber rebreather bag, its surface slightly glistening, connected to each gas mask via a T-section of tubing. At the bottom of the bag, a narrow air valve allowed only a small exchange of fresh air - just enough to sustain one.

"You will each be sealed in latex," Evelyn explained, voice like silk on steel. "Your masks will connect through this shared breathing bag. Each time one of you exhales, the bag inflates. Each time you inhale, it deflates. But there is only so much oxygen to share - and only one who will breathe easy. The strategy is yours to shape: inhale when she exhales; empty your lungs to flood her mask with stale air. If you’re clever, she’ll suffocate herself while you remain in control."

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle over them.

"You may press your panic button if the air hunger overwhelms you. Or you may faint. Either marks the end. The first to fail will lose."

Another gesture revealed the punishment.

"As for the loser," she continued, "there will be no needle frame tonight. You wanted to pain. We honor this request. In the spirit of Abyss where we adore latex, the stakes shall involve a test of rubber enclosure. Instead of pain, our loser will endure a week-long trial: wearing an outfit our artisans have designed, crafted to challenge the body and mind. It is the thick full-body Rubber Suit of Resolve, designed to trap heat and induce sweat. For one hundred hours within seven days, the loser must wear this suit. It can be taken off, washed as often as you please. Inside Abyss and on her way there, a fitted hood is mandatory. But you must log the hours. A sensor will ensure the data is accurate. The LED at the collar will turn from red to green when the 100 hours are served."

"Endurance and commitment, you asked for. Endurance for a week. Deeply committing to the fetish of latex. We shall see if you enjoy the shiny fashion for vanity or if you master the material itself."

"And if," Evelyn added, her smile darkening, "the loser fails to meet the time requirement, she will be escorted back here to complete her penance in the Needle Frame instead. So consider your resolve carefully before you proceed."

Astrid and Teodora exchanged another glance - uncertain, wary, but resolute.

"I accept, but does she have enough faith in dealing with latex?" Astrid said, her voice controlled.

Teodora gave a smirk of practiced confidence. "Let’s see who’s more than a mannequin."

Attendants began dressing them. The suits weren’t cut for glamour - they were made for control, for pressure, for heat. Zippers closed over curves, the latex stretching tight over hips and shoulders until both women looked nearly identical in their gleaming second skins. Hoods were pulled on with slow precision, the zippers drawn to their collars and locked.

Then came the masks. Buckled down across cheekbones, cinched under chins. The T-section hoses connected. The breathing bag was hung precisely between them, just out of reach. Panic buttons gleamed red at their sides.

Evelyn raised her hand.

"Begin."

At first, the rhythm between them was unspoken but mutual - controlled breathing, easy exhales, each watching the bag slowly inflate and gently deflate. The audience leaned forward, the tension mounting with every measured puff of air.

But strategy soon took hold.

Teodora began manipulating the cycle, exhaling quickly, inflating the bag, then pausing - allowing Astrid only moments before she too inhaled and left nothing behind. Astrid caught on fast, countering with long exhalations meant to leave the bag full of warm humid air coming out of her lungs when Teodora was least expecting it - forcing her to inhale nothing but stale remnants.

Their masks fogged. Sweat pooled beneath their suits. Their postures stiffened.

Astrid tried to steady her nerves. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, but she knew the value of control. She could feel the heat crawling up her spine, the latex closing in, trapping every breath. Her jaw clenched as she sucked air from the sagging bag, forcing her lungs to draw more slowly, hoping to time it just right.

Teodora leaned in slightly, as if proximity would grant her dominance over the shared resource. Her chest heaved, and her strategy shifted - long exhales to fill the bag, hoping Astrid would draw too soon. Then, at the right moment, she would take her turn, catching the last trickle of freshness from the bag's narrow valve.

But it became more than strategy. It became survival.

Astrid’s lungs ached. The bag hung limp. She exhaled sharply, deliberately, hoping to bait Teodora into inhaling the stale air. Teodora did - and coughed. Her head jerked back, eyes wide behind the lenses.

They were both drenched now. The suits gleamed under the lights, misted from within. Every muscle ached.

Teodora tried a deep exhale to catch a last moment of clarity. But she had made a misstep - her lungs were already full. She couldn’t exhale fast into the fully inflated bag. Her slow labored exhale forced stale air out of her the valve. Astrid breathed in, stale air flooding her mask. The bag was flat. Astrid didn’t wait there. She emptied her lungs fully, slowly. The bag swelled, thick and dark. Teodora reached - too late. The bag collapsed again, as Astrid quickly drew the air back into her lungs, now mixed with a bit of fresh oxygen. Theodora’s inhale labored against the empty bag, drawing in a trickle of new fresh air. Her lungs hurt, the air not coming in nearly at the desired, the necessary speed. She tried again, slower this time. The bag hissed, faintly. A breath. But not enough.

Her vision blurred. She blinked furiously, head rocking slightly. Astrid narrowed her eyes, breath shallow and sharp. She’d found the rhythm now, and she controlled the bag like a siphon.

Teodora’s fingers twitched near her button - but her hand dropped. She was not ready to give in. Her shoulders sagged.

And then, her body slumped fully into the chair, head tilting forward. Attendants moved instantly. The hose was disconnected, her mask lifted. She was breathing, but unconscious.

Evelyn stepped into the silence, voice crisp.

"Teodora has succumbed. Astrid remains."

The crowd broke into applause, the thick silence finally giving way.

"The Rubber Suit of Resolve awaits. One hundred hours. Or more, should she crave penance."

Teodora stirred, consciousness returning as the attendants unbuckled her, her limbs sluggish under the weight of the suit. Astrid sat motionless as her own mask was lifted, gasping softly, blinking sweat from her lashes. Tonight, it had been a duel not of needles or spikes - but of breath.

And it was breath that had chosen the victor.

Evelyn stepped forward, her presence commanding. "An extraordinary performance," she announced, her voice carrying over the cheers. "But there can only be one winner."

She turned to Teodora. "Congratulations. You are crowned Abyss’ reigning queen of fashion."

Astrid’s shoulders slumped, her disappointment evident. Teodora bowed slightly, her smirk triumphant.

Evelyn’s attention shifted to Astrid. "And now, for your penance."

An attendant stepped forward, holding the Rubber Suit of Resolve. "You shall not be a queen of fashion but an embodiment of rubber enclosure, and this dull heavy suit to hide and contain you." The black rubber material gleamed under the lights, its tight-fitting design leaving no doubt about the discomfort it promised. Socks and gloves were attached. The hood was sleek and smooth, with openings for eyes, nose and mouth, but no escape from the heat it would trap.

"This suit," Evelyn explained, "will be your companion for the next seven days. One hundred hours. Fail to meet this requirement, and you will find yourself back here, facing a far less forgiving punishment."

Astrid hesitated but took the suit, her jaw set with reluctant determination.

The attendants led her behind the curtain, and twenty minutes later Astrid emerged, fully rubberized, her dress confiscated until after she had served her time. She was to make her way home, and later, return to Abyss, dressed as she is now. Already, she started sweating with the spotlights directed at her, her blue eyes visible sunken into a sea of heavy black latex.

From the moment Astrid first slipped into the rubber suit, she knew the week ahead would test her in ways she hadn’t imagined. The snug, glossy material clung to her body, sealing her in an oppressive, heat-trapping embrace. Every inch of the suit - from the fitted hood to the gloves and boot-like extensions - was designed to be unrelenting. As the zipper slid up the back and locked in place, Astrid felt an immediate shift. The air around her became heavy, and the first bead of sweat formed before she had even taken her first step.

As Astrid left the stage, she vowed never to challenge Abyss again. Teodora, meanwhile, reveled in her victory - but even she knew that her reign would not go unchallenged for long. Abyss thrived on competition, and vanity was a flame that burned eternal.

In the audience, Elise took note. This suit. That was it. To bring that waitress under her personal rubberization rules, if she ever dared to even speak to her again. She would need to talk to Evelyn.

The rubber’s inner surface quickly grew slick as sweat began to gather, coating her skin in a clammy sheen. Movement became both sticky and slippery, the suit shifting uncomfortably with each step. The combination of friction and the rubber’s resistance made even small tasks an ordeal.

---

The lights of Abyss flickered low that night, casting sultry shadows across velvet-covered alcoves and polished obsidian floors. The crowd had dispersed after the duel and Astrid left the club, dressed in her oppressive suit. Guests were now flocking again to the dance floor and filling the lounges. Patrons moved like silhouettes in a dream - some adorned in gleaming latex, others wrapped in restraint or secrecy. Among them, Elise, sat, her mere presence exuded confidence, lounged as she always did: poised, coiled like a panther atop her favorite crescent-shaped chaise in the lounge of Abyss.

Beside her, Alexandru stood with a drink in hand, dressed in his usual dark elegance. They were close, the kind of Abyss-friends who shared long, quiet moments, occasional dances, and the smug understanding that came with their elevated status. Elise never needed to try hard - men gravitated to her, and Alexandru was no exception. His eyes lingered when she crossed her legs, and she offered him sidelong glances like they were currency.

Until Nadia.

Elise had never really noticed her before. A background figure. Another retail-class submissive, dressed in budget latex and often alone. No edge, no style. Certainly no threat. A face in the crowd with no bearing on the world Elise navigated so carefully and successfully.

Nadia, a brunette in her late 20s, more shy, on the insecure side, had entered Abyss months before, low-profile, always in the periphery. She danced in the weekly heels once - a full song before collapsing, collecting the usual token monetary prize. Elise barely noticed. Alexandru hadn’t.

It wasn’t until Alexandru, wandering outside the curated chaos of Abyss, ran into Nadia in a boutique downtown that she entered Elise’s sphere of notice. Nadia was behind the counter, helping a customer with a return, calm and capable. Alexandru came in looking for a replacement cufflink. Their eyes met - two members of the same shadow world colliding in daylight.

"You’re… in Abyss, right?" he asked as she finished ringing up a customer.

Nadia nodded, warily. "Yes. I go there."

"You danced in the Heels, didn’t you? Last month."

"I only lasted five minutes."

"I remembered," he said, smiling warmly. "That’s still brave. They looked brutal."

It started there. Casual talk. He returned the next day to browse, then again two days later. A week passed, and he invited her to coffee. It surprised them both when the conversation stretched into the evening. He was used to polish and practiced lines. Nadia was direct, sincere. He found it refreshing. She found it terrifying but thrilling. Abyss hadn’t prepared her for this kind of attention.

In time, they met a few more times. Casual, unspoken attraction growing between them. But it was unconfirmed, unclaimed. Elise remained a presence in Alexandru’s world. He still spent time with her in Abyss - still hovered near her during events, laughing at her sharp comments, indulging her moods. After all, they were in the same industry.

It came to an event two weeks later.

That night, Elise reclined in her usual seat. Alexandru stood beside her, drink in hand, the club buzzing around them. Nadia entered, dressed plainly - her latex modest, functional. She spotted Alexandru across the room. Their eyes met. He offered a smile, small but real.

She approached.

"Well," Elise said before Nadia had spoken, her voice gliding across the table like ice. "Did someone get lost?"

Nadia blinked. "I saw Alexandru. Thought I’d say hi."

Elise set down her glass. "Charming. Are we taking customers now, darling?"

Alexandru looked slightly caught. "Hey, Nadia. This is - "

"I know who she is," Nadia said. Her jaw was tight.

Elise’s tone dipped into sarcasm. "We’ve met. You’re in retail, right?"

Nadia nodded, calm but cold. "Still am."

"How industrious," Elise said, eyes flicking down her figure. "You must be very… efficient. Selling things. Smiling for strangers. It must be exhausting pretending to care."

"I care when I mean it," Nadia shot back. "That’s probably why I’m not pretending with Alexandru."

"Oh, sweet," Elise replied, tone turning syrupy. "You think this is about feelings. That’s adorable. Do you also dream of riding off into the sunset on a sales commission?"

"I’m not looking for a sponsor."

"No? But you act like you want to be saved. It's very on-brand." Elise gave a thin smile. "Or maybe you just want him as your ticket up. Can’t blame you. I mean, look at him. Clean, successful. Someone who actually owns tailored clothes."

Nadia turned to Alexandru. "Didn’t know you liked being a trophy."

Elise cut in, the words sharp. "That’s rich coming from someone trying to turn him into a sugar daddy."

That stung. Deep. Because it wasn’t true. Nadia actually liked him. Not for his looks or his wallet. For his curiosity. His gentleness. His attention.

"You don’t want him," Nadia said quietly, "you want to win him."

Elise’s smile dropped just a fraction.

"Excuse me?"

"You want him because we spend time together. You want him because he showed an interest in me. Because you think someone like me shouldn’t even be seen beside someone like you. Let alone share affection."

The nearby patrons paused. A conversation had become something else now. Tension drawn tight as a whipcord.

Elise lowered her voice, her expression fierce. "You want to play in this arena, little salesgirl? Then know what you’re risking. Abyss doesn’t protect feelings. It magnifies everything. It burns the weak. Just like I burned Claudia. You have seen the quiz show?"

Nadia’s chin lifted. "I saw." She remembered, it was one of the more excessive bondage displays. Elise was clearly able and willing to deal out punishment.

"Then you know what can happen to those who annoy me."

"I just want the truth. Let him choose. If you’re not scared."

Elise arched a brow, but her tone darkened. "You don’t get to speak of choice. You sell suits and shoes. I manage portfolios and accounts. I curate power. Here, people like you should be hooded in rubber, silent and decorative. That's your station."

The words struck hard. Alexandru winced.

Nadia’s response was quieter. Firmer. "I might be working class, but I don't hide behind glitter and cruelty."

Elise stood slowly, her black satin catching the red and gold lights of the ceiling. "You think that because you caught his eye for five minutes that you belong at this table? With me?"

"I think that because I see him as a person. Not a prize."

Another silence. And then Elise, her eyes like daggers, leaned in close.

"You want him? Then come get him. If you think Abyss will side with your good intentions over my presence, you’re in for a rude awakening."

She turned, stormed off. But her mind was already spinning, consumed with insult. With rage. With disbelief that someone beneath her station had dared to enter her sphere, let alone claim parity.

Nadia stood in the light, throat tight. She didn’t chase after. She simply stood her ground.

Alexandru hesitated, then looked to Nadia. "That… got intense fast. Are you okay?"

Nadia nodded, though her voice was tight. "I didn’t come here to fight. I just wanted to say hi."

He gave a faint smile. "Well, you certainly made an impression."

That night ended without a challenge. But not without damage. Elise would never forget the look in Nadia’s eyes. And Nadia would never forget the first time she truly saw how fragile Elise’s pride was.

After the breath

Astrid’s drive home was luckily uneventful, apart from some drivers at a red light who ogled her black and faceless form behind her wheel. She just focussed on looking straight ahead. She dashed from the parking lot to her apartment, as quick as the suit allowed. Astrid’s apartment - a modest, two-bedroom unit - became her entire world for the week, and even navigating its familiar spaces felt alien under the suit’s constraints.

By midday on the first day, Astrid was drenched. She had tried to counter the suit’s heat by turning her air conditioning to its coldest setting and positioning fans around her living room. Yet, the rubber’s insulating properties rendered her efforts futile. The air inside the suit grew humid and stifling, and the constant trickle of sweat pooling in the gloves and boots was impossible to ignore. Her fingers felt waterlogged, slipping within the slick gloves as she struggled to grip a coffee cup without spilling. She didn’t wear the hood, as that was luckily not necessary.

Sitting down offered no reprieve. The suit’s tightness around her thighs and midsection made every position uncomfortable after only a few minutes. Lying down was marginally better, but the rubber stuck to her skin in awkward places, forcing her to shift frequently. Astrid quickly realized that the suit was an all-encompassing challenge - not just to her body, but to her patience and resolve.

The rules of her penance allowed for breaks, as of the 168 hours in a week, only 100 needed to be wearing the suit. Astrid was permitted to remove the suit to clean it and herself, and to take a break from it. These moments became the highlights of her day. Stripping off the sweat-soaked suit was an ordeal in itself, the thick latex clinging stubbornly to her damp skin. She would peel it away slowly, gasping as cool air hit her overheated body.

The inside of the suit glistened with sweat, and she’d carry it to her bathroom to rinse it thoroughly under the shower. The rubber’s smooth surface became slippery under the water, making it difficult to hold steady as she scrubbed away the salty residue. After hanging it up to dry, she’d take a few precious minutes to shower and cool down, relishing the feel of water on her bare skin.

But the clock was always ticking. Astrid had to remain vigilant, knowing that each moment out of the suit cut into her total hours. Falling behind risked missing her 100-hour target, and the thought of failing and being sent to Abyss’ needle frame kept her focused. More than once, she caught herself nodding off after cleaning the suit, jolting awake with a start and scrambling to redress before too much time had passed.

Everyday tasks became monumental challenges. Cooking was out of the question - the thought of standing over a hot stove while encased in the rubber suit was unbearable. Instead, Astrid subsisted on cold meals and snacks, her appetite diminished by the oppressive heat. Cleaning her apartment proved equally arduous; even mild exertion left her drenched in sweat, the suit’s rubbery interior growing ever slicker with each movement.

Astrid spent much of her time working from home, her laptop positioned in front of a fan. Typing in the rubber gloves was clumsy at best, the slickness inside making her fingers slip on the keys. Concentration was a constant struggle, her thoughts often consumed by the discomfort of the suit and the trickling sensation of sweat running down her back and legs. She knew, somewhere Teodora would be fingering herself each night thinking of this suit and her predicament. On her first two evenings in the suit, she did the same, the pressure of her fingers spread out over her most sensitive area by the thick rubber.

Sleeping in it was nearly impossible. She drank a lot to keep up her hydration under the sweating. On the first night in it, she removed it in frustration. She was allowed to remove the suit overnight, any time actually, the temptation to stay out of it longer than necessary was strong. On the third night, she overslept by an hour, and the panic of potentially failing her penance left her shaken. From then on, she set multiple alarms to ensure she’d wake in time to don the suit and continue her hours.

By the fifth day, Astrid’s resolve began to crack. Her body ached from the constant strain of sweating and moving against the resistant material. Her skin felt raw in places where the suit rubbed most, and the slick, rubbery interior had become an almost living presence, constantly reminding her of its dominance. Yet, she pressed on, knowing that giving up wasn’t an option. Her masturbation has stopped, as it left her too tired and added to her sweating.

The final hours of her penance were the hardest. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her, her limbs trembling as she paced her apartment to keep herself awake and alert. Every minute stretched endlessly, the clock seeming to tick slower with each passing second. But when the LED finally turned green, signaling the end of her 100th hour, Astrid collapsed onto her couch in relief, the suit’s grip on her body finally released.

Stripping off the suit for the this time was both a physical and emotional release. Astrid stood in her bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was sweaty, her skin flushed, and her body felt lighter than it had in days. Despite the ordeal, a small, bitter smile crept across her lips. She had endured.

Evelyn’s words from the duel echoed in her mind: "Let this be a lesson in the cost of pride." The week had been a humbling experience, a reminder of the power and ruthlessness of Abyss.

As she dried the suit and tucked it away, Astrid made a silent vow: if she ever stepped onto Evelyn’s stage again, it would be with the strength and determination to win - no matter the stakes. When she returned to Abyss, dressed one final time in her oppressive suit, the audience greeted her with a mix of admiration and amusement. But she knew tonight she wouldn’t be the center of attention, as apparently some big showdown duel with the Hostess Evelyn herself was on the agenda.

Lena and Mina’s Reckoning

The date of the invitation had finally arrived. The oppressive glow of Club Abyss loomed once more as Lena and Mina prepared for what they knew would be their final confrontation. Their journey had been fraught with torment and near-escapes, but tonight, the endgame was clear. They would face Evelyn - the once untouchable hostess of the club - and settle the score for good. The crimson glow of the unmarked entrance flickered ominously as Lena and Mina descended the familiar staircase. The air was thick with anticipation, the music a distant hum that grew louder with each step.

Inside, the club was packed. Word of the final showdown had spread, and the latex-clad crowd thrummed with excitement and dread. The music cut off abruptly, the lights dimming to cast the room in eerie shadows.

In the dim light of Mina’s loft, the two women plotted meticulously. They knew Evelyn would be expecting them, prepared for any move they might make. Lena’s face was hardened by the trials they had endured, while Mina’s eyes flickered with a mix of determination and trepidation. Soon it would be time to be called onto the stage.

The message had been simple, yet chilling - a formal invitation to a final showdown at Abyss. Lena and Mina had been expecting it, their hearts steeled for the confrontation. But as the night approached, a sense of unease settled over them. This was no ordinary challenge; they could feel it in the air.

"She’ll try to outmaneuver us, to use the club’s dark atmosphere and its sadistic tools against us," Mina said, pacing the small room. "We need to be ready for anything. Sometimes I think she really is a vampire."

The electric hum of bass-heavy music washing over them like a wave. The club was alive with its usual decadence: patrons in dazzling latex outfits glittered under the kaleidoscope of lights, heels clicked against the polished floor, and laughter mingled with the music’s relentless pulse. But amidst the sea of avant-garde fashion, one figure stood out - a woman encased head to toe in dull, constricting rubber. Her suit gleamed faintly under the strobe lights, but unlike the sleek, provocative attire of others, her outfit was shapeless and oppressive. The hood covered her entire head, leaving only her eyes visible through the openings. Her movements were stiff, almost mechanical, as if each step was a conscious struggle.

Curious whispers followed the woman wherever she went, and it wasn’t long before Lena overheard fragments of her story. "That’s her last night in it," someone said. "She’s been doing her 100 hours… poor thing." Mina leaned closer, catching more of the murmurs. "She lost a fashion duel, they say, with rebreather masks. Had to spend a whole week trapped in that ugly, heavy thing. The rubber, the heat, the sweat - imagine that." Another voice added, "And she still had to return here to Abyss, fully suited, on her last night. Midnight, and she’s free." Lena’s eyes lingered on the woman, noting the way her hands occasionally flexed as if trying to escape the slick confines of her gloves. Both she and Mina exchanged a look of quiet understanding - Abyss’s punishments always lingered far beyond the stage.

Lena nodded, her jaw set. "And we will have our own duel soon. I could live with rubberization as forfeit, but I bet we dance against painful stakes instead, unlike that her. And I want pain, but for Evelyn this time. This isn’t just about revenge anymore. We need to ensure she can never haunt us - or anyone else - again."

Despite their confidence, a nagging doubt lingered. The stakes had always been high at Club Abyss, but this time, they knew there was some plan hiding in the shadows.

The time came and Evelyn raised a hand, as the music quieted. The crowd hushed, their attention riveted on the stage. Beside Evelyn, an attendant held a small, sealed envelope. Evelyn took it, her smile faltering as she held it up for all to see. She wore a cold smile, but there was a glint of something darker in her eyes - an edge of desperation. She knew this was as much her reckoning as it was theirs.

"Let us welcome Lena and Mina," Evelyn’s voice rang out, smooth and calculated. "You’ve been invited to return for one last dance. How fitting."

The crowd hushed as the attendant handed over the sealed envelope. her expression was unreadable, her movements deliberate as she handed the envelope to Evelyn. She had intended to set the stakes herself but the owners of Club Abyss intervened and had taken an interest themselves and insisted on adding their own ideas and twists. This was out of even her control.

She had suggested chastity for the owners to be included in the possible forfeits, of course. She was well aware of Lena lingering at the chastity plagues in the lounge, often gazing at Alina’s counter. Nothing too severe, as she herself could not afford to be drained by the effects of long-term denial while running Abyss. A year would be great; three still acceptable. But she had the feeling that the owners would escalate the stakes beyond anything reasonable. She needed to win, and she had set her plan in motion. Lena and Mina had walked into her trap, they would not be allowed to walk away from a rematch challenge without triggering their financial and social ruin due to their membership contracts. But she also knew that the owners played their own game and she was only a figure on their chessboard as well. She was risk, at a real risk. Tonight she needed to trust her own fate to the trap she had prepared.

"This will be a three-way dance duel. We will dance until we have two losers and only one winner. The stakes will be higher than before. Unknown, secret, set by the Owners. We will open their instructions now and prepare ourselves to dance."

"The stakes," Evelyn said simply, her voice echoing through the room. "This," she announced, her voice steady but with an edge of uncertainty, "contains the stakes for tonight’s duel. It was prepared by the owners of Abyss, without my own interference, who have been very intrigued by this developing feud and insisted this challenge worthy of only the highest consequences. They defined the stakes on my behalf as I work for them. Even I don’t know yet what will await the losers."

Evelyn opened the envelope with a flourish, her fingers steady despite the tension crackling in the air. Evelyn broke the seal and unfolded the paper inside. As she scanned the contents, her expression shifted from smug confidence to something darker - shock, even fear. A flicker of fear indeed crossed her face, her being unable for a second to hold up her strong facade. She swallowed hard before reading aloud.

"The stakes for tonight’s duel are as follows," Evelyn began, her voice faltering slightly. "The losers will face the Needle Frame, for 24, yes, that’s for 24 hours, three times as long as our normal duration, and modified with new enhancements, needles for the finger and toe nails. The frame will now include a sensor array to pulse the needles up and down in the rhythm of our beloved music. Staying still will not pause the pain this time. These needle arrays adjust to the body’s movement, ensuring maximum contact and pain."

The crowd gasped, the murmurs of excitement turning to uneasy whispers. But Evelyn continued, her voice growing shakier.

"In addition," she read, "the Needle Chamber in our basement will be filled with a dense, aphrodisiacal mist infused with an agent designed to heighten sensitivity, making every prick and jab more unbearable."

Lena and Mina exchanged tense glances, their resolve hardening. Evelyn’s hands visibly trembled as she unfolded the next part of the letter.

"Furthermore," she read, her voice barely a whisper now, "the losers will be given the Cap of Despair." She paused and regained her composure. Her eyes darted in panic from left to right, to the audience and then back to the letter. That meant the Count, the head of owners, for sure was willing to actively put his hostess’ sanity at risk.

"This cursed object consists of a small cap, mere two inches in diameter which is covered in sharp needles on its inside and smooth metal on the outside."

She paused again. Steeling herself she read the next part, hoping her voice was not brittle.

"The Cap of Despair is fixed via a clitoris piercing and 4 labia piercings into place, capping the clitoris under a shield of needles. An erect clitoris will be greeted by the needles and the unfortunate wearers will want to avoid any pressure on it, sealing their souls in perpetual longing, unable to fulfill a very basic desire. The Cap of Despair is held in place by rods with a spring loaded mechanism, making removal impossible."

The room fell into a stunned silence, the gravity of the stakes sinking in. Evelyn seemed momentarily shaken, her usual composure slipping. Mina gasped and with a panicky expression looked to Lena, her mouth wording a silent "No."

"It seems chastity is becoming a virtue again these days. Tonight, we will silence two clits." Evelyn concluded. She herself was truly shocked at the owner’s stakes. She wanted chastity in this duel for her two rivals, yes, but nothing permanent. There still was a risk that she might lose the duel.

"And lastly," she continued, "we will perform our dance in The Wraith’s Ensemble, a full-body spike suit made from thick latex, and our beloved Translucent Torment Heels equipped with dormant needles that activate with every misstep. The music," she added with a sly smile returning to her lips, "will be a long, intricate classical piece."

Lena’s stomach dropped. Classical music? They had trained for the relentless beats of the club, not the nuanced, slow and very precise rhythms of a symphony. They could not run, nor refuse, as it was a rematch to their earlier challenge. Refusal in a rematch would trigger their complete social and financial ruin according to their membership contracts. The stakes had been set. They had to take it or could be ruined by Abyss for breach of contract. The nature of Evelyn’s trap was clear now, now they understood fully why Evelyn let them win the previous time; there was no running from a re-match.

They were between a rock and a hard place.

The assistants brought out the latex spike suits, semi-loose black catsuits with plenty of nodules covering them. It was clear to everyone that under these knobs the sensor-active spikes lay dormant. The inside of the suit was slick in dressing aid, silicone oil. The Translucent Torment Heels were laid out as well, their black nodules gleaming under the club’s harsh lights. Behind the curtains, Lena and Mina stripped their own catsuits and with the help of the attendants, donned the outfits in silence, the knobs pressing lightly against their skin, a cruel promise of the pain to come, the almost familiar click when the heels locked around their vulnerable bare feet.

After stepping out on stage, the music soon began - soft, haunting strings that built into a complex orchestration. Evelyn’s smile widened as she started to move with practiced grace, her steps perfectly in sync with the ebb and flow of the melody.

Lena and Mina soon struggled to keep up, their bodies unfamiliar with the shifting rhythms. The sensors embedded in their suits detected every misstep, every falter, and the sharp spikes pulsed outwards in response, digging into their flesh. Soon, sweat was running profusely under the latex suits, which were sliding with ease over their sensitive skin.

Evelyn danced effortlessly, her movements fluid and precise, while Lena and Mina twisted and stumbled, the pain intensifying with each mistake. The sharp spikes dragging and scratching as well as prodding as they slid easily through the mixture of oil and sweat, biting into the sensitive skin. The classical music was unforgiving, its unpredictable tempo changes catching them off guard at every turn.

Sweat poured down their faces as they fought to stay in sync, but the spikes were relentless. Each misstep sent a wave of agony through their bodies, inside the heels, needles instead of spikes biting deeper with every beat they missed.

The crowd watched in a mix of awe and horror as Lena and Mina’s screams echoed through the club. Evelyn’s face was a mask of calm triumph, her plan unfolding perfectly. The classical piece dragged on, its complex layers twisting and turning, offering no reprieve. Evelyn was visibly bathed in sweat herself, her face twitching in agony when her spikes and needles activated occasionally.

As the symphony reached its crescendo, Lena’s legs buckled, the spikes driving into her with brutal precision. She collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain, her body unable to endure any longer. Mina danced on, she still had the chance to win over Evelyn. They danced, Lena between them, crumbled on the floor, trying to get the Heels off her feet.

Evelyn smiled at Mina, intimidating her, she tried to make her dance look effortless, but micro spasms betrayed her, revealing her pain. Mina was thrown off-guard as she looked down at Lena, who was now on all fours, trying in vain to find a position where the spikes in her suit were more bearable. She was gasping in pain, and Mina missed a note in the symphony, followed soon after another, and as the needles dug into the delicate part of her arches, her screams of agony filled the chamber, as she too succumbed to the relentless assault. They both lay on the floor, unable to find any acceptable movement as all spikes in the suits were fully extended, as well as the needles under their soles.

As the music came to a slow end a minute later, spikes retracting, Evelyn stepped forward, her victory all but assured. She gazed down at Lena and Mina, her smile cold and victorious.

"The dance is over," she declared, her voice cutting triumphantly through the air. "And you have lost. After serving your time in the needle frames, you are banned from returning to Abyss for a year. A deserved time-out. Enough of your impudent challenges. And even after, if you dare to show your faces here again, I will make you suffer beyond comprehension."

The weight of their defeat was crushing.

Evelyn stood victorious, but her victory was hollow. The stakes had shaken even her, the fear of what could have been lingering in her mind. For now, she had won, but the cost of power in Club Abyss was always steep. She had been close, too close, to falling down to the stage floor herself. Mina was too good at accepting pain. There had been significant risk for her. She felt betrayed by the owners of Abyss.

Lena and Mina, their spirits broken, were led once again into the basement, their fates sealed. And as the crimson glow of Club Abyss flickered in the night, the rhythm of the club continued, an eternal reminder that in this place, the dance never truly ends. The club’s patrons danced with new found vigor, celebrating the event and enjoying the thought that under the dance floor two women were suffering in their needles.

The dim, oppressive chamber beneath Club Abyss was filled with a heavy bass from above, broken only by the faint hum of machinery. In the center of the room stood two needle frames, ominous and meticulously designed to deliver the most excruciating pain imaginable without drawing a single drop of blood. Lena and Mina, stripped of their triumphs and latex suits, hung suspended within these cruel devices, their bodies subjected to an agony that defied comprehension.

The frames themselves were marvels of sadistic ingenuity. Metal arms extended from the base, holding Lena and Mina aloft, their limbs spread-eagled wide, leaving every inch of their naked bodies exposed. The dull, silver sheen of the countless needles glinted under the harsh light, each one positioned with precision to press into the most sensitive areas of the body.

Above and below, the arrays of needles hovered ominously, their movements controlled by a complex system of sensors and gears. These arrays adjusted constantly, ensuring that no part of their bodies was spared from the relentless pressure of the needles, just dull enough not to puncture the skin.

As the first wave of needles pressed into their skin, a gasp escaped from Lena’s lips, followed by a strangled cry from Mina. The sensation on their return into the frame was unlike anything they had ever experienced - a relentless, maddening pressure that didn’t break the skin but seemed to burrow into their very nerves.

The frame’s sensors detected every twitch, every shudder, and adjusted accordingly. The needles moved in concert with their bodies, pressing harder with each involuntary movement, ensuring that there was no escape from the torment.

The soles of their feet bore the brunt of the torment. The frames were equipped with the add-on of specialized arrays designed to focus on this particularly sensitive area. As the needles pressed into the delicate skin of their soles, Lena and Mina writhed in agony, the pain radiating up their legs in unbearable waves. The soles were targeted not only because of their sensitivity but also because they had already been weakened by the brutal dance. The needles pushed into the soft flesh with cruel precision, stimulating every nerve ending without breaking the skin. The sensation was a mixture of searing pain and maddening discomfort, as if the very fabric of their being was being unraveled with each passing second.

The torment extended to their fingers and toes, where the needles found new avenues of pain. Upon careful placement of these needles under the finger nails by the attendants, a symphony of twenty sharp cry echoed through the basement, ten from Lena and ten even louder screams from Mina. Each nail was subjected to relentless, pulsating pressure from the needles. The frames’ sensors ensured that the needles pressed directly between nail and the nail beds, creating a sensation akin to having their nails pried away slowly, without any actual damage being done.

The twentyfold symphony played out once again, in an even more ferocious intensity as the procedure was repeated at their toe nails.

The pain from the needles under their nails was sharp and unrelenting, sending jolts of agony through their hands and feet with every pulse. Lena’s fingers and toes twitched uncontrollably, each movement met with a fresh wave of torment as the needles adjusted to maintain their cruel contact. Mina’s toes curled instinctively, but the frames were designed to counter such movements, forcing her toes to remain spread and exposed to the full brunt of the needles’ assault.

The attendants went underneath the frames and inspected their occupants clits, somewhat disappointed to find Lena already pierced. After one of them vanished under Mina’s frame, she heard her friend starting to moan. Gentle at first, then more intensely. Lena recognized her deep moan as the was soon teetering on the edge. The moaning turned into a shrill shriek of panic, as they let their piercing needle wander through Mina’s clitoris, drawing out a deep and long scream. Quickly, the labia were also pierced, with barbells added, to stabilize the fresh piercing canals. The pain from this almost neglectable under the needle frames activity.

With their duties done for now, the attendants left them to their tortures in the frames, only to return after twenty-four hours. As if the needles weren’t enough, the chamber was filled with a dense mist laced with an aphrodisiacal agent. This mist heightened their sensitivity, amplifying every prick and jab to an unbearable degree. The air was thick and cloying, each inhalation drawing more of the mist into their lungs.

The agent acted quickly, enhancing their nervous system’s response to the pain. What might have been a dull ache became a searing, electrifying torment. The mist clung to their skin, seeping into their pores, making every inch of their bodies hyper-sensitive to the touch of the needles.

Time lost all meaning in the chamber. The needle frames were relentless, their automated systems ensuring that the torment was continuous and varied. The arrays send waveforms over the needles, moving them to the rhythm of the bass still heard down in the basement, pressing into different parts of their bodies, never allowing their nerves a moment of respite. The soles of their feet, the tips of their fingers, the delicate skin beneath their nails - no area was spared.

Lena’s mind swam in a sea of pain, her thoughts fractured and disjointed. She could feel every needle, every pulse, as if her very essence was being unraveled by the torment. Mina fared no better, her body convulsing with each new wave of pain, her cries muffled by the thick mist that filled the chamber.

The psychological aspect of their torment was equally devastating. The knowledge that the needles would never draw blood, never cause permanent damage, made the pain all the more maddening. There was no release, no hope of passing out. Their bodies were kept in a state of heightened awareness, forced to endure every second of the agony. Lena could feel her sanity slipping, each pulse of the needles driving her closer to the edge. Mina’s screams had turned to sobs, her spirit broken by the relentless assault.

As the 24-hour punishment drew to a close, Lena and Mina’s bodies were wracked with exhaustion, their nerves frayed to the breaking point. The needles continued their merciless assault, pressing into their soles, their fingers, their toes, each pulse a reminder of their defeat.

The frames showed no mercy, their automated systems ensuring that the torment continued until the very last second

Finally, the frames fell dormant, the needles slowly pulling away from their bodies. The aphrodisiacal mist dissipated, leaving Lena and Mina gasping for air, their lungs burning with the remnants of the agent.

The silent attendants returned, standing menacingly before them, on two velvet cushions, two small circular silvery objects presented themselves in the dim light. The Caps of Despair. With nimble fingers, the clitoral hoods were pushed back, the barbells were removed and the metal shields put over their clits. Spring loaded small rods slid into the three canals of the Caps of Despair, two through the labia, and the central one securely through the clitoris itself, holding it ever so slightly under tension. Small balls were securely screwed onto each end, until a definite click secured them into place with the sound signaling finality. The attendants continued to turn the balls until they just came off, with no apparent mechanism of removal remaining.

Both were lowered from the frames, their bodies limp and trembling, sinking to the floor. The torment was over, but the pain lingered, a phantom reminder of the 24 hours of unimaginable agony they had endured.

Lena and Mina were left alone in the chamber, their bodies battered but intact. The piercings would heal, but the psychological scars would remain. They had faced the full wrath of Club Abyss’s sadistic machinery, but at a cost that neither could fully comprehend yet.

Love Triangle

The following weekend, the dark pulse of Abyss thrummed in the air as Evelyn stood on the elevated stage, her cold gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd.

The contenders were arguing in the lounge. Elise and Nadia. Both women were poised, their rivalry palpable as they locked eyes, neither willing to back down. Nadia sat at a lounge table, clad in black matte latex. Her every movement shimmered with tension, and though her pose was statuesque, her fingers betrayed her - tapping slowly against the curve of her thigh. Her eyes tracked Elise like a blade seeking a throat.

The lights of Abyss shimmered in gold and black, reflecting off the polished obsidian floor like fireflies caught in obsidian glass. Patrons moved like specters - elegant, slow, curious. At the far end of the central lounge, Elise reclined with effortless poise on a velvet chaise, her gleaming black leather dress hugging every inch of her frame. Her mask was off, her expression bored and smug. She tilted her head ever so slightly, listening without truly hearing.

Across from her, Nadia stood, arms folded, jaw tight. Her outfit was plainer, a retail-tier latex number that clung to her curves without opulence, clearly not made to measure. Still, she stood upright, her chin held high, not caring about the difference in cut or shine. Her eyes were on Elise - sharp, cutting.

"Still seething, Nadia?" Elise cooed. "Isn’t it exhausting, playing the tragic lover?"

Nadia didn’t move. "I’m seething because you lie like you breathe. And because I see through it. You are so full of it, you think you are better than all of us."

Elise laughed, sharp and bright. "Darling, I don’t lie. I win. If you don’t like being second, perhaps try being… more. At least, I am better than you. But that doesn’t require much. Even Alexandru is not totally into you. I just need to snap my fingers."

Nadia flared. "You can't stand not being adored. You seduced Alexandru just to hurt me."

"Seduced? He came willingly. Maybe if you had spent less time pouting and more time captivating, he'd still be orbiting you."

Nadia stepped forward. "He wasn't orbiting me. He was dating me. You stole him."

Elise’s eyes sparkled with a cruel glint. "And yet, here we are. You, throwing your weight around like a sore loser. Me, simply thriving. Don’t confuse your emotional wreckage with theft."

By now, a crowd was forming. Laughter low, murmurs rich with interest. Abyss fed on conflict like wine.

"You think he prefers you?" Nadia asked, her voice lowering. "Because of your polish? Your cold? He told me what you were like when you thought no one was watching. He told me you were needy. Greedy."

Elise’s smile faltered for the briefest second. Then returned, even sharper.

"Oh, darling. You’re cute when you pretend you matter. But we both know I could have him in a moment if I wanted to. You think love protects you? In Abyss?"

Nadia took a step forward. "Then prove it. If you’re so sure, then take the stage. Challenge me. But you never risk anything. You are so entitled, thinking you are above all, but you are a coward."

Elise arched an eyebrow. She hissed. "How dare you!? You are a nothing compared to me. Are you truly that desperate to lose to me in public?"

"You’re stalling."

"I’m savoring," Elise purred.

"Then prove it," Nadia said, loud enough for the first row of onlookers to freeze. "If you’re so certain you're above me, then show it. Or are you afraid you'll lose your little trophy?"

Elise stood, slowly. The motion was feline, controlled, dangerous. The leather of her dress whispered as it stretched. "I'm not afraid of anything. Least of all you."

"Then dance me," Nadia said. "Publicly."

Patrons gasped. Elise froze.

Then, as if on cue, Evelyn stepped from the shadows, her corset emerald and laced with shadows. She stepped between them, her presence halting the growing tension like a blade of ice. "Elise," she said silkily, turning with theatrical deliberation, "perhaps it is time you issued the challenge, no? She has called you out so publicly as coward. Are you going to let such insolence pass unanswered?"

Elise blinked, taken off guard.

Evelyn’s smile deepened, her voice a whisper only for Elise, knowing which buttons to push. "Take the stage, call her out. Claim your place. You know how Abyss works - the challenger declares, but the forfeit belongs to the challenged. Or is she correct and you are a coward?"

The crowd held its breath. Elise hesitated. Her pride screamed to retreat. Her instinct to protect herself - to never gamble unless victory was guaranteed - burned hot in her throat. She had never risked anything of this weight. But Evelyn was watching. So was Alexandru. And Nadia stood too confidently for Elise to retreat.

Elise, boxed in and knowing the trap had already closed around her, lifted her chin. Her voice rang clear, with an edge of fury: "Nadia, I challenge you. Let's see if you can handle being on the same stage with someone like me."

Evelyn's smile widened. "Then, Nadia, as the challenged, the forfeit is yours to set."

Nadia didn't blink. "The loser will be belted. Chastity. One year."

The murmurs turned to stunned silence. Evelyn's smile brightened, she didn’t think Nadia was ready for a long-term forfeit.

Only now did Elise’s mask crack. Her breath caught, and for a second, her eyes darted to Evelyn, then to the crowd. A year? A full year? She had never wagered herself. Never placed her sex, her orgasms on the line. Never risked anything too extreme. Never risked anything that lasted longer than the night. She had danced, teased, played the stage for years - but always safe, away from the edge, but never truly committing her own pleasure to the flames. She played games, but with her own rules, taking wagers when she was sure she would win. Like Claudia. Risked a whipping when she was certain about the outcome. This would be different. This would be real.

Her mind raced. She’d never done a public duel, and neither had she danced against someone with so much burning to prove something. And worse, she couldn’t back down. Not here. Not now.

"That's absurd," she managed.

"Then walk away," Nadia snapped. "But you'll do it in front of everyone. And we both know you're not going to."

Evelyn stepped forward. "A full year. Clean, powerful, undeniable. Abyss will honor it. The belt, of course, would be only coming off for hygiene under the attendants supervision. Locked. Sealed. No relief."

Elise said nothing more. But her silence was its own surrender.

The crowd parted as the two women ascended the stage. Gasps and whispers followed.

Evelyn took center stage, her voice smooth and commanding. "Tonight’s entertainment promised to be particularly enticing - a duel between two women, rivals, now vying for the affection of the same man. Tonight, we witness their clash of desire, a battle for love’s fickle favor. Elise and Nadia stand before us, each seeking to claim the same man’s heart. But only one can triumph."

She turned theatrically to Nadia. "Please, for all our audience, repeat the forfeit."

Nadia stepped forward, her voice steady but edged with disdain. "The loser of this duel steps down. Not just from Alexandru. From touch, from sex, from seduction. She embraces total abstinence. Chastity."

Elise rolled her shoulders back, as if already victorious. "How quaint. I do hope the belt is comfortable as you will wear it a long time. I’d hate to be inconvenienced if she loses."

The crowd murmured, intrigued by the request. Evelyn’s smile widened, her interest piqued by the suggestion, given the recent events unfolding in her personal vendetta. "A very bold proposal," she said, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "A fitting chastity punishment for the loser. Ensuring she becomes a mere shadow of her former self. For tonight we shall again languish a pussy instead of soles. This can perfectly be accomplished by long-term chastity. And I approve - wholeheartedly. We haven’t had a serious chastity duel in months. We all remember Alina, who is still locked. And Mina and Lena, with their special jewelry, the Caps of Despair. Chastity duels are my personal favorites, and here in Abyss we are never afraid to go long-term."

As a reminder for the audience, a screen above the stage lit up, showing a magnified view of Alina’s portrait adorning the lounge area of Abyss, along with other failed contestants.

ALINA

ICE PRINCESS. CHASTITY. 5 YEARS.

4 y, 4 m, 17 d, 14:04

Nadia turned, her mind spinning. She didn’t want to fight over Alexandru again in twelve months. She just wanted to be in peace with him. A thought formed into words. Her voice sharp, defiant. "But since you mentioned that we shall not be afraid to go long term. One year is long, yes. Unless…" she paused, the stage light catching the gleam in her eye.

Elise tensed. "What do you mean?"

Evelyn shooed her. "Yes, go on, dear."

Nadia stepped closer to Evelyn. "This is about the winner being with Alexandru. Isn’t that more fitting? The loser is belted, yes, but for as long as the winner remains with him. She becomes untouchable. Sexually uninteresting for him. For as long as the winner is in a relationship with him."

The air turned still. Even the whispering stopped.

"You manipulative little - " Elise’s words caught in her throat.

Evelyn’s grin was sharp. "An escalation. Nadia wants to raise the stakes. One rooted in emotional consequence. The challenged still retains the right."

Evelyn turned to Elise, who stood silently, her jaw clenched. "Do you accept the challenge under these terms?" Evelyn asked, her tone teasing.

Elise’s pride fought against her dread. She couldn't back down. Not now. She couldn’t allow her reputation be tarnished by not being able to take and manage risk. Not in her industry, not in her position. She could not become laughing stock in Abyss. Careers were made and unmade here. But a retail girl challenging her to something like this, she had to win this, at all costs. Even if she had to shred her soles in the heels. And Nadia was going to pay.

Elise’s dagger-filled eyes flicked to Nadia, then back to Evelyn. "I accept." She hissed. "But when she loses, I will make her suffer. I want her forgotten."

Evelyn raised her arms. "One dance. One duel. The heels shall judge. One winner walks away with desire. The other with a lock."

And in that moment, Elise swore to herself: she would not be bested. And if she won - Nadia would suffer more than chastity. She would suffer Elise’s full attention.

And Evelyn’s voice echoed over the room, rich and gleeful.

"Let the duel begin."

From the shadows, a silent attendant emerged, carrying two pairs of gleaming heels. The familiar Glass Agony Heels - sleek, transparent, and adorned with intricate designs, their translucent soles revealed rows of dormant needles in their black nodules.

"These," Evelyn explained, holding up one pair, "will ensure our duel is not merely about grace but about endurance. The needles will activate with each misstep, pressing into the soles of your feet. And," she added with a wicked smile, "the loser’s chastity punishment will be accompanied by my own addition - as you insisted on the loser becoming untouchable. Club Abyss is always prepared for these types of stakes. I provide a chastity belt that not only locks desire away but will also emit a reminder of this night’s failure whenever she feels longing, as it will come designed with its own small needle pad over the clitoral area."

The crowd’s murmurs turned to gasps and delighted laughter, their fascination growing with each word. Evelyn’s twist was as devious as it was fitting for the club’s dark atmosphere.

Elise and Nadia slipped into the Glass Agony Heels, their faces betraying a mix of determination and apprehension. The music began, a haunting symphony with erratic beats and shifting rhythms designed to challenge even the most skilled dancers.

The two women moved with grace, their bodies swaying to the music, each step carefully measured. The needles beneath the soles remained dormant at first, but as the tempo increased, the challenge revealed itself. Nadia faltered slightly, and the needles responded, pressing into her feet with sharp precision. She gritted her teeth, pushing through the pain, determined not to show weakness. Elise, too, struggled as the music’s pace quickened, her movements becoming more frantic.

The crowd watched in rapt attention, each misstep eliciting gasps and murmurs. The duel was fierce, both women driven by their desire to win and the fear of the punishment awaiting the loser. As the symphony reached its crescendo, the intensity became unbearable. Nadia stumbled, her face contorting in pain as the needles jabbed into her naked soles. She fought to regain her balance, but the damage was done. The moment of hesitation gave Elise the upper hand.

With a final flourish, Elise completed the dance, her movements fluid despite the visible strain. Nadia collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath, with the weight lifted off of the shoes, the needles extended fully and pressing into her tender soles with relentless precision.

Evelyn stepped forward, her expression triumphant. "And so, the victor is decided. Elise, you have proven your worth."

The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers reverberating through the club. Evelyn turned to Nadia, who still knelt on the stage, her face pale with exhaustion and defeat.

"Nadia," Evelyn said, her voice dripping with false sympathy, "you have lost. It is not wise to fight over a man who is apparently undecided between you two. And now, you shall face the consequences for your foolishness."

The silent attendant returned, carrying a sleek, dark metal chastity belt on a velvet cushion adorned with intricate locks. Evelyn took it, her smile cold as she approached Nadia. "This will be your constant companion," she said, holding the belt up for all to see. "But remember, this is no ordinary chastity belt. Whenever you feel the stirrings of desire, when you press down on the crotch piece, it will painfully remind you of your failure, ensuring your longing is met with nothing but echoes of this night."

Nadia was led behind the curtain and undressed. The attendants, with precise, swift, unnatural speed, fitted the belt around her, adjusting hidden mechanisms to ensure a tight but endurable fit. Nadia’s eyes filled with tears, her hands trembling as she adjusted to the tight, unforgiving fit of the belt. She was instructed to come back whenever she would require cleaning, hygiene or other maintenance.

Emerging back from the curtain, naked expect for her belt, her arms crossed before her breasts out of modesty, she stood trembling. The crowd watched with fascination, the weight of the punishment settling heavily on her shoulders.

Evelyn turned back to Elise who was sitting on a chair on the stage, a smirk playing on her lips. "And as for you, enjoy your victory. But remember, Abyss is a place where desires are fleeting, and triumphs are never guaranteed." Louder and into the microphone she announced, "Behold. Nadia has been sealed, her desires not her’s to control but only to endure." The crowed roared with approval.

As the crowd fell back into its dance rhythm, still excited of the events of the night, Evelyn remained on the stage, watching Nadia as she was led away. The chastity punishment, paired with the constant reminder of her failure, was a fitting end to the evening’s entertainment.

Nadia was in disbelief. This was so unfair. How could she have lost to that bitch. She wasn’t even so much into him. This was more about conquering her than him.

Evelyn reveled in the power she wielded, the control she held over the fates of those who dared to step onto her stage. The duel of desire had been a success, and Evelyn’s hunger for spectacle was sated - at least for now.

In Abyss’ lounge a new portrait was to be admired, next to Alina’s. Only the timer was absent.

NADIA

SCORNED LOVER. CHASTITY.

---

The city outside Abyss pulsed with its usual indifference - taxis weaving through traffic, neon signs flickering with relentless advertisements, the faint thrum of music leaking from apartment windows above the streets. Elise waited with an elegant kind of impatience. She was already seated at the corner table of the rooftop café, legs crossed, fingers lightly drumming the handle of her porcelain cup. The tablecloths were white, the cutlery minimalist chrome. She wore a fitted gray coat with high lapels and a belt cinched tight around her waist. Her sunglasses shielded her eyes, but her smirk needed no disguise. Alexandru arrived exactly on time.

Tall, effortlessly stylish in a black wool overcoat and dark scarf, his presence turned more than one head as he approached. His dark eyes scanned the rooftop, locked onto Elise, and narrowed slightly. She looked stunning, as always.

"You chose a very public place," he said as he sat down.

"It seemed fitting," Elise replied, waving a hand. "Besides, victory tastes sweeter with a skyline view."

A silence stretched as a server approached, took Alexandru’s order - a double espresso - and vanished again.

"You were impressive last night," Alexandru said finally, folding his hands over the table. "You danced with more fire than I expected from someone who calls herself above these games."

Elise arched an eyebrow. "You think I didn't take it seriously?"

"I think you usually don’t bother unless the result flatters you."

Elise took a sip from her cup, considering. "Maybe I found the stakes worth it."

Alexandru exhaled softly, eyes flicking to the cityscape beyond her shoulder. "You risked yourself in a high stakes duel. For me. I’m beyond words. Nadia was serious too. Too serious. I didn’t expect her to put herself on the line like that. I couldn’t believe when I heard you accepted to dance with that forfeit."

"She thought she would win," Elise said lightly. "She imagined herself gallant, triumphant, adored."

"She cared."

Elise tilted her head. "So did I. I would not risk losing you to her. I had to step up. Nobody takes from me what is mine. I could not allow that retail girl stand between us."

He looked at her for a long moment, and Elise didn’t flinch under it. She never did. She was more than confident, calling him her possession. He would need to be on his strongest side to handle a woman like her.

"It was a spectacle," Alexandru said at last.

"She chose the forfeit."

"You accepted it."

Elise's voice dipped a little. "You think I didn’t gamble anything? You think I enjoy the idea of being chaste, locked, irrelevant?"

Alexandru hesitated. "Honestly? I didn’t think you cared enough about me to wager anything real."

There it was - the truth, raw and plain.

Elise leaned back, removing her sunglasses slowly. Her eyes, sharp and dark, searched his.

"I care about you. And I care about winning. I care about not being second place. But more than that, I care about you thinking I don’t feel. That I don’t bleed. I risked … metal around my waist."

He said nothing for a moment. The wind toyed with a strand of hair at his temple.

"You know," he said, "she cried when she left Abyss last night. Not in public. But I saw it."

Elise didn’t blink. Her expression didn’t change. She stirred her tea slowly.

"And you?" she asked. "Do you feel decided now?"

He didn’t smile. "It was not a decision, was it? Not mine anyway. But I feel chosen. It’s a gift you risked so much."

That pleased her more than she let on. "Then don’t pretend I did this for sport."

The espresso arrived. Alexandru took a sip, studied her over the rim.

"You were… magnificent," he said finally. "And you really would have accepted the belt if you lost?"

"You know very well, I would not have been able to reject it after the duel. You know the contracts, you just want to hear it from me - that I was ready to risk my sex life for you. But even if I had been belted, you would have visited me," Elise said. "Maybe even grown to prefer me that way. Wrapped in orgasm denial. Helpless but mysterious. You would not have stayed with the sales girl, not for long."

Alexandru chuckled softly. "You think I’m that easy to seduce?"

Elise stirred her espresso slowly, savoring its bitter scent. She watched Alexandru over the rim of her cup. He looked relaxed, maybe too relaxed. She could see the questions in his eyes, the unspoken thoughts behind his charm.

"I think you're that easy to intrigue," she murmured, tracing the edge of her saucer. "Do not visit her. Don’t go out with her. I don’t won’t her belt to unlock because of that. You don’t want me to duel you, do you?"

He gave a half-smile, acknowledging her control without protest. "Only in your penthouse I'd duel you. Not on the stage. So what now?"

Elise leaned back, crossing her legs slowly, letting the silence do the work. "You always wanted me. And now I want you, too. So let’s see if you can handle what you thought you wanted."

He met her gaze, unflinching. "Try me."

Her smile grew, subtle and slow. "Very well. Let's go now. My place."

He leaned forward slightly, testing the edge. "Elise… you in latex. And heels. And you will be tied."

She blinked once. A tiny pause, not of fear but calculation. Latex on her was taboo. Not in the world of Abyss - there, it was currency, language, identity. But for Elise, rubber was a symbol of submission. It was for women like Nadia, like the display pieces Elise had walked past with mild disdain. She preferred satin and velvet, silk robes and tailored leather. Power through elegance. Not suffocation.

But for this? For him? No - for herself. To prove the point.

Elise tilted her head and smiled again, this time letting a sharper, silkier tone into her voice. "Latex is for the bound. But if you want a dominatrix in disguise as submissive, as your submissive…" she trailed her fingers along the side of her glass, then looked up. "Then you'll see how power moves even in rubber."

He hesitated, intrigued. "So you'll wear it?"

"Yes," she said simply. "As you demand, Master."

But her voice held mockery and magnetism in equal measure. Because for Elise, it was never about obedience. It was theater. She would let him think he was winning, let him play at dominance. But in her mind, she already saw the strings. And she was holding them.

Elise was never going to be his possession. But she would let him taste control, just long enough for her to teach him that dominance was an illusion she had long since mastered.

For taking Alexandru from Nadia, she would don the latex. She would secure her catch. Both of them; secure Alexandru as her lover, and securing Nadia’s lock. And in her carefully curated smile was the hidden truth: she had not only taken Alexandru. She had taken something from Nadia that could never be returned. And that mattered more than anything else.

Elise wanted to solidify their newly budding relationship - now openly branching into the erotic - not only to explore the pull she felt toward Alexandru, but to cement what she had taken. If not for being with him, not yet at least, then for keeping him. Keeping him from Nadia. Keeping Nadia belted. Denied. Powerless.

It was more than romance, more than flirtation. The clause in Nadia’s own challenge still echoed sweetly in Elise’s mind: "for as long as the winner is with him." Elise had seized the upper hand, and now she had only to maintain the illusion of closeness - maybe even real closeness - to keep Nadia locked, denied of every ounce of pleasure. That weight, that subtle leverage, thrilled her.

The idea that each touch she offered Alexandru, each glance, each shared coffee or night spent in lazy decadence, ensured Nadia’s ongoing denial - this was the fuel for Elise’s indulgence. Her motivation wasn’t simply affection; it was conquest extended. Every day she stayed close to Alexandru was another day Nadia spent locked in unrelieved yearning.

And Elise could feel it tightening, like a ribbon drawn around both women - one in visible satin and velvet, the other in invisible steel.

---

Nadia sat in the dim solitude of her apartment, the events of her humiliating defeat at Abyss replaying endlessly in her mind. The sleek chastity belt locked around her waist was a constant reminder of her failure. Its intricate design, a symbol of her loss, had now become an unrelenting prison. The smooth metal clung tightly to her body, leaving no room for comfort or relief. How would she get if off? In the heat of the duel and its aftermath, she did not recall on how long she’d have to wear it.

Each time she felt even the faintest stir of desire, the belt responded with a subtle pain, sending waves of discomfort through her. This was accompanied by needles too sharp to ignore whenever she allowed her clitoris to become engorged. Almost as if a whisper came from within the belt: "You have lost. You will not forget."

In the days following the duel, Nadia tried everything to remove the belt. She attempted to pick the locks with improvised tools, only to find that the belt was impervious to tampering. Each attempt was met with an inexplicable pulse of the needle pad inside the belt, causing sharp discomfort and forcing her to abandon her efforts. It felt, as if the belt was angry.

At night, she pondered the question of how long she’d have to endure the belt? How long to life a chaste life? She had said the loser shall not interfere in the relationship, but how did Evelyn interpret that? She even contemplated seeking help from a professional, but the shame of revealing her situation kept her from doing so. The belt was unyielding, and her every attempt to escape it ended in failure.

By the end of the week, Nadia knew she couldn’t endure the belt’s torment alone. She needed answers. Desperation drove her back to Abyss, the place she thought might hold some explanation - or mercy. The club pulsed as ever, golden lights flickering like firelight through smoke, music vibrating through her chest. She cut through the crowd, a determined line toward the elevated dais where Evelyn sat in watchful repose.

"Evelyn," she called, voice cracking, her breath quick. "I need to speak with you."

Evelyn barely turned. Her lips curled with amusement. "Nadia," she purred. "So soon? Are you enjoying your little souvenir?"

Nadia’s face tightened. "Please. I didn’t think… I didn’t mean - "

"Didn’t mean to bind yourself so tightly?" Evelyn tilted her head, amused. "You made your demand clear enough. ‘The loser shall be denied as long as the winner remains with him.’ It was quite poetic, really. If Elise had lost, she’d be pacing in frustration by now."

"I didn’t think it would be like this," Nadia said, her voice low and desperate. "I was angry. I wanted to win. I didn’t imagine - "

Evelyn stood slowly, the motion deliberate, theatrical. "That’s the thing about forfeit design, my dear. Once spoken aloud, they are not suggestions. They are vows."

Nadia stepped closer, her voice almost a whisper now. "Isn’t there any way to… reduce it? A limit? Something reasonable? You know this could go on for too long."

Evelyn’s expression softened, but not kindly. "Yes. Or at least as long as Elise and Alexandru remain a pair. Which, considering her temperament and his… appetite… may last far longer than your patience."

Evelyn’s smile never faded, but her eyes narrowed. "Did you think about that before declaring your terms in front of half the club?"

"I didn’t think Elise would win. That she would handle the needles. I thought she is all words and no action."

Evelyn laughed softly. "A mistake many make. Betting on righteousness over rhythm." She moved closer, her voice wrapping around Nadia like velvet. "You may have been rash, but Abyss is not a place for second thoughts. You asked for duration - and so, duration you receive."

"I can’t live like this," Nadia hissed, the tension in her throat threatening tears. "I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t touch myself. The needle pad. Even arousal sends me into pain."

"Then consider this an education," Evelyn said. "In endurance. In patience. In consequences."

She turned, half-dismissive, but then stopped. "There is one path forward."

Nadia’s breath hitched.

"You may train. Prepare for another duel. Win, and you may pass the belt on - should you choose an opponent and challenge them under proper stakes. But until then, it is yours. Entirely yours. Also, you can ask for a challenge if you really need relief. Of course I would consult with Elise first, as she has won over you, and retains the right to allow others or deny such a challenge."

She walked a slow circle around Nadia, her tone shifting into something colder. "You asked for Elise to be sealed away. To be untouched, uninteresting. You didn’t ask for the same in return, but that is the nature of Abyss. The rules you invoke, the terms you define, may yet become your chains."

Nadia looked away, shame prickling at her skin.

"And if you wish," Evelyn added, softer now, "I can have your plaque updated. Just to ease the uncertainty."

Nadia didn’t respond.

But later that night, as she passed through the velvet-lined lounge, her breath caught. There it was. Her portrait was updated.

NADIA

SCORNED LOVER. CHASTITY.

INDEFINITE

- - : - -

She winced as she looked at the red timer below that emptily blinked without any numbers. What a cruel joke. Evelyn had been mocking her. She headed towards the exit. The belt suddenly felt so much heavier. She needed time to clear her mind.

Despair

Almost a year had passed since Lena and Mina had been cursed with the Caps of Despair, and the pain of their loss still clung to them like a second skin. They were barred from enjoying their most intimate parts, their bodies refusing to give in to the peaks of pleasure. After the piercings had fully healed, Lena, and Mina, each on their own, fought with the permanent presence of the caps. The constant ever so slight outwards pull of the center rod on their clits was impossible to ignore. Their pearls were hovering just shy of the sharp needles of the cap’s insides. Especially Mina, who always was a slave to her own desires had a hard time coming to terms with her new reality. Masturbation was still her favorite to pass the time on her evenings, but while dildos, toys and penetration worked fine, intercourse did not. They did find their ways back together. Bound by desires and shared suffering. Scissoring with Lena proved to be very painful with the Caps of Despair on, they found out quickly after their healing period was over. For both of them, unfortunately, penetration was never enough to reach the crest of lust. Orgasms seemed to be a thing of the past, at least for now.

Lena spent her days pacing the apartment, her body restless, unable to find peace. The Cap pulsed with each step, a cruel rhythm that taunted her. She tried to touch, to play, but the needles under the Cap loomed just in reach. Without the orgasm, it was futile - a mockery of the lustful desires she once loved.

They had tried everything to break the Caps loose. They had searched for answers, sought out piercing artists who might help, but the Caps remained firmly in place, their rods unyielding. The piercing artists were well versed with chastity piercings but all explained that the exact purpose of the mechanism is to make them permanent. Cutting them off would be far too dangerous and no one was even close to willing to try that avenue.

Each day, the desire to find relief grew stronger, an uncontrollable urge that threatened to consume them. Just walking around in a pair of tight jeans bore painful consequences. Just getting too aroused bore painful consequences, whenever a bound clit engorged enough and swelled into the needles.

Mina sat on the edge of Lena’s couch, staring at the floor, her hands clenched tightly around her knees. Her Cap of Despair pulsed softly with her breath and her arousal, the rhythmic beat mocking her.

"I can’t stand it anymore," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the apartment. "It’s like… I’m drowning in lust. I was never ready for this."

"It should not work like this. Not this effective. Why can’t we even get a cotton swap underneath? We should have gotten an infection by now, it should be messy. But it isn’t." Lena said.

"It feels … alive. So often the Cap is warmer than it should be, almost sucking at me. I think there is more to it."

"Evelyn said the Caps are cursed. Sometimes I’m convinced they are supernatural. They should not work the way they do. My Cap pulses occasionally, and it should have no way of doing that. It’s just a small sheet of metal, isn’t it? Or its pulsation is only in my mind? I can feel my life force being drained out through my clit. I understand now what Evelyn meant by draining. Oh Mina, how will we endure this?"

Lena sat across from her, her own eyes filled with frustration. "I know," Mina said, her voice strained. "Every time I try to get off, it feels like my body is betraying me. I can’t reach orgasm, but I can almost feel it… I reach close to the edge but never managed to go over and it’s killing me."

Mina, always very accepting of a submissive role, persuaded Lena to give her bastinado, having her soles whipped and caned in a futile attempt to recreate the hot afterglow of the dances on the stage. But this pain was not the same as the dance over the needles, and totally in vain to help her reach closer to the orgasm she so much yearned for.

---

One evening in January, Mina and Lena found themselves sitting in Mina’s cozy apartment, dressed up in their latex catsuits, a bottle of red wine between them, the room softly lit by flickering candles. They had each indulged in perhaps one or two glasses too many, the warmth of the wine loosening their tongues and clouding their judgment just enough to let long-buried thoughts resurface. The conversation inevitably turned to Abyss, the place that had once been the epicenter of their lives - and their greatest torment.

"Remember how the entire scene used to buzz about Abyss?" Mina mused, swirling her wine glass lazily. "The dance duels, the challenges… the thrill! it was all anyone could talk about."

Lena nodded, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, and now? Nothing. No one’s heard of a single duel against Evelyn herself since we lost to her."

"Maybe everyone is too afraid to issue a challenge?"

They sat in silence again, both thinking about, and being very aware, of their capped clits.

Mina took a deep breath, breaking the silence. "Do you ever wonder why Evelyn was so intent on us? I mean, why us? She seemed hell-bent on crushing us specifically."

Lena frowned, her gaze distant as she considered the question. "We weren’t just competitors to her. I think… we threatened her in some way, we openly confronted. We were relentless in getting revenge for the needles. Maybe our passion, our connection to dance - it was something she saw as a challenge, something she had to destroy to maintain her control."

Mina nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place in her mind. "She thrived on control, on breaking people down. And we didn’t break easily. Even when we lost, we didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing us completely shattered."

The Caps of Despair seem to have been a solitary item for their very special event.

They both fell silent for a moment, the weight of their memories pressing down on them. The Caps of Despair over their clits felt heavier and spikier than usual, a constant reminder of their defeat and the curse that had stolen their orgasms.

Lena sighed, taking another sip of her wine. "Maybe that’s why she singled us out. We were a threat to her dominance, her control over Abyss. She couldn’t stand the idea of us finding even the smallest solace or satisfaction."

The conversation drifted back to the club itself, the memories of the dark, pulsating atmosphere and the thrill of the dance floor. They missed it, despite everything. The allure of Abyss, the energy of the crowd, the sheer exhilaration of losing themselves in the music - it was a part of them, something they couldn’t shake, no matter how much they suffered.

"I miss it." Mina admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "Even with all the pain, all the torment… I miss the feeling of being there, of dancing."

Lena nodded, her expression bittersweet. "Me too. Abyss was more than just a place. It was… freedom, in a way. And now it feels like we’ve lost that forever."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, both women lost in their thoughts, the weight of their memories and longing pressing heavily on their hearts. They knew returning to Abyss was impossible for at least another two months, but the desire lingered, a constant ache that refused to fade.

"You know, when the year of the ban has passed, I might go back there." Mina said.

"No, don’t! You know you will be singled out and subjected to whatever cruel game she comes up with."

"Even then. It is better than suffer this longing, isn’t it?"

They sat silent for some minutes.

"You heard the rumors about the infamous New Year’s party they had at Abyss? They called it the Balance over the Abyss. Not a duel, but some kind of competition between selected party guests. And some wheel of misfortune with prizes. But here the rumors deviate. Someone again allegedly even went into chastity, but not as badly as us!"

"Even though, I want to go back, I miss the thrill." Mina admitted.

Balance over the Abyss

What happened a few weeks ago at Abyss…

The New Year’s party at Abyss was always a spectacle of shadows and sound, the air charged with anticipation as the clock edged closer to midnight. The club’s usual electric atmosphere was amplified by the promise of a special event - a dance competition unlike any other. Revelers crowded the floor, their eyes darting towards the stage where Evelyn stood with a commanding presence.

Clad in a sleek black gown that shimmered under the dim lights, Evelyn raised her arms to silence the crowd. The music faded, leaving only the buzz of excitement hanging in the air.

"Welcome to Abyss’ New Year’s Dance, the Balance over the Abyss!" Evelyn’s voice was smooth, but with an edge that hinted at the night’s darker undertones. "Tonight, five of you will have the chance to compete in a unique dance challenge, where grace and balance will be your only allies."

The crowd murmured with anticipation as Evelyn gestured to a large, ornate glass bowl in which the names of all female guests were collected. Slowly, one by one, five women were selected. Each stepped forward hesitantly, a mixture of excitement and apprehension on their faces as they approached the stage.

Evelyn greeted the selected dancers with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Congratulations to our brave participants. Tonight’s challenge is a test of rhythm and balance and is not for the faint of heart."

She motioned to the stage floor, where five small platforms stood in a row. Each platform was a square, barely large enough to accommodate a single pair of feet, raised four inches above the ground. The stage floor around the platforms was covered in a carpet of gleaming, sharp needles, creating a dangerous landscape that shimmered menacingly under the club’s lights.

"The rules are simple," Evelyn explained, her tone matter-of-fact but laced with a hint of malice. "No spiked-laden shoes. Instead, you will each dance barefoot on one of these platforms. Your objective is to maintain your balance and rhythm. However, if you fall out of sync with the music or simply try to stand still, the platform will tilt slightly forward, making it harder for you to stay upright."

The crowd gasped softly, understanding the added challenge. The tilting platforms meant that staying still was not an option - constant, precise movement was required.

"If you lose your balance or step off the platform," Evelyn continued, "you’ll land on the needle carpet. Trust me, you don’t want that." Her eyes glinted as she spoke, the danger implicit in her words.

The five women exchanged nervous glances, the reality of the challenge sinking in.

"The dance will continue until two of you are eliminated," Evelyn said, her smile widening. "The last three standing will receive generous cash prizes. But for the two who fall… their fate lies with the Wheel of Misfortune. Some prizes may even be taken home with them."

The crowd signaled its approval with an affirmative applause. She gestured to the ominous wheel standing at the side of the stage. Its dark surface was divided into six segments, each labeled with a different punishment.

The five women stepped out of their shoes and onto their platforms, their bare feet gripping the smooth surface as they started to move as the music began - a slow, hypnotic melody that soon picked up into a fast-paced rhythm, demanding swift and precise movements.

At first, the dance was cautious. Each woman tested her balance, swaying gently to the beat. The platforms were just large enough to stand on, but the threat of the needle carpet loomed with every step. The tilting mechanism added another layer of difficulty, forcing the dancers to keep moving lest they lose their footing.

The music intensified, the beat driving the dancers to push harder. Their movements became more intricate, their feet shifting constantly to maintain balance. The crowd watched in breathless silence, captivated by the spectacle.

Raluca, one of the dancers, faltered first. She swayed too far to one side, the platform tilting under her weight. Her arms flailed as she tried to regain her balance, but it was too late. With a cry, she toppled forward, her bare feet landing painfully on the needle carpet. She gasped in pain, the sharp points pressing into her skin as the crowd winced in sympathy. She froze in place as she quickly realized that moving forward off of the needle carpet would require to lift one foot, thereby putting even more weight onto the other foot. And then stepping again into the needles. She looked over her shoulder to find her platform having tilted now 180° to reveal another needled surface instead. The island of safety she was looking for, was nowhere to be found.

The remaining dancers continued to sway and dance to the rhythm, observing Raluca as she finally screamed again as she lifted one bare foot up and then screams again as she put it down anew into the needles. One more step and she was off the carpet, collapsing to the ground, wrapping her hands around her feet to comfort herself.

The four dancers continued, their focus intense. The music’s tempo increased, and the platforms’ tilting became more frequent, testing their endurance and poise.

Minutes later, Nicoleta lost her rhythm. The platform tilted slowly, and she stumbled, her feet slipping off the edge and onto the needle carpet. She yelped as the needles pricked her skin, the pain clear on her face. The music stopped and the platforms stabilized. In another scream and under the roar of the crowd, Nicoleta made it off of the carpet.

Evelyn clapped her hands, drawing the crowd’s attention back to her. "And we have our two losers. Raluca and Nicoleta, step forward and face the Wheel of Misfortune."

The two women, still wincing from the pain of the needles, approached the wheel with visible trepidation. Evelyn’s smile was one of anticipation as she explained the stakes.

"The wheel holds six possible outcomes," she said, her voice almost gleeful. "The winners will go home with cash, but for Raluca and Nicoleta, their fate depends on this spin."

She gestured to the segments, explaining the prizes. "The infamous Belt of Shame - yes, my dear audience, the rumors are true. As you are aware from previous events, Abyss is absolutely okay with chastity as a punishment for those who can’t dance. Not all pain has to be physical. The Belt of Shame, one of our fine chastity belt, however is less permanent than what you might remember from the past. One prize is to be worn for one year, and another for two years. Naturally, Nicoleta and Raluca, should you spin for either of these, you will have no access to the key. Come back to Abyss anytime to enable us to help you with cleaning, hygiene and fit. After all, we are no monsters here, are we?" The crowd erupted in laughter.

"Next are the infamous Torment Boots - you’ll wear them for a week, and they’ll punish you with spikes if you remain still for too long."

Evelyn’s smile widened as she introduced the remaining three punishments:

"The Throne of Bass - We will dress you into an elegant evening dress made from the slickest latex and sit you in our special throne to overlook the party until the sun rises. The catch might be that the dress has no back side, leaving your behinds naked. The throne is covered in spikes connected to a microphone and they will pulse into your skin with the music’s bass."

"The Garments of Thorns - A delicate ensemble of lockable panties and bra, their inside lined with fine spikes, pressing lightly into your skin. You’ll wear it for a week, locked onto you, and it’ll remind you of your loss with every movement you take even when sitting or laying down. Don’t worry, they are crotchless to allow for your bodily functions."

"The Cursed Drink - A liter of collected semen, served in a pitcher and the finest crystal glass to drink from. A consolation prize, we don’t want our failed dancers go home on an empty stomach. Don’t finish it or throw up, and we are happy to supply you with a visit to the needle frame for the remainder of the night."

The crowd murmured in anticipation as Evelyn turned to Raluca. "You first, my dear."

Raluca hesitated but then spun the wheel. The clattering sound echoed through the club as the wheel spun, finally slowing and landing on the Throne of Bass. Raluca gasped, knowing her punishment, though painful, would be quite public.

"Raluca, my dear, you've spun a wild card tonight. It's time for your reward… or punishment, depending on how you look at it. A throne for a queen like you."

She presented Raluca with an elegant evening dress made from the slickest latex. It shimmered under the club's strobe lights, a second skin that hugged Raluca's curves perfectly. The dress, however, had the promised unique feature; it was missing a backside, leaving Raluca's behinds naked and vulnerable. Evelyn put a silvery crown on Raluca’s head, decorated in more spikes, luckily these only pointed outwards.

Raluca's heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and dread coursing through her veins. She suspected what was coming, but the thrill of the unknown was intoxicating. Evelyn guided her to the center of the stage, where the Throne of Bass has been wheeled in by the attendants and awaited her. It was covered in painful spikes, connected to the club's subwoofer systems, ready to pulse with the rhythm of the music. A spotlight shone onto it, it seems like a cutout against the dark backdrop of the stage.

As Raluca sat, the spikes dug into her skin, a stinging pain that sent shivers down her spine.

Next, it was Nicoleta’s turn. With trembling hands, she spun the wheel. The crowd held its breath as the wheel slowed, finally landing on The Belt of Shame - for a year. Nicoleta’s face fell, the weight of her punishment evident. She was never expecting to come home from a New Year’s party with a chastity belt locked around her hips. It was evident that the crowd, and even Evelyn, was a bit disappointed that it was not to be worn for two.

Evelyn clapped her hands once more, her smile never fading. "Congratulations to our winners, and to our losers - enjoy your prizes. This is Abyss, after all, where the dance never truly ends."

With these words, the music slowly swelled back into the club, its heavy industrial bass setting the mood to dance away the night. A scream echoed out from the stage where with each pulse of the bass, a wave of pain followed into Raluca’s back, ass and thighs, a strange and perverse display of a squirming queen.

Evelyn watched Raluca from the sidelines, a devious smile playing on her lips. She knew the game well, the thrill of the pain, the pleasure she had observing this. She could see the agony in Raluca's eyes, the way her breath hitched with each pulse of the bass, unable to find an acceptable position in her throne.

Nicoleta were helped off the stage. Both fates sealed by the Wheel of Misfortune. The remaining three dancers were awarded their cash prizes, though the memory of the challenge and the narrow escape from the wheel would linger.

As the party continued into the early hours of the morning, regularly accompanied by a cry from the throne on stage, the air buzzed with whispers of the next devious challenge. Abyss had claimed more victims, and the legend of the dark, twisted club grew ever darker.

In the lounge, a new picture was framed, next to Alina’s and Nadia’s, showing Nicoletta’s face and a plague with a timer:

NICOLETA

LOST AT BALANCE OVER ABYSS

CHASTITY

11 m, 30 d, 23:21

Riding

The air inside Abyss on that particular Friday night was thick with anticipation. The main stage pulsed with rhythmic basslines, and the usual symphony of clicking heels, whispered wagers, and teasing gasps played beneath the surface of the music. Colored lights danced across latex and leather, and the scent of heat-warmed rubber mixed with incense created that unmistakable Abyss perfume: luxurious, decadent, and just slightly dangerous.

Claudia, the unlucky waitress, was among the crowd, dressed in her latex minidress. She spotted Elise at the bar, but decided to stay away. Nadia stood near the edge of the main floor, champagne glasses in hand. She had long since lost the awkward stiffness of when moving in the belt. Since being locked, Nadia had found herself returning again and again not just out of curiosity, but out of a growing attachment. She observed Evelyn, but even more so Elise and Alexandru, trying to learn how they thought. Looking for weaknesses, quirks, fights, between them. She’d suffer as long as they were a couple. She spotted them at the bar. Alexandru’s hand resting on Elise’s thigh. Nadia turned away in hurt.

Tonight, however, seemed not about them. A new game was played again.

Evelyn stepped onto the stage.

The crowd immediately hushed. Dressed in a corset so tight it seemed like a second skin and boots that reached her thighs, Evelyn looked every inch the dark queen of Abyss. She carried with her a silver microphone, though her voice would have carried without it.

"Good evening, my darlings," she purred, sweeping her gaze over the crowd. "Tonight, we offer a choice. A temptation. And a warning."

The spotlight followed her as she moved to center stage. Behind her, attendants brought out a gleaming pair of clear heels - the infamous needle heels. Sleek, elegant, and cruel. The nodules were carefully recessed into the soles, only activating when rhythm and grace faltered.

"We are looking for a volunteer," Evelyn continued. "Someone brave. Someone agile. Someone who desires 50,000 Lei."

Nadia held her breath, trying to be invisible. Gasps rippled through the audience. That was no small sum.

Evelyn lifted a single black-gloved hand. "But… the forfeit, should you fall, is not trivial. Tonight, the loser shall ride the wooden pony. Until midnight."

The crowd stirred with a blend of fascination and discomfort. The wooden pony, or Spanish pony, was infamous in the BDSM community: a triangular edge made from hardwood, elevated to just the right height, upon which the loser would straddle. Her ankles would be tied to the sides, removing the possibility to support her weight by her legs, increasing the pressure on her most sensitive area. It was not a spectacle for the faint-hearted.

"Let me be clear," Evelyn added, as an image of the pony was shown on the high walls behind her via projection - a sleek, black-lacquered device with narrow steel foot-chains dangling. "There is full nudity involved. A always, no piercing of skin. But discomfort… exquisite discomfort… slowly building over time, that, we promise."

There was silence for a beat. Then a single hand rose from the crowd.

Nadia turned quickly. A woman - tall, slender, maybe late twenties - stepped forward. Her latex suit was simpler than most, older, slightly matte. She wore no elaborate mask, just simple eye makeup and a determined expression. She looked nervous but resolute.

Evelyn nodded once. "Ana! Come forward, my regular volunteer. Tell us, why do you want to dance again?"

"I look for another prize," the woman said into the microphone, her voice surprisingly steady.

"Ana," Evelyn repeated with a slow smile. "A regular guest, many know her. Always volunteering into challenges. But tell me, are you familiar with the needle heels?"

"I've danced in regular spiky heels, often, but not on needles." Ana said. "But… I need the money. Badly."

Over at the bar, Elise suggested to Alexandru, "She knows she’s going to lose. Look at her eyes. She just hopes she doesn’t."

Alexandru replied, "She’s brave. Or desperate. Maybe both."

The attendants helped Ana sit on a silver-cushioned bench and began to unbuckle her current footwear. Her bare feet looked soft and clean, though her soles still bore signs of an earlier encounter with spikes. The needle heels were slipped on, adjusted, then locked at the ankles. Evelyn smiled, happy to see Ana’s bare soles in their still languished state.

Ana stood. She wobbled once, slightly, and caught herself. She nodded. "I’m ready."

The music began - an industrial rhythm with a menacing undertone.

Ana danced. At first, she was surprisingly graceful. Her arms swayed, her hips rolled with the beat, and her steps were careful, cautious. The crowd held its breath.

Alexandru could barely look away. "She might make it."

"Too early to say," Elise murmured. "It gets harder. The music speeds up."

The beat shifted, turned more complex. Ana’s footwork stumbled just slightly. The needles engaged - tiny pinpricks that sent immediate signals through her nervous system. She flinched but didn’t fall. She kept going. A minute passed. Then two. The pace increased. Her breathing changed. Sweat began to bead at her temples, sliding down the collar of her suit. Her knees wobbled. Her footing became erratic.

The music dropped into a frenzied crescendo - and that’s when it happened.

Ana faltered. A misstep, a jolt of sharp pain, a choked gasp - and she collapsed onto her knees. Instantly, the needle heels locked and extended fully, the mechanism triggering. She was done.

The crowd erupted - not in laughter, but in awed, sympathetic applause. Evelyn stepped forward as Ana sat, hunched, breathing hard.

"A courageous attempt," she said. "But the deal is a deal."

Ana didn’t resist. Her face was pale, her jaw clenched, but she stood as attendants supported her. The needle heels were removed, and the camera system zoomed in as her soles were revealed - no blood, but definite deep, angry, red imprints.

"Ah, the sight of truly and deeply languished soles. How soothing that she can get off her feet now and ride instead. Escort her to her horse," Evelyn said with theatrical reverence.

The spotlight dimmed, and another beam focused on the corner of the stage where the wooden pony had been brought out. She was stripped out of her latex suit and stood before the pony completely nude. Her arms and wrists were tied swiftly into a reverse prayer position on her upper back. She would not enjoy the luxury of supporting her weight with her arms.

It looked sleek, clinical, and terrifying. Ana was guided up the side steps. Her feet were placed on the raised support brackets. Her ankles were chained. Then, with great ceremony, she was slowly lowered onto the triangular edge.

She grunted.

Then gasped as the foot support brackets were removed.

Her body trembled as the edge dug into her naked apex.

The audience watched in fascinated silence.

Alexandru nodded. "She knew she couldn’t win. But she still tried. That’s insane… and brave. Poor gal."

Elise shoot him a side look, "You’d better not be too sympathetic for another woman. Besides, you know, I would rather see a certain retail girl ride that contraption."

Elise observed the show, then whispered, "This is next level. Look at her arms." She had of course noticed her in the crowd, trying to be invisible when volunteers where looked for. She looked over directly at Claudia and grinned, her eyes piercing like ice filled daggers. She adorned a good reverse prayer. She made a praying gesture towards Claudia.

Claudia understood and lowered her eyes as Elise looked directly at her. That image combined with Ana’s struggle struck her like a slap, sending her mind spiraling back to that cursed quiz night - the night she gambled her dignity for the chance to rise, and failed. The promotion she had hoped for never came. Elise, of course, had walked away not only triumphant but elevated, smug in her victory and merciless in its execution. Claudia had remained a waitress.

The memory of Elise's reverse prayer and her "rubberization rules", as she had called it, returned like a ghost pressing into her skin. The sweat that had soaked the inside of the suit, the latex clinging to every inch of her like a second, suffocating skin. Her arms, locked in the cruel reverse prayer, ached in memory alone. Worse had been the final buckle that drew her legs tight, her heels wedged into the soft curve of her ass cheeks, held there with no mercy. The shoe on her face, on her nose had clung against her face, every breath an effort, her senses narrowed to heat, smell, and the quiet moans of submission. Elise had designed it to break her, and after a few hours, it had.

Now, watching Elise sip wine as Ana squirmed on the wooden pony, Claudia felt an old edge of resentment rise. She was probably enjoying a significant pay raise while she had to serve meals and had to endure Elise’s rubber forfeit. Her colleagues had commented on her stiffness after her ordeal, listening to invented excuses about a brutal workout at the gym. But she held it in check. She wasn’t ready for another challenge. Not yet. And definitively never again against Elise. She didn’t want to come under rubberization rules again.

For the next twenty minutes, Ana’s breathing remained shallow. She shifted occasionally, trying to relieve the pressure. Her body swayed with each tremor of her thighs. By now, a sheen of sweat covered her naked body, her breasts heaving under her exertion.

By the half-hour mark, she began to shake in earnest. The pain clearly ramping. She leaned backwards, to ease pressure. Seconds later, she leaned forward, to ease pressure again, at a different location. She leaned backwards. She was truly riding now, her desperate motion mimicking the motion of a rider on an actual horse.

"Behold, she is not just sitting, she is riding the Spanish Horse," Evelyn announced.

The final hour was the hardest. Her shoulders stiffened. Her face contorted. Now and then, a whimper escaped her lips. Her arms were strapped to her back, her body held safely by a harness. She couldn’t fall off, even if she tried. But it became clear she was desperately trying to lift herself off. She swayed. Back and forth. Riding into the pain.

Elise and Alexandru stood closer to the stage now, drawn in by the sheer rawness of the scene and the rocking woman on the horse.

Evelyn approached them. "She will remember this night."

As midnight struck, the attendants gently lifted Ana from the device. Her legs buckled, and she was carried offstage.

Elise looked over at Alexandru, "I don’t know if I’ll ever dare something like that. The needle frame may be worse, but the pony is aimed exclusively at the most delicate parts."

"But I’m not going to be challenged to a stupid duel again. Only certain people end up there, for our amusement," she murmured.

Alexandru smiled grimly. "You say that now. But one night… you might be up there again. Just like Ana."

Elise laughed, "I risked my pussy once for you. That’s enough. Don’t get too attached to the idea."

Coming Out of the Closet

The dim glow of Abyss' signature red lights reflected off the glossy surfaces of the club, casting an almost sinister sheen over the room. Evelyn stood on the elevated stage, her piercing gaze sweeping across the crowd. It was one of the quieter nights, yet the tension in the air was palpable. Two women, Emma and Celeste, dressed in latex catsuits, stood at the foot of the stage, their expressions taut with animosity.

For Emma, it had been weeks of quiet humiliation. Since the night she confided in Celeste, the weight of her secret had shifted from intimate to unbearable. The revelation of her love for latex clothing had spread like wildfire through her workplace. It began subtly: a few knowing smirks in the breakroom, quiet whispers that ceased as soon as she entered. But the subtlety didn’t last. One of her colleagues had forwarded a screenshot of Celeste’s thinly veiled online comments, and soon Emma’s secret was the subject of open conversation. The message was clear: Emma, the rubber girl. Per se, in the open-minded, kink-friendly city, this would not lead to repercussions. But a friendly mocking, a teasing, and side remarks would be to be endured. Several celebrities had come out with their diverse kinky interests in public, being celebrated and welcomed for it, so a love for latex was not really shocking. She knew that Celeste’s colleagues already had also hinted at her being maybe a bit too much into shiny clothes. Maybe she wanted to pull Emma along down into the rumor mill. But Emma would have preferred to come out and reveal her secret at her own terms, if ever. Now with Celeste’s comments on her fashion photos, the cat was out of the bag. Impossible to squeeze the toothpaste back into the tube.

Emma’s workplace, once her refuge of professionalism, had turned into a comedic arena of snide remarks and sly jokes. Even her supervisor, while maintaining a facade of support, looked at her differently now. The violation of her trust ate away at her daily, and the sting of betrayal burned hotter each time she replayed her conversations with Celeste.

And there Celeste stood, smug as ever, as though none of it mattered. Emma’s hands were clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she glared at the woman she had once trusted. "You had no right," Emma hissed, her voice shaking with fury. "What I told you was private. You’ve exposed me outside of this place."

Celeste smirked, though her confidence wavered under Emma’s anger. "Oh, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like anyone cares. People have their kinks. Yours just happens to involve rubber."

Emma’s face flushed, a mix of shame and rage. "It was not your secret to share! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? My friends, my colleagues… They’ll never look at me the same way again."

Evelyn, who had been silently observing the exchange, raised a hand to quiet the room. "Ladies," she said, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "It seems we have a dispute worth settling. Here, at Abyss, we believe in resolution through action. Emma, you seek retribution for your betrayal, and Celeste, you wish to defend your choices. Am I correct?"

"Yes, I seek retribution. I ask politely not for pain for the loser though. I believe in your wisdom to find something more adequate? As I’m now knows as the rubber girl outside of these halls, her punishment should fit the crime."

Both women nodded, though Celeste’s smirk faded as she realized the gravity of what Emma was hinting at. "Celeste, as being challenged, what do you suggest as forfeit?"

Celeste steeled herself. "If she thinks that rumor is bad, then let us confirm it as facts!"

Evelyn paused, then addressed both. "Celeste, that shall be arranged, but I think this is not enough retribution for what Emma seeks. Ladies, might I suggest a time out in rubber bondage for the duel’s loser?"

Emma answered immediately, "Would serve her right…"

"So clear that you jump at her mentioning rubber, rubber girl!"

Evelyn stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply against the stage floor. "Enough. Very well. You shall settle this dispute in the way of Abyss." She paused, letting the anticipation build. "A duel. And as this is about a latex coming out, it is fitting that only one of you will walk away vindicated, and the other…" Evelyn’s lips curved into a sly smile, "…will endure a full week in the Rubber Coffin."

The crowd murmured in excitement, their eyes darting between Emma and Celeste. The mention of the Rubber Coffin always drew interest, as it was a punishment that hadn’t been invoked in a long time and even more rarely endured without significant struggle.

Evelyn turned her gaze to Emma. "You seek retribution. Are you prepared to fight for it?"

Emma nodded, her jaw set with determination. "I am."

Evelyn’s eyes shifted to Celeste. "And you? Do you stand by your actions enough to face the consequences?"

Celeste hesitated, but the murmurs of the crowd pushed her forward. "I do," she said, though her voice lacked the conviction of Emma’s.

Evelyn clapped her hands once, the sharp sound silencing the room.

"Excellent. Here are the stakes with the signature Abyss’ twist: if Celeste wins, Emma’s exposure will deepen even more. More photos will be shared - but this time, with Emma’s face and identity front and center, full latex, further exposing her to her outside world and cementing her status as rubber girl, exchanging rumors for photographic proof."

Emma was only mildly shocked. People talked about her and latex already.

Evelyn’s smile widened. "If Emma wins, she will receive compensation from Abyss for the damage to her reputation, and Celeste’s reputation will match hers with her own coming out of her closet. Photos of the duel and her time in the Rubber Coffin will be posted on her social media streams and the club’s channels. Do you both agree to these terms?"

Celeste gasped in horror. That would not be good. She would be fully exposed, even more so than Emma, who nodded without hesitation. In for a penny, in for a pound. What would change after she’d already found a sticky note on her work desk with a smilie face and the word "Emma, the rubber girl"?

Celeste’s response came slower, but she eventually nodded as well. Too late to back out now, her reputation would be tarnished just alone by being seen by so many people in the crowd.

The stage was cleared, and a pair of needle-heeled shoes was brought forward for each contestant. The shoes were sleek and black, with transparent soles that revealed the sharp spikes embedded inside. The spikes would press upward with each misstep, their bite punishing any falter in balance or grace.

Evelyn explained the rules: each contestant would perform a series of dance moves designed to test their endurance, balance, and precision. The one who faltered first would lose. The duel would last as long until one contestant would go down on her knees.

Emma and Celeste donned the shoes, their faces taut with concentration. The moment they stepped onto the stage, the spikes beneath their soles activated, pressing just enough to keep them aware of every step. The music began, a pulsing beat that echoed through the room.

Emma moved with precision, her movements sharp and controlled. Every step sent a jolt of discomfort through her feet, but she pushed through, fueled by her anger and the promise of vindication. Celeste started strong, her steps confident, but as the routine grew more complex, her movements became erratic.

Sweat dripped down both women’s faces as the minutes dragged on. The spikes in their shoes punished every misstep, and Celeste’s confidence quickly gave way to visible strain. The crowd watched in rapt silence, their eyes darting between the two contestants.

Finally, at the eight-minute mark, Celeste stumbled. Her foot slipped, and she collapsed to one knee, the spikes pressing mercilessly into her sole. The crowd erupted into cheers as Emma completed the final steps of the routine, victorious. Cameras flashed.

Evelyn stepped forward, her smile triumphant. "And so it is decided. Emma, you have proven your resilience. Compensation for your damaged reputation will be arranged by Abyss." She turned to Celeste, who was still kneeling on the stage, her face pale and her hands trembling. "And you, Celeste, shall face the Rubber Coffin. Perhaps a week of reflection will teach you the value of trust. Our lawyer will issue an express holiday note and will send it to your work place, so this is not something you will have to worry about."

Two attendants appeared, guiding Celeste off the stage and toward the basement. The crowd parted to let them through, their murmurs following her as she was led to her punishment. Cameras flashed, capturing every moment for the club’s social media channels.

The Rubber Coffin stood in the center of the basement, its glossy black surface gleaming under the dim lights. The interior was lined with inflatable rubber padding, a thick latex suit for the unlucky occupant ready to be clicked into it, designed to press against the occupant’s body and limit their movement. The material was slick and warm to the touch. Over time it would create a stifling, sauna-like environment.

As Celeste was guided inside, the silent attendants handed her a note that explained her fate. The coffin would seal around her, leaving only a small breathing valve near her face. The heat would build gradually, and the slippery interior would make even the slightest movement an ordeal but also a sensual experience. She would remain there for seven days, her only company the oppressive grip of the rubber. Tubes were attached to the internal suit to take care of bodily functions, build-in electro pads would stimulate her muscles to avoid cramping. Finally a small bullet vibrator nestled in a pocket over her clitoris, providing entertainment for the time to come, of course too weak to provide a full resolution.

When the lid was sealed, and the airlock hissed into place, Celeste’s world grew dark and silent. The heat began to build almost immediately, and she felt the rubber pressing against her from all sides. Every attempt to shift only made her more aware of the slick, unyielding material surrounding her. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each second a reminder of her failure.

Back in the main hall, Emma watched as the crowd resumed their revelry. Though her victory had been sweet, a part of her couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Celeste. Her stupid online comments. Still, she reminded herself, trust was not something to be betrayed lightly.

Evelyn, watching from the sidelines, allowed herself a small smile. She would feast for a week on Celeste’s ordeal. Another lesson delivered, another night at Abyss complete.

The moment the attendants sealed the lid of the Rubber Coffin, Celeste’s world shrank to a suffocating cocoon of darkness and heat. The faint hiss of airlocks engaging was the last external sound she heard before silence consumed her. The internal latex cushions inflated, pressing against her, binding her further in place. Her breathing grew shallow as the rubber interior pressed tightly against her body, conforming to every curve, leaving her unable to move. The only break in the oppressive stillness was the faint sound of her own breath filtering through the small valve near her face.

The air inside was humid, carrying the sweet scent of latex mixed with the growing musk of her sweat. It clung to her nostrils, a constant reminder of her confinement. Within moments, the heat began to build, turning the interior of the coffin into a stifling sauna. Sweat pooled against her skin, trapped between her body and the slick rubber lining. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming, a slimy discomfort that only grew worse as time dragged on.

At first, Celeste tried to focus on controlling her breathing. She counted each inhale and exhale, trying to maintain a semblance of calm. But the unrelenting heat made her chest feel heavy, her breaths shallow. The rubber pressed tightly against her skin, amplifying every twitch and shift of her body. Sweat streamed down her face and neck, pooling at the base of her back and the hollow of her knees, creating an unbearable slickness that she couldn’t escape.

She tried to move, even slightly, to alleviate the pressure, but the inflatable padding inside the coffin left no room for adjustment. Her fingers twitched uselessly against the rubberized gloves that encased them, and her legs strained against the constricting embrace of the material. The more she struggled, the more the rubber seemed to press back, a constant, unyielding reminder of her punishment.

Then came the itching. It began as a faint tickle along her collarbone, then spread to her shoulder and down her arms. The heat and sweat made her skin hypersensitive, and every itch felt magnified. She tried to shift her arms, to scratch or rub against the lining, but the rubber held her firmly in place. The frustration was maddening, and she tried clenching her fists, but the internal mittens not allowing it.

Time lost meaning quickly. In the dark, silent confines of the coffin, there were no markers to track its passage. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, and hours into days. The oppressive heat and the slick, slippery feeling of her sweat-soaked skin against the rubber became her entire world. Her mind began to drift, slipping between moments of clarity and disjointed thoughts. Her arousal swelled and ebbed, the vibrator turning on and off randomly. She groaned in frustration whenever it switched off. She groaned even more when it eventually turned back on.

At seemingly random intervals, her world was flooded by warm water, carrying away her sweat and all residue. She understood that she was washed. Warm air was pushed through at force, drying her and the rubber quickly. She also understood that together with the feeding tubes, waste tubes and muscle stimulation pad, this device was built with very long term confinement in mind.

She tried to distract herself, to conjure pleasant memories or thoughts to pass the time. She thought of her favorite songs, but the silence of the coffin made them feel hollow, their rhythms impossible to grasp in her isolation. She imagined herself walking along the beach, the cool breeze on her face a stark contrast to the suffocating heat she now endured. But even her imagination couldn’t override the reality of her confinement.

As the hours dragged on, her thoughts turned darker. Regret gnawed at her, a bitter edge that cut through the haze of her discomfort. "Why did I ever agree to this? Why couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut and not commented on her photos about her special fashions?" She replayed the events leading up to her punishment, the smug look on Emma’s face as she declared her victory, the cold satisfaction in Evelyn’s voice as she pronounced Celeste’s fate. Anger flared briefly, but it was quickly extinguished by the overwhelming exhaustion that seeped into her bones.

Every inch of Celeste’s body screamed for relief. The slickness of her sweat made her feel as though she were floating inside her own skin, her body sliding against the rubber with every shallow breath or involuntary twitch. The heat was unrelenting, and every droplet of sweat felt like a small, mocking reminder of her helplessness. The rubber pressed against her chest, her thighs, her arms, making her hyperaware of every bead of moisture as it rolled down her skin.

The itching persisted, a cruel torment that seemed to spread and intensify with time. Her scalp prickled beneath the hood, and her back felt like it was crawling with ants. She gritted her teeth, her frustration mounting as the sensations compounded. She wanted to scream, to thrash, to do anything to break free of the maddening stillness, but the coffin held her in its relentless grip.

Her mind began to wander again, this time spiraling into despair. "What if I can’t take it?" The thought crept in unbidden, and she couldn’t shake it. She imagined herself trapped in the coffin forever, her body slowly succumbing to the heat and pressure. The thought sent a shiver through her, though it was quickly swallowed by the oppressive warmth of her prison.

Amid the haze of discomfort, there were brief moments of clarity. Celeste tried to focus on the rhythmic sound of her breathing, the only thing anchoring her to reality. She imagined the moment when the coffin would finally open, the rush of cool air against her skin, the relief of freedom. It became her singular goal, a light at the end of the tunnel that kept her from completely unraveling.

She clung to the thought of Emma, of proving that she could endure this punishment and emerge stronger. It was a hollow comfort, but it was enough to keep her going. If Emma thinks this will break me, she’s wrong, she thought, though the conviction behind her words wavered with each passing moment.

As Celeste endured her punishment, unaware of time's passage, the outside world moved on - but not without consequence for her. Two days into her ordeal, the promised photos of her performance and its aftermath began circulating on her own social media account and Abyss’s official channels. The first photo was a dramatic shot of her dancing in the needle heels, her expression strained but determined, beads of sweat glistening under the stage lights. The caption read: "Celeste’s bold duel at Abyss! A clash of trust and betrayal."

The next series of photos captured the moments leading up to her punishment. One showed the attendants dressing her in the Rubber Coffin’s glossy confines, their hands adjusting the hood and ensuring a snug fit. Another showed her laying stiffly as the coffin’s interior inflated slightly around her body. The final photo was the most striking: the open coffin itself, its sleek, black exterior gleaming under the dim basement lights. The caption was simple yet chilling: "Seven days of reflection begin now."

The reactions were swift and polarized. On her personal social media, acquaintances and some colleagues who had already whispered about her speculative reputation as a "rubber enthusiast" exploded with comments.

"This is… intense. Are you okay?" one concerned friend wrote.

"I guess we know the rumors were true," another added, their tone dripping with mockery.

"So this is how you spend your holiday, I’m more than happy to sign off on this vacation request," apparently her manager wrote.

"You’ve really gone all-in, huh?" a former colleague quipped, their words a mix of amusement and judgment."

On Abyss’s feed, the reactions were more celebratory:

"This is why I love this place! Drama and consequences."

"Evelyn knows how to keep things interesting. Seven days? Brutal."

"At least she didn’t get a Cap! Would switch in a heartbeat. L&M"

"Celeste was asking for it. You don’t mess with secrets here."

"Nadia, this is where YOU belong!! E."

Meanwhile, Celeste remained utterly oblivious to the storm unfolding online. Her world was limited to the oppressive heat, the slick, suffocating rubber, and the darkness that seemed to stretch on forever. Each comment, each shared photo, amplified the spectacle of her punishment to the outside world, cementing her public humiliation even further.

As the days stretched on, Celeste’s sense of time became even more distorted. She imagined herself floating in a void, her body weightless and disconnected from reality. The heat and slickness of the rubber coffin became her entire existence, an endless cycle of discomfort and longing for release.

When the coffin finally hissed open, the sudden rush of cool air felt almost surreal. Celeste gasped, her chest heaving as she tried to adjust to the sensation of freedom. Her body was slick with sweat, her skin flushed and raw from the constant pressure. She felt weak, her muscles trembling as she was helped out of the coffin by the attendants.

Her punishment had ended, but the memory of her time in the coffin lingered, a haunting reminder of the cost of betrayal and the unforgiving nature of Abyss.

Emma’s workplace had already been abuzz with her "rubber girl" reputation ever since her secret had been exposed weeks earlier. The initial wave of whispers and knowing smirks had settled into a kind of normalcy, with her colleagues finding ways to weave the topic into casual jokes or conversations. She had grown used to it, though the sting of betrayal still lingered. Now, however, there was an undeniable shift in the tone of the teasing after the photos from Abyss circulated online.

The face-blurring in the photos left Emma’s identity officially unconfirmed, but the body language, height, and confident posture in the images were unmistakable to those who knew her well. The duel’s context - a battle for dignity and trust - only added to the intrigue. It wasn’t long before a few close colleagues began hinting at their suspicions, albeit with a surprising mix of admiration and humor.

"Hey, Emma," called out Brian from across the breakroom one morning, his tone light but laced with curiosity. "Saw some wild photos from that kinky club last night. That mystery dancer - blurred face and all - had moves. Hypothetically speaking, if it were you, you’ve got guts. Hypothetically, of course."

Emma glanced up from her coffee, her expression carefully neutral. "Hypothetically, Brian, I’d say thanks. But I’d also say that kind of thing’s not really my scene."

"Sure, sure," he replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "But you know, if it were you, hypothetically, I’d be impressed. Not many people would dance in heels like that and come out on top."

Emma smirked, shaking her head, but couldn’t entirely hide the flicker of pride warming her cheeks. The teasing continued throughout the day in small bursts, but it was more playful than mocking. Her colleagues, while entertained by the mystery, seemed to carry a subtle undercurrent of respect for what "hypothetically" had been accomplished.

Even her manager, a typically reserved woman named Rachel, offered a rare smile during a brief meeting. "Good work on the Taylor account, Emma. Oh, and for what it’s worth, if the rumors about Abyss have any truth to them… well, you handled yourself professionally. Both here and there."

Emma managed a polite thank-you, unsure whether Rachel truly suspected anything or was simply offering subtle encouragement. Either way, it felt like a small victory. The curiosity surrounding her "hypothetical" performance at Abyss had created an odd mix of teasing and respect, leaving her with a quiet sense of triumph amid the chaos of her reputation.

While Emma’s identity remained officially unconfirmed, Celeste’s face had been prominently displayed across Abyss’ social media channels. The photos of her duel and subsequent punishment in the Rubber Coffin had gone semi-viral, particularly within niche communities that frequented the club. By the time Monday morning rolled around, her workplace was already buzzing with the news.

Celeste entered the office cautiously, bracing for the onslaught of reactions she knew awaited her. The first sign came from her desk neighbor, a cheerful woman named Roxana, who grinned broadly the moment Celeste walked in.

"Morning, celebrity!" Roxana chirped, spinning her chair to face Celeste. "Didn’t think you’d actually pull off that outfit. Rubber looks… intense. But you rocked it. Mostly."

Celeste groaned, setting her bag down and slumping into her chair. "Don’t remind me," she muttered, though her tone lacked real bite.

"Oh, come on," Roxana pressed. "You have to admit it’s kind of impressive. I mean, sure, the whole coffin thing looked… uncomfortable, to put it mildly. But you lasted a week! That’s something, right?"

"Not by choice," Celeste shot back, though a faint smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

The teasing continued throughout the day, ranging from lighthearted comments about her "rubber resilience" to exaggerated stories of her supposed courage. One coworker jokingly asked if she’d be wearing latex to the next office party, while another offered to buy her a "Rubber Queen" mug for her desk. Despite the relentless attention, there was no malice behind the remarks. If anything, her colleagues seemed more entertained than judgmental.

By lunchtime, the office group chat was flooded with memes and jokes referencing her stint in the Rubber Coffin. Someone had even created a mock movie poster titled "Rubber: The Celeste Chronicles", complete with dramatic taglines like "One Woman’s Journey Through Sweat and Silence" and "From the Office to Infamy." Celeste couldn’t help but laugh, though the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks lingered long after.

Both Emma and Celeste had begun to settle into their new realities. For Emma, the "rubber girl" moniker remained a point of contention, but the respect she’d earned - whether genuine or teasing - softened the blow. She found herself standing a little taller, her confidence bolstered by the knowledge that she had faced the ordeal and come out stronger.

Celeste, meanwhile, had begrudgingly embraced her newfound infamy. While the experience in the Rubber Coffin remained a sore point, the camaraderie among her colleagues and their playful acceptance of her ordeal made it easier to bear. She even found herself laughing along with the jokes, though she swore to herself she’d never set foot in Abyss again.

In their own ways, both women had learned to navigate the fallout of their public exposure, finding moments of strength and humor amid the challenges. And while their paths had diverged, the echoes of their duel continued to ripple through their lives, a reminder of the strange, transformative power of Abyss.

A handful Lei

Ana sat in the corner of Abyss's lounge, her body sinking deeper into the velvet-cushioned booth, the chill of her latex catsuit sticking to her thighs. The dark ambiance of the room, the low thrum of the music filtering through the walls, and the amber glow of the sconces only highlighted the swirl of desperation coiling inside her. The edges of her bank account had long since frayed. Rent was overdue. Her last job - some flavorless receptionist gig in a shared office - had dried up. And all she had to show for her performances in Abyss were modest wins: a few cash prizes, and the persistent ache in her feet from too many nights spent teetering on heels lined with punishment.

She watched Evelyn from afar. The Mistress of Abyss, clad in a fluid black latex gown that shimmered with each graceful step, was speaking with a pair of guests in the VIP alcove. There was something magnetic in the way Evelyn moved, how she tilted her head slightly to command attention without ever raising her voice. Ana had once been terrified of her. Now, she only felt a stirring mix of awe and hope.

This was her last card to play.

She stood, smoothed the back of her thighs with gloved hands, and made her way toward Evelyn with careful, measured steps. She waited respectfully until Evelyn dismissed the other guests with a wave and turned, one eyebrow already raised in anticipation.

"Ana, how was your ride through the night last month? I hope the pony was not too gentle." Evelyn said with an amused lilt. "Back again. And not even walking awkwardly anymore. That’s almost disappointing."

Ana tried a smile, but her heart pounded. "I wanted to speak to you, Mistress. Privately."

Evelyn's eyes narrowed slightly, then flicked toward a side door. "Very well. Come."

The private lounge was smaller, more intimate than the others. The lighting was warmer, the air heavy with the scent of leather and spiced incense. Evelyn sat with elegance in a wingback chair, legs crossed, her gloved fingers tracing the rim of a wine glass.

"You’re not here just to dance again, are you?" she said.

Ana shook her head. "I need something more… permanent. Stable. I've done the challenges, the needle heels, the display work. Ridden the pony. But I need income I can count on. I want to know if there's something more I can offer… that you would pay for."

Evelyn tilted her head. "An intriguing proposition. You're not the first to request… employment. But Abyss isn't a charity. What do you think you have to offer that we don't already have?"

Ana swallowed. "I'm willing to endure, Mistress. You saw me last time. The wooden pony. The week before, the spiked heels. I can take it. But I failed, so went home with empty hands."

"Empty hands, and languished soles and a sore pussy. You can endure, yes," Evelyn agreed, leaning forward. "But so can many others. However…" She smiled, slow and deliberate. "…there is a way to turn your endurance into something regular. Predictable. Not a performance, but a sacrifice."

Ana's eyes lit up. "Yes. Anything."

Evelyn stood, pacing with feline grace. "Let me ask you something. How often do you… masturbate yourself, Ana? When you're home. Alone."

Ana blinked, caught off guard. "I… almost daily."

"Good," Evelyn purred, sensing that she was telling the truth. It was one of the few past times Ana could enjoy that didn’t cost her money. "Then chastity will suit you well."

Ana's breath hitched. "Chastity?"

"A secure, stainless-steel belt. Locked, sealed. You'd wear it at all times. No relief. No compromise. In exchange, Abyss would pay you a regular stipend. 10,000 Lei per month. Paid into your account."

Ana hesitated. Her body reacted instantly to the suggestion, a nervous tremor passing through her shoulders. But the money…

"You'd be free to live your life as normal. Your duties here would include being displayed occasionally, for extra earnings, letting others see what long-term denial looks like. And your name would be added to the lounge wall."

Evelyn walked to a lacquered cabinet and opened a drawer. From it, she retrieved a polished metal belt, gleaming under the low light, its sleek, inescapable design unmistakable.

"This," she said, placing it on the table, "is your new key to stability. But know this: once locked, you cannot request its removal without forfeiting the money already paid to you. That’s our policy. We do not unlock a forfeit for free."

Ana stared at the belt. Her mouth was dry. The thought of months - perhaps more - without any form of release made her skin prickle. She was enduring, but denial was not her favorite. She was very aware of her needs for daily satisfaction. But her bank account had been overdrawn for three weeks. She had nothing left. "For how long?"

"One year is your minimum contract. You may extend it for another year if you wish. If you demand to cancel it, you will need to repay us. If you can’t, the belt stays on until the end of that year. If you run, you remember your membership contract."

"I'll do it," she whispered.

"Strip, and kneel."

Ana obeyed, sinking to her knees as Evelyn opened the belt. The moment it closed around her hips, the finality sank in. There was a click, and Ana felt something deep in her core collapse and reassemble. A quiet, irreversible contract sealed by sound alone.

Evelyn stepped back, admiring her work.

"Welcome to stability, Ana. Your first payment is being counted now. You'll receive it before morning. In the meantime… acclimate."

As Ana stood again, she felt the unyielding pressure of the belt with every movement. Rubber padding. No give. Just cold precision. She left the lounge with her steps slower, her mind numb with realization.

And so it began.

---

Alexandru and Elise strolled through the lounge, drinks in hand, heels clicking faintly on the obsidian-tiled floor. The room was lined with the familiar row of plaques - each one cold steel and crimson etching, softly lit from below like museum artifacts of sacrifice.

They paused, eyes drawn to a new addition.

ANA

FOR CASH. CHASTITY. 1 YEAR.

0 y, 11 m, 24 d, 18:52

The digital timer beneath ticked downward with precise, merciless rhythm.

"That wasn’t there last week," Alexandru said, brows rising beneath her fringe. "Ana? She sold her orgasms for cash?"

Elise was biting her lip already. She nodded slowly, eyes glazed in something between awe and arousal. "She was dancing for cash - remember? But she lost, and had to ride the wooden pony on stage. She volunteered for a chance at 50,000 Lei."

"That’s…" Alexandru trailed off, looking at the plaque again. "God. She really needed the money. Just cold cash."

"Sold her orgasms," Elise whispered. She looked over to Nadia’s plague, the blinking " - : - ". Even better. Her thighs squeezed together, the heat spreading fast. "She cashed them in like chips. A full year. Denied."

---

The first few days were easy. Or so Ana tried to tell herself. The belt was foreign, a strange and inflexible presence that pressed against her hips and rested heavy across her lower belly. It didn’t hurt. Not exactly. But it made itself known with every motion, every breath, every bend. The padding helped, the lining soft against her skin, but there was no escaping the truth: she was sealed.

Evelyn had been exacting during the fitting. The keypad had buzzed with her fingerprint with a heavy click. Ana had felt the sound more than heard it, vibrating up her spine like a sentence being passed. The belt was contoured and snug around her hips, and the front shield extended to ensure that no amount of squirming or friction could offer even the illusion of contact. She was locked, secured, owned by her decision.

But Ana needed the money.

Her phone buzzed the morning after her first night in the belt. A deposit alert from Abyss Industries: 10,000 Lei. It was real. Not just some theatrical promise, not like the games where the rewards were symbolic or limited to club credit. This was cash. And it had come without her having to dance, or scream, or twist in spiked shoes while strangers watched. It was enough to pay rent. Enough to buy food. Her hands trembled as she closed the notification. She had done it. She had sacrificed her satisfaction and her pleasure and been rewarded.

For the first week, she felt strong. She told herself she was in control. She had made a calculated deal. One year. One year and she’d be free. Evelyn hadn’t been cruel, just clear. The rules were absolute. The belt would not come off for twelve months unless Ana repaid the money - and more, with interest. She had agreed. She had needed to.

But then came the tenth night.

Ana lay in bed, the belt’s weight ever-present. A dull pressure throbbed through her pelvis. The kind of ache that came not from pain, but from absence. Her body reacted without her consent - her hips shifting, legs pressing together, seeking even a trace of friction. The belt felt strangely alive. The steel rebuffed her, its curve too perfect, its seal too complete. Her breath came in ragged waves. She clenched her fists, willed herself to sleep. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed.

By the second week, the edges of her resolve began to fray. It wasn’t just the denial. It was the constant awareness. The metal interrupted every routine. Showers were awkward. Sitting for too long pinched. Even the way she dressed had changed. The belt demanded low-cut trousers, loose fabrics. Nothing clingy. Nothing tight. It was okay for jeans, but too visible for leggings. She wore flowing skirts and oversized tops, and still felt the gaze of strangers even when she knew it was in her mind.

Worse still, Evelyn had sent a message:

"Your profile plaque is up in the lounge. 'Ana, Chastity Contract, 1 Year. You are on day 11/365.' You should stop by and see it. You’re becoming quite the story."

Ana didn’t reply. She stared at the message for a long time, her stomach in knots. The idea that people at Abyss - strangers - were talking about her made her feel exposed in a way the belt never could. And yet, some dark part of her was curious. Wanted to see the plaque. Wanted to know if they whispered when she walked past.

She went back on Saturday. Not to the stage, not for a game or a dance. Just to be present. She wore her catsuit, black and gleaming, the one that hugged her like a second skin. The belt beneath was visible and standing out. Drawing attention of the other patrons. Every step reminded her of it. The way it pressed and held. The way it denied.

Evelyn found her near the bar.

"Our little steel flower," she purred, brushing a hand along Ana’s arm. "How are you holding up?"

Ana tensed. "I’m okay."

Evelyn smirked. "Is that so? Most girls are ready begging to renegotiate after two weeks. Some offer the needle frame just to edge. Others gamble it all on a single orgasm."

Ana looked away. "I'm not most girls."

"No," Evelyn agreed. "You’re hungry. You’ll last longer than most. You know why? Because you don’t have a choice. And that, my dear, is the most powerful motivator of all."

Ana didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Later that night, as she passed the lounge, she saw her plaque. It was mounted with elegant simplicity, the countdown updated in real-time. Her name gleamed in stylized form. Above it, a photo of her in her suit - smiling faintly, unaware that the moment would become permanent.

ANA

FOR CASH. CHASTITY. 1 YEAR.

0 y, 11 m, 18 d, 9:32

She stood there for a long time, observing, waiting, for the numbers to tick down. Long enough for others to notice. She heard the whispers. She didn’t turn around.

It was only two weeks. But the year loomed before her like a mountain of steel.

Invitation

In summer, many more months into Lena’s and Mina’s suffering, they found a small, fragile solace - their nipples. They had not returned to Abyss, yet, but pondered the possibility, now that their ban has ended.

Though they could no longer masturbate by pleasuring their clits directly, they allowed themselves to gently be taken to the sensual feelings emanating from the touch of their nipples. It wasn’t the same, but it was enough to keep their spirits from breaking entirely. Nipple play became their sanctuary, combined with dildo play and fingering, they found a quiet rebellion against the curse of the Caps of Despair that had stripped them of their joy. They found via many nights of trial and error, it only worked in certain positions, the receiving partner on her knees, to ease the Cap as much as possible while her clitoris stood erect, its tip grazing into the needles. An exquisite pain, but the lust and desire prevailed.

One night, together, after many hours of relentless stimulation, the unthinkable happened. Mina, on her knees, carefully dildoing herself into oblivion, came. Hard. As Lena was twirling, licking, sucking and twisting her delicate nipples, Mina finally crested. She screamed in surprise, bucking down hard. The needles met her with vigor as she slammed on her stomach. Another, even louder scream followed, the orgasm ruined. But the curse of the Cap seemed broken.

They experimented, fine-tuned. The needles in their Caps helped, when their pearls just ever so slightly grazed them, blurring the line of stimulation and pain. It required precision. After just a week, both managed to orgasm at the others’s hands and mouth. The orgasms were always accompanied by the painful bite of the Caps, which seemed to somehow be warmer and more painful when this happened, as if they were angry, but the slightly painful orgasms were very, very welcome after their long chastity.

---

Somewhere in the dark, Evelyn, ever vigilant, watched from the shadows of Club Abyss. Her acquaintances, and colleagues in the scene, reported a change in Lena’s and Mina’s demeanor. Their lustful suffering seemed to have gone, replaced by happy smiles, their steps being lighter again. She could not risk their comeback and them challenging her reign in Abyss. She had heard rumors that Lena was considered a possible younger successor for her position. Young, ambitious, and courageous enough to challenge the Pain Mistress. She was dangerous, even if she didn’t know it herself. Evelyn needed them gone, or better yet, in bondage and servitude. The Count had already been willing to subject her to stakes so high that she herself was at risk of accepting the Cap of Despair. To secure her future in the long term, she needed them both completely broken. Therefore, their small reprieve infuriated her, even frightened her. Was the Count thinking, Lena could replace her eventually? Retiring her with a Cap of Despair as a parting gift for her decades of service? It would fit the picture, her final service being food for the count, being drained through a Cap of her own and withering.

Her thoughts lingered back to the time when she started at Abyss as a pain maiden, then advanced to pain mistress. Did the Count already see Lena as a new pain maiden? Never! Her competition had to be destroyed before they came to power. And there is nothing more than to cement the status of a submissive than chastity. A mistress who had her orgasms sealed away was no real mistress and would never rise to become one.

It was expected though, as an experienced Mistress she had seen it before. Blocking a sub’s clitoris is not enough in the long term to ensure their chastity. With belted patrons it rarely happens, but it does sometimes. Most are lingering in denial and frustration, unable to masturbate or have sex. The Caps of Despair however, allowed masturbation, just no clitoral stimulation, which the needles actively discouraged. Combined with access to their nipples, the Caps could be overcome apparently. Not always, but they were not the first case. Neither the last. She needed to up her game to fix this loophole.

She noticed that the energy flowing towards her had diminished. That was proof enough for her. Having heard of the couple being spotted with newfound lightness in their behavior additional proof evidence that the time has come. The sight of Lena and Mina finding even a shred of comfort grated on her, angered her. She wanted to crush that solace, to deepen their suffering until there was nothing left but unsatisfiable sexual frustration and despair in orgasmic denial. She desired the ultimate submission for her antagonists and only permanent chastity could quench her thirst. She had to take both of them out of the picture.

She would act fast, before the Count intervened again, or Lena and Mina would seek her out with their ban ended. She would need to act now, so she could battle them on her terms, on her playing field. She’d leave nothing to change and finish them for good, restoring and completing sealing their chastity.

Evelyn’s mind turned to a new cursed object - The Rings of Eternal Longing. These special rings would amplify Lena and Mina’s desire to find sexual relief, but making it an unbearable, insatiable need. And it would close their forbidden avenue to bliss. But the cruel twist? The rings would slip over their nipples, their insides garnished with small dull needles. They would slide on, imitate a gentle pressure, even a gentle sucking on the nipple, tight enough to not slip off by themselves, but loose enough to be worn constantly. They wouldn’t come off anyway, as they came with their own optional exquisite accessoire: a small accessory cap, needle lined on the inside of course, which would fix the rings into place via a nipple piercing, making them impossible to remove as long as the piercing is in place. Small caps of despair in themselves, to complete the condition of those unfortunate enough to wear them. She knew of course, that both Mina and Lena had received their nipple piercings long ago in the basement of Abyss. Naturally, there was also a spring loaded variant available for a more permanent fit, as the Abyss’ artisans never were short on cruel ideas. The Rings of Eternal Longing would block their ability to find release entirely, leaving them trapped in unfulfillable lust and desire, tormented by a passion they could no longer fulfill.

To enact her plan, Evelyn needed to lure them back to Club Abyss for one final challenge. She crafted a deceitful invitation, promising them a chance to get even with her by wagering the Cap of Despair herself again, to join them in their suffering of pain and denial. She had a feeling that at least Lena would not be able to resist a possibility to get revenge on her. Mina, not so much. While she had observed some rebellious traits in Mina, she was submissive at heart and would maybe have already accepted her life in the constant ebb and flow of unfulfilled desires that denial and chastity caused.

---

The invitation arrived on a warm, quiet evening. It was elegantly crafted, bearing the seal of Club Abyss, and promised the one thing Lena and Mina had longed for - a chance at revenge.

Lena turned the invitation card over to find an AI generated image depicting a dance duel with two younger women and one older woman, with a mysterious man observing from behind. Ridiculous needle themed decorations adorned the Club.

Lena read the invitation aloud, her voice trembling with a mixture of hope and suspicion. "They’re offering us a final challenge, a month from today. We can curse Evelyn with her own Cap. We have beaten Evelyn twice, sending her to the needle frame. We can do it."

Mina’s eyes narrowed, her expression cautious, looking at the image. "I’m sure these are not the actual outfits for the dance duel. And that one time, she wanted us to win! It has to be a trap. But what choice do we have? We won’t get rid of our clit shields, what use do we have from this? Is just getting revenge enough?"

Lena nodded, the weight of the past one and a half year pressing heavily on her shoulders. "We’ll go. We’ll face her again. We can do it. We found our way to orgasm, she won’t find hers. I want to see her capped."

Mina reluctantly agreed, "Dance of Despair, it seems only fitting to dance her into that cursed Cap of Despair herself."

The Weight of Endurance

Ana had begun to lose track of time.

It was strange, how life could twist around one unyielding center. The chastity belt Evelyn had locked onto her body - clinical, cold, impossibly secure - had become the axis upon which her entire existence now turned. Not a moment passed that she wasn’t aware of it: the subtle pinch of the internal plug, the pressure on her hips, the smooth yet implacable edges biting into her skin with every motion. Her body no longer moved freely, not truly. She had learned to adapt, to shift her posture and gait so the belt didn’t press too cruelly into her flesh. But no amount of adaptation would mute the ache building day by day.

It had been six months. Months of frustration that settled into her bones. Months of watching patrons come and go in Abyss, free, powerful, beautiful. She served drinks on her assigned nights, dressed in transparent latex that offered no modesty. Evelyn insisted she be barefoot at some nights, a detail that left her exposed and vulnerable on the stone floors. Her soles were marked still from regular ordeals, faint needle impressions decorating the arch and heel, reminders of the heels she had danced in for money, for pride, for survival.

She had managed well enough. Money came in. The 5,000 Lei she earned extra each weekend helped. She finally caught up on rent. Paid off her utility debts. Bought fresh groceries. But with survival came clarity - and with clarity came longing.

It wasn’t just the physical need that gnawed at her. It was the constant awareness of what she had given up. At home, she found herself curling under her sheets at night, her hands moving without thinking - only to collide with cold steel. Her body had no outlet. The frustration turned inward. It made her anxious, restless. She was quicker to anger, shorter in patience. Even her dreams had turned on her, now painting vivid scenes that left her soaked in sweat and aching with need by morning.

And Evelyn knew. Of course she knew.

"You’re glowing with desperation, Ana, and it suits you." she had said two weeks ago in the lounge, watching her sip watered-down wine after a particularly grueling shift. "It becomes you."

Ana had looked away. There was no response that wouldn’t grant Evelyn further satisfaction.

Now, Ana was back in the dressing room of Abyss, peeling off the last of her street clothes and stepping into the outfit prepared for her: a crystal clear, transparent catsuit with high collar, zipped up from the small of her back. The belt shone through it, the steel a harsh contrast to the glistening latex. She looked like an exhibit. A reminder of what submission cost.

Tonight, Evelyn had summoned her early.

She met her in the central chamber, alone. No audience yet. The lights were low, the stage lit in hues of violet and ice-blue. The wooden pony from the last spectacle was gone, replaced now by a tall display case. Inside it, the infamous Heels of Fire - needle-lined, chrome-tipped, and terrifying. Ana felt her stomach tighten.

"I’m not asking you to dance," Evelyn said, voice calm, almost kind. "Not yet."

Ana swallowed. "Then why call me here?"

Evelyn circled her slowly. "Because your contract affords you the opportunity to earn more. You’ve been dutiful. Resilient. Some patrons have asked for more. More appearances. More endurance. More displays."

Ana turned to face her. "What does that mean?"

"It means I’ll pay you 10,000 Lei extra this month if you volunteer for an exhibit."

"What kind of exhibit?"

Evelyn walked to the base of the stage, pressing a button. A mechanical hum followed as the floor shifted, revealing a smaller podium rising from below. It displayed a rectangular stool, padded in latex, and fitted with adjustable straps.

Ana froze.

"It’s a patience test," Evelyn said softly. "You kneel on it for three hours. You are locked in place. Nothing penetrative. No contact. No humiliation. Just you, your thoughts, and the belt."

Ana’s voice caught in her throat. "Three hours?"

"With the lights low. The audience will be allowed to walk past and observe, but they’re not allowed to speak to you. You’re on display. Nothing more."

Ana didn’t respond at first. She looked to the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but Evelyn’s face. Her mind reeled with the implications. Would this be tolerable? Would this deepen the ache into something maddening?

But 10,000 Lei…

"I’ll do it," she said quietly.

Evelyn smiled, stepping forward to brush a strand of hair behind Ana’s ear. "Good girl."

Two hours later, Ana knelt on the padded block, her knees braced wide, her hands bound behind her back. The belt gleamed beneath the lights, sweat trickling down visible inside her transparent latex suit, an object of fascination to every guest who passed. Some gazed in awe. Others whispered. A few simply stared, captivated by the stillness she maintained.

But within Ana’s mind, the storm raged. The plug inside the belt pressed into her with every shift of breath. Her thighs trembled. Her lips remained pressed in a firm line to hide the tiny gasps she couldn’t suppress.

The lights were soft and blue. A subtle hum of ambient music filled the chamber. She could hear the faint tapping of heels across the floor. She could see the occasional flash of a camera.

She tried not to think of how long remained.

And when, at last, the clock struck midnight and Evelyn returned to unlock her bonds, Ana sagged in place with exhaustion. The Mistress said nothing - only helped her to her feet, guided her backstage, and handed her a towel.

"You lasted the full three," Evelyn said, pleased. "You’ve earned your bonus."

Ana only nodded. But inside, she trembled - not from physical fatigue, but from the unbearable ache that deepened with every passing day. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could endure. But for now… she would.

Pillow

Nicoleta had known the denial would be difficult - twelve months in a belt was not a casual punishment - but she hadn’t known it would begin to unmake her. The days were manageable. The nights were not. Her body didn’t sleep anymore; it throbbed. Her thoughts came slow, distracted, and always, always circled back to the absence between her thighs. To the slow grind of time and steel.

She had tried to endure. She had tried to meditate, to sublimate, to smother her own need. But need did not smother. Need burned. It had been almost nine months since the New Year’s party, the Balance over the Abyss, and she was unraveling.

And Evelyn, as always, knew exactly when to step in. The offer had been made in her usual fashion: calmly, with a note of silk in her voice that could be mistaken for kindness, until one listened to the words themselves.

"You may have it," Evelyn had said, fingertips resting lightly on the rim of her wineglass. "Release. A full orgasm. By yourself. You will be on all fours, tied, allowed to hump a pillow. Classic masturbation. But in Abyss style it will be a latex pillow."

Nicoleta had stared, breath shallow, eyes wide. She felt a gush behind the steel mesh of her belt.

"But you will earn it," Evelyn continued, "and it will be witnessed. On the stage. Naked, a public orgasm."

She gasped, shivered, shocked. But her need outweighed her hesitation. Of course she agreed, she couldn’t endure the belt. The wheel of misfortune had chosen it; never would she have wagered it. She just had been unlucky, a Gala event, she agreed to participate, was chosen. And she fell. And the wheel chose it. A serious of unlucky events, leading her to the present moment. Now she stood backstage, nude, a wide collar snug around her neck, breath fluttering in her chest. The belt had been removed minutes ago - freedom after months of steel. Her bare skin felt exposed, raw, as if she had no barrier between her body and the world.

The stage beyond was dimmed but brimming with a hushed tension. Patrons had gathered in front of the stage, in the recessed booths, in the bar area, drinks in hand, anticipation thick in the air.

Ana sat among them, arms folded tightly in her lap. Her clear latex catsuit shimmered with a sheen of sweat under the low lights, her own belt beneath it gleaming through the latex. Her eyes were fixed on the stage, watching with barely concealed hunger. It wasn’t fair. Ana felt the same, if not a greater, need. And yet she was allowed this. She was being unbelted. She was being permitted to fall. Camelia, a gentle professional ballerina dancer, sat to Ana’s left, still and quiet, a soft sadness behind her eyes. She understood what Ana was feeling. She felt it too - or so she thought, though hers was a gentler envy, colored more by empathy than bitterness.

And Elise, three seats down, leaned forward with a grin that cut like a scalpel. In the seats in front of her sat Nadia, silent, tightly composed. Her posture was impeccable, her eyes neutral, but Elise leaned forward to her with a wicked little smile and whispered, "She’ll never let you do this. You know that, right? Not even after years chaste. Evelyn wouldn’t even dream of granting you a moment like this. Only after consulting me on it. And I’d be very aware of what you wagered in our duel."

Nadia didn’t answer.

"But maybe," Elise added with a mock-pensive tilt of her head, "if you begged me properly, we could arrange a challenge. A real one. With… suitable forfeits. Something unforgettable."

Nadia’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. The chastity belt was bad enough. What would Elise seem suitable, or even unforgettable?

Elise leaned back, delighted.

The curtain drew back. Nicoleta stepped onto the stage. She was stark naked, a spotlight shone on her.

The latex pillow waited at the center. Large, contoured, and almost threatening in its simplicity. It gleamed under the spotlight, impossibly sleek. It had been saturated in silicone oil - deliberately so. A thin layer glistened across the cushion’s black surface, pooling in its curves, shining like water on obsidian. Inflatable and pliant, it shifted beneath the slightest pressure. The scent of the oil mixed with latex and the electric tension in the air. Nicoleta’s breath hitched, the oil would make this difficult. No hands allowed. She would need to develop a working technique, and fast.

Evelyn’s voice - smooth, cool - slipped through the speakers. "You have one hour. One orgasm. No assistance. No hands. The audience is your witness."

Two masked attendants guided her forward, tied her gently on all fours, wrists and ankles fixed to the corners of the platform. Her knees were spread. The pillow was beneath her, she tied, spread out on top of it, her body straddling it. Her breath shuddered as her hips sank down and she felt the cool latex touching her torso from breasts down to her nether region.

Then the attendants withdrew. The light dimmed to gold. The clock began. She began slowly. Her hips moved with uncertainty, brushing against the cushion. It shifted beneath her - soft but offering little resistance. Her skin slid rather than caught. The inflatable cushion moved back, evaded her touch wherever she met it, maintaining an agonizing sensual touch, so seductive but barely enough.

At first, her movements were tentative. Her hips shifted forward, brushing against the slick surface. The pillow gave beneath her with a soft hiss, air inside moving, offering no resistance, only yielding, shifting pressure. She adjusted her angle, pushing harder, rocking into it. The heat in her chest flared. The movement grew rhythmic. But still, the slickness defeated her every attempt to anchor herself. The oil combined with the forming sweat, turning the pillow into something absurdly evasive. Each push slid her off-kilter. Her hips began to pump. Faster. Harder. Her face twisted with frustration.

Moans escaped her lips - soft at first, then louder.

The audience stirred. Some laughs could be heard.

Elise grinned openly now. "She’s working for it. Gods, listen to that."

More laughter followed. A wave of amused chuckles. A few raised glasses. Smiles and murmurs.

"She might not make it."

"She’s practically rutting."

"Like a good pet."

"A bitch in heat."

Nicoleta heard none of it clearly. The sound of her breath, the slick slap of skin against latex, and the relentless burn inside her drowned it all. Thirty minutes in, she was moving with abandon. Desperate. Raw. The oil had coated everything. Her thighs gleamed. Her arms trembled. Her moans became cries. But no matter how hard she ground, the pillow shifted, slid, bent under her. There was no friction. No pressure. Her body needed contact, grip, resistance - and there was none.

Please, she thought. Please let this happen. Let this work. I can’t go back in the belt without having this. I can’t.

Her hips bucked. Again. Again.

She imagined the orgasm. She imagined peace. Just once. Just this once. Her whole body sang with desperation. Her breath came in ragged gasps. She pressed her hips down hard, felt the pillow deflate slightly, slide away, reform. Why won’t it stay still? Her thoughts raced. Why is this so impossible? Her panic spilled into her limbs. Her thrusts became more forceful, erratic. Each time she thought she was near - so close - a slide or bend in the surface stole it away. The ache became unbearable. Her moans became open, broken sobs. She was panting, pleading inside. Let me have it, please. Please.

But nothing came.

Fifty minutes.

She moved harder, faster, her body shaking with effort. Every nerve was alight. But the pressure never peaked. The slide never steadied. She was empty, aching, furious.

Her eyes were wild. Her breath was ragged. She clenched her fists against the bindings. The oil pooled beneath her. Her movements had become chaotic. All rhythm lost. She threw herself into the cushion, again and again, thighs burning, back arched. Slamming it, sliding and rubbing on it like her life depended on it. Her orgasm depended on it.

The audience roared - cheering, laughing, some whispering cruel delights. Elise in particular looked nearly breathless with amusement, sipping her wine with gleaming eyes.

Ana’s hands trembled in her lap. Camelia looked away. She knew, a video recording of Nicoleta’s performance on stage was going into her files, ensuring every wager she entered would be paid - in full. How would her parents react to this show?

And then - the timer ended. She cried out in frustration.

Evelyn’s voice slid through the silence. "A brave effort, Nicoleta. But it seems tonight’s freedom was just beyond your reach."

The curtain began to lower.

Nicoleta remained tied. Her face was flushed, streaked with sweat and humiliation. She still rubbed and humped the pillow. Two attendants returned. The belt was brought back, the sound of its locking loud in the hush. Only once it was in place did they untie her wrists.

Nicoleta was helped to her knees, head bowed, breath ragged. Her body trembled - not with satisfaction, but with denial that burned. And in that moment, she felt the cruelest sting of all: the pulsing need in her apex, still there, still feeling the oily touch of the latex cushion. The belt, as unforgiving as it was, gave her an excuse. It explained her failure. It protected her from more.

She had been given a chance to peak. The only thing that had peaked was her humiliation on the stage.

Ana stared at the closed curtain. She had never felt so empty. Someone applauded in the background; Elise.

Nadia watched Elise with a quiet fury.

And Evelyn? She smiled, serene as ever, sipping her wine in the dark. And next week, she’d collect her own sought after prize.

Dance of Despair

The big date arrived. On the night of the event, more or less one and a half years after having been fitted with the Caps of Despair, Lena and Mina returned to Abyss, their hearts heavy with anticipation and dread. The club was packed, the crowd buzzing with excitement. The club was tense with expectation. Midnight loomed, and with it, the long-announced duel that had set every tongue in Abyss whispering. Every booth hummed with speculation. Every shadow held someone watching, waiting. And when Lena and Mina entered the bar, flanked by the quiet pull of their presence, more than one head turned. The stage was set for the ultimate showdown, and everyone knew it.

The bar at Abyss glowed low and inviting, casting golden pools of light over glossy black surfaces and crimson velvet stools. Patrons lingered in pairs and trios, some masked, others barefaced, but all wrapped in the hush of the club’s strange intimacy. Behind the bar, the bottles gleamed like trophies—liquid promises. Lena approached, the slight hitch in her step betraying the pressure between her thighs. She wore a sleek black catsuit, immaculate, the cruel chastity cap secured to her flesh beneath.

And near the end, half in shadow, Valeria sipped a dark cocktail, eyes roaming lazily across the room. Her gaze froze. Lena. And beside her, unmistakable in her tailored catsuit and the elegant, feline tension of her stance: Mina.

"Well well," came a voice like polished leather. Valeria, leaning against the bar with a half-empty glass of obsidian wine, took one look at them and smirked. "I recognize those silhouettes anywhere. Lena. Mina. Thought you were gone for too long. The year ban seemed… unnecessary."

„The ban ended," Lena said coolly, her voice tight beneath the low pulse of bass. Her eyes, ringed in the subtle sheen of sweat and tension, met Valeria’s without flinching. Mina gave only a nod, silent, her gloved hand resting on the bar beside Lena’s. They wore their punishment like armor, the caps hidden beneath the latex suits, but the emotional weight of them was unmistakable.

Valeria’s smirk faded into something more serious. Her gaze swept them both with sharp understanding. "You shouldn’t have agreed to this. Evelyn doesn’t lose gracefully. You remember what I said about draining, don’t you? It’s real. That stage tonight, it’s a sacrificial altar. And she’s not the one about to bleed."

Lena gave a dry smile. "Now I understand what you meant. About the draining. The club… it's not a metaphor anymore. It’s feeding off me. I can feel it. I wear the caps and it's like… it isn't just chastity. It's consumption. It drinks from my ache. The Caps feel alive even, torturing us."

Lena’s lips curled, but there was no humor in her smile. Only hunger. "We’re not fighting for freedom, Valeria. These caps are forever. But if we can humiliate her… if we can render Evelyn chaste, for good, forever, too…"

Valeria’s eyes widened slightly. "You want to bind her? Bind the Pain Mistress of Abyss in permanent chastity?"

Lena nodded once. "I want her begging. Just once. I want her clit locked under the steel cap with its needles. I want her to feel what she’s inflicted."

For a long moment, Valeria said nothing. The bar light caught the reflection in her glass, painting her cheek in a line of crimson. Then she leaned in close.

"Be careful," she whispered. "The club doesn’t just take from losers. Sometimes it feeds on vengeance, too. And Evelyn… Evelyn’s been feeding it for decades."

The silence between them felt charged, the music a distant throb. Lena didn’t look away. Neither did Mina.

Valeria finished her drink. "Midnight’s almost here. Gods help you both." Then she clinked her glass gently against Lena's. "Then dance like something worth devouring. And make her choke on it."

Midnight came.

Evelyn stood at the center of the stage, her presence commanding as ever. She greeted them with a vampiric smile that dripped with malice. "Welcome back, Lena, Mina. Tonight, we end this."

"With the Dance of Despair!" she said even louder, enticing the audience to an excited cheer.

Lena stepped forward, her resolve hardening. "We’re ready."

Evelyn’s smile widened. "Good. But first, a reminder. You had dared to challenge Abyss, and dared to challenge me. You even dueled each other. Your silent conflict has been resolved. Remember how Mina snuck into Abyss, avoiding an overprotective Lena. Lena not allowing Mina to manage her own affairs, Mina drawn to her but not ready to submit. These conflicts have been brought into the light by Abyss, and solved. Now you are lovers, mistress and submissive, your desires for each other fully lived out, even if your indolence had brought you into joint denial. And still you are combative about your submission towards Abyss itself. So tonight, we will once more settle your hunger for revenge… let us begin with a token to symbolize the stakes."

She motioned to an attendant, who presented three pairs of silver rings on a red velvet cushion. "The Rings of Eternal Longing. They represent the heart of tonight’s challenge. We will wear them together for the duration of the dance on our nipples, their spikes directed inwards to our hearts, inflicting the most delicious sensations when we sway! And if you win I’ll have to wear my own Cap of Despair and I myself will join you in permanent chastity. As the audience knows, and you two even from experience, Club Abyss is not beyond including even permanent chastity as stakes in the highest of challenges.“

Lena and Mina exchanged a wary glance, the way she emphasized the words "I" and "permanent", even mocking the word "permanent", by drawing it out a bit too long. Did she suspect they both found their secret ways back to orgasms? But the promise of revenge was too enticing to ignore. Anyhow, it was mute, backing out now, on stage with a hundred patrons onlooking, was not possible.

The silent attendants stood at the ready, four of them. Three with red velvet cushions, a set of rings on each. And one attendant presented one Cap of Despair on a black cushion. Evelyn was apparently serious to risk wearing it.

Evelyn’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Now, let’s begin. Do I need to mention that of course the losers, or loser, will visit the needle frame for 24 hours?"

The attendants brought out the outfits for the duel - The Crystal Penance Suit, Abyss’ finest and newest pain suit - elaborate, transparent latex full-body suits designed for prickly pain. The latex was sleek and clear, slick in silicone oil, which would clinging tightly to their bodies. Embedded within were many dozens of needles, lying dormant in their black nodules but ready to awaken with every misstep. The accompanying Glass Agony Heels were impossibly high, their transparent design showing rows of sharp needles poised beneath the insoles’ nodules.

Evelyn announced with cruel satisfaction as the spotlights were directed onto the three suits presented on their coat hangers "Tonight we dance the Dance of Despair in the new Crystal Penance Suits, the tight transparent latex will show the audience in clear detail the action of the needles. Yes, there are no spikes but needles in the nodules, presenting much higher stakes than the old trustworthy Thorned Attire. This shall motivate us to be very precise with our dance. Tight breast rings on the Crystal Penance Suits will take our breasts hostage and subject them to the nodules in the cups at an increased pressure. Dance out of sync and the suit will bring you to the floor in agony."

The crowd cheered, once more, as the attendants guided them behind the curtain, helped them out of their catsuits. They slipped The Rings of Eternal Longing onto their already erect nipples, feeling a strange warmth spread through them. As Lena and Mina slipped into the suits, they felt the dull pressure of the nodules against their skin, a constant reminder of the stakes. As they emerged again, the Glass Agony Heels pinched their feet, the needles pressing lightly, waiting for the inevitable slip in rhythm.

Evelyn, dressed in an identical outfit, her own Rings of Eternal Longing visibly adorned her nipples underneath, stood ready, her expression one of cold confidence.

The music began - a slow, haunting melody that quickly escalated into a frenetic, erratic tempo.

The duel was grueling from the start. The bass was heavy and loud, and their sweating in the clinging latex suits matched the music. Lena and Mina struggled to find their footing, their bodies suffering from a year of inactivity, having only practiced dancing after receiving the invitation a few weeks ago. Each small misstep was a test of endurance, the needles pressing into their flesh with sharp, biting pain. The needles grating over their oily and sweaty skin as they moved, they undulated and they twisted to the bass heavy music. The needles in their heels activated with every misstep, sending jolts of pure agony through their soles.

Evelyn moved with fluid grace, her body flowing effortlessly with the music. Lena and Mina fought to keep up, their bodies aching, their minds overwhelmed by the relentless rhythm.

As the music reached its climax, missteps happened, a crescendo of almost impossible to follow steps. Needles dancing inside their suits and beneath their soles. Evelyn struggled similarly. The pain became unbearable. Mina screamed, her dance an contorted display of agony. Evelyn’s face a hard mask in pain, crying a series of never ending "ahs" with every step, dancing like a dervish. Lena stumbled, the needles driving deep into her skin, her soles on fire from needles shooting up from the insoles, and Mina followed soon after, collapsing to the floor in agony, grasping and clawing at her locked heels, screaming in panic. The music stopped, and the crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and gasps, all needles retracing.

Evelyn stood victorious, her breathing steady despite the ordeal. She approached Lena and Mina, who lay sprawled on the stage, their bodies trembling from the pain.

"It seems you’ve lost again," Evelyn said softly, her voice dripping with triumph.

As the attendants helped Lena and Mina to their feet and they were stripped out of their glass heels and outfit. Completely nude for all to see, they stood on stage, presented as losers of the final challenge. Their oily sweaty skin glistened in the spotlights, a canvas of pale with countless red dots and scratch marks from the needles. Even with no blood drawn, the skin burned with agony. The Rings of Eternal Longing on their nipples shimmered silvery in spotlight shone upon them, as did the oval Caps of Despair just over their slits. The attendants grabbed their hands and held them tightly on their backs, with an almost inhuman strength. Are these vampires after all? The thought crossed Lena’s mind again. Evelyn stepped in front of Lena and smiles maliciously at her, 4 small silver caps on a newly brought velvet cushion.

Lena and Mina gasped as the full realization hit them. The rings were not complete yet. Evelyn had caps for them, smiling wolfishly as she slowly lifted the cushion close to Lena’s face. The slow and elaborate orgasms with the help of their nipples that had been their only solace were about to be gone, replaced by a tight constant grip. The rings and the waiting caps glimmered with a cruel life of their own, mocking their attempts to find solace.

Lena shook her head, a silent "no", a plead for mercy. Their eyes met. A smile on one side and a slow shaking head with eyes wide from fear on the other side. Lena knew that Evelyn knew. And Lena knew that Evelyn knew that Lena knew. They understood each other mutually and totally. Evelyn picked up the first cap with her left hand, a tiny needle in her right.

"No, please." Lena whispered.

Evelyn just nodded slowly.

"No, please, Mistress."

Evelyn just nodded again slowly and brought the cap closer.

"Mistress, please not this, … not this." Lena pleaded with a brittle voice.

"But yes of course." Evelyn responded.

With that she put the small caps on Lena’s rings, slides the rods through her nipple piercing, ring, and cap, and screws the little balls onto it, adjusting the spring loaded mechanism with the tiny needle until the ominous click signaled that the first cap was fixed in place. Lena gasped in utter horror and her chin fell down, slowly, as not daring to see her nipples vanishing under the metal. The second cap followed fast and with less drama, the clicks signaling finality. She felt like the floor opened under her, a feeling of free-fall.

"Mistress, please help me."

"Rubber kitten, my gift to you is lifelong desire. You are very welcome."

She stepped over to a very frightened Mina, a tear escaping her eyes. Once more, she put the small caps on Mina’s nipple rings as well, slid the rods through and secures the little balls until the click signaled their permanence. With wide panicked eyes, Mina met Evelyn’s smile.

"Pain kitten, my gift to you is lifelong desire. You are very welcome."

Evelyn’s smile widened. Into the microphone she announced "The Rings of Eternal Longing are now yours. They complete your ensemble. Their curses will draw you into desires you cannot fathom yet. Your desires will consume you - but you’ll never find sexual release again. The unending lust will be your only companion."

They immediately tried to remove them as the attendants let them go, and the crowd roared in excitement, but the rings wouldn’t budge, needles biting painfully into their nipples.

As if the curse of The Rings of Eternal Longing wasn’t enough, Evelyn motioned to the attendants, while she slipped her own rings off her breasts. "Take them to the Needle Frames. Let them experience the full extent of their failure."

Lena and Mina were led to the basement, after more so much time after their last visit to this deepest part of Abyss, they had pushed it out of their minds. But now, there the oddly familiar, cold metal frame awaited them. Their bodies were suspended in mid-air, the frame holding them in place as the needles pressed deeper into their flesh. The needle pads were pressed against their soles and toes, the thin needles sliding beneath their toenails and fingernails with excruciating precision.

For 24 hours again, they endured the torment, their screams echoing through the dark, stuffy basement. The pain was relentless, each moment a reminder of their defeat and the curse that now bound them.

When the ordeal finally ended, Lena and Mina were released from the frame, their bodies broken but their spirits not entirely crushed. The rings on their nipples pulsed with their heartbeat, a constant reminder of the torments they would bring.

Evelyn watched with satisfaction as they were escorted out of Abyss, her victory complete. Yet, even as they stumbled into the night, a flicker of defiance remained in their eyes.

The Desire of Suffering

"Mistress, eh?" Mina mocked her.

Lena sheepishly looked down at her feet, the pain still lingering from the day before. Especially her toes, oh god those nail needles.

"You really were ready to submit?" Mina insisted.

"In that moment, the way she looked into my eyes, yes. She knew we had found our orgasms again. She knew exactly what she was doing when she screwed the caps in place." Lena paused for a moment, then continued "she knew she was taken our orgasms away again. I’d submit to anything to not have her secure the caps on our rings."

"Do you believe she was really at risk to receiving her own Cap of Despair? Or was it just another game? Were we so bad, and she just good? Do you believe she would have invited us to this dance duel if she was at a real risk?" Mina wondered.

"I think she really risked it. In her eyes, there was… relief. Like a burden was lifted. It was replaced by her hunger when she held the caps before my eyes, but before, there was something else. She wanted, or needed, us back in chastity." Lena mused.

"In this she succeeded. I don’t know how I can handle an orgasms free life. I’m drained. I feel it. I’m becoming a hollow husk."

"Well, you did already for almost a year. That counts for something. I feel the same. Like my essence being siphoned away through my clit and nipples. We feed the Abyss. But we need to focus on something else. Our being together. Orgasms are not the goal. We need to resist."

The days stretched into weeks, and the weeks into months. For Lena and Mina, time became an endless blur of quite torment. Sometimes Rings of Eternal Longing pulsed with a mind of their own on their nipples with their heartbeats when their arousal spiked, a constant, cruel reminder of what they had lost. The once vibrant lovemaking and nipple play that had given them solace despite the Caps of Despair was gone, replaced by a suffocating lust and frustration that pressed down on them like a heavy weight. They spent more time together, often staying overnight in one of their apartments. Her new solace was cuddling together, caressing their nude or latex clad bodies. Sensuality slowly took the place of sexuality, or at least orgasmic sexuality. In the nude, they could avoid the pressure on their cursed jewelry which the catsuits exercised. Still, as the weeks passed, they were more often than not in their latex suit, welcoming the slight constant pain the catsuits created.

Every day was a struggle. The desire to orgasm burned within them, an insatiable need that gnawed at their souls. They could feel the yearning in their bodies, the muscle memory of movement and spasms aching to be set free. But without the final stimulation, their sexual and sensual dance was incomplete, an empty gesture that only deepened their despair.

Mina sat on the edge of her bed, a magic wand between her lust-wet legs, staring at the floor, her hands clenched tightly around her breasts. The rings on her erect nipples pulsed softly on each inhale, the rhythmic beat mocking her. She tried to caress her breasts, to create some semblance of desire in her mind, but the cursed jewelry made it impossible, leaving only a hollow void.

They had tried everything to break the curse, even Mina begging Lena for bastinado again. They had searched for answers, sought out anyone who might help, but the rings remained firmly in place, their locking bars unyielding. Each day, the desire for sexual release grew stronger, an uncontrollable urge that threatened to consume them.

Their friends in the fetish and BDSM scene had drifted away, unable to understand the depth of their suffering. Without orgasm they still visited the sexually themed parties and clubs other than Abyss, Lena and Mina became trapped in a world where their greatest passion was denied to them. Their games and their sensual affair became more accentuated, adding pain into their games beside Mina being now a regular receiver of bastinado. Lena took the leading role naturally, introducing some spanking, even trying needles. They found themselves researching needle or spike shoes but nothing was found online. Apparently, the handcrafted pieces of the artisans at Abyss stayed confined to the club.

The orgasm denial became their only companion, a constant reminder of their torment and chastity. For weeks they rarely spoke, understanding each others suffering without many words, and when they spoke, their words fell into the emptiness around them. Even when they tried to find comfort in each other’s presence, the silence between them was deafening.

Mina would often stand by the window, staring out at the bustling city below. She watched people laughing, hand in hand with partners heading home, to do what couples do, living their lives with the freedom she had lost. The sight filled her with a bitter longing, a reminder of what had been taken from her.

Lena spent her days pacing the apartment, her body restless, unable to find peace. The Rings bounced with each step, the Cap bit into her on certain movements, a cruel rhythm that taunted her. She tried to move, to sway, but without the music, it was futile - a mockery of the dance of self-love she once loved so dearly.

As the months crept by, memories of their time at Abyss haunted them both. The thrill of the music, the euphoria of the dance floor, even the intensity of the duels - all of it was now out of reach. The cursed jewelry had robbed them not only of their present but of their past, turning their most exciting moments into sources of pain.

At night, Lena often dreamed of the stage, of the lights and the music that had once filled her with life. But each time she reached out to grasp it, the dream would dissolve into silence, leaving her gasping in the dark.

Mina’s dreams were not kinder. She would wake in the middle of the night, tears streaming down her face, the echoes of forgotten orgasms she could no longer experience fading into nothingness. The longing in her heart and groin was a constant ache, a wound that refused to heal.

The worst part was the knowledge that the desire would never fade. The Cap and Rings ensured that the need would remain forever, a cruel and eternal torment. They were prisoners of their own desires and lust, chained to a primal need they could never fulfill.

Some days, they tried to fight it, to push the desire down, to pretend it didn’t exist. But the Caps wouldn’t let them. At night, the pulsing need grew stronger with every attempt to ignore it, driving them to the brink of madness.

Lena and Mina were trapped in a cycle of longing and denial, their souls tormented by the orgasms they could almost sense beyond their horizons but never reach. The chastity was suffocating, an endless void that consumed everything they once loved.

Yet, even in their suffering, a small spark of defiance remained. They refused to let Evelyn’s curse break them completely. Though the orgasm denial was overwhelming, though the desire to dance was an unending torment, they clung to the hope that one day, they might find a way to break free.

Some days, the Cap and Rings seems to have a mind of their own, radiating a pulsing sensation to the very private parts of their wearers, as if imbued with a dark energy.

"We can’t give up," Lena said one evening, her voice barely above a whisper. "There has to be a way… a way to orgasm again." They found themselves spending many evenings nowadays sharing a double ended dildo on which they slowly swayed, sometimes for hours, never cresting, being confined to that plateau which is so difficult to abandon yet with no peak to reach. The dildo slid, an endless slithering, their nether lips almost kissing. On their backs, or on all fours, always aware of their Caps and their sharp needles. It was never enough, it even made it worse by fanning the flames of their lust. But what could they do, if not just surrender into their unfulfilled lust?

Mina nodded, though her eyes were filled with doubt. "I don’t know how, but I won’t stop trying. I can’t. We should never have challenged her to a duel just over having to dance with needle shoes. It seems so mundane now. How did it escalate to this?"

They sat together in the dim light, their denial pressing down on them, but their determination remained. The curse had taken so much from them, but it hadn’t taken their will to fight.

Lena and Mina’s suffering was immense, their days filled with longing and despair. The Rings and Caps had stolen their joy, their passion, their very essence. They felt their energy being siphoned away whenever they got aroused, being drained through the three delicate and demonic pieces of cursed metal. Yet, even in the depths of their torment, they refused to surrender.

For now, they endured, their hearts heavy with the weight of their curse. But somewhere, deep within them, a flicker of hope remained - a belief that one day, the hope would return, and with it, the freedom to dance once more and finding out of their chastity.

Desperate Challenge

Evelyn's words haunted Nadia: "The belt will remain until you prove your worth. Win a duel, and the belt will be transferred to the loser." It was her only chance, the only glimmer of hope in her suffocating reality. Nadia's desperation grew, pushing her to return to Abyss, determined to find someone - anyone - to challenge. She didn’t have any feud with anyone except Elise.

The club was alive with its usual dark energy, the thrum of the music vibrating through the floors and walls. Nadia moved through the crowd, her eyes darting from face to face, searching for a potential challenger. The desperation in her eyes was palpable, her need for release driving her forward.

Finally, she spotted a woman standing near the bar, sipping a drink with a relaxed demeanor. The woman had an air of submissiveness about her, dressed in a latex mini dress and a choker, her posture relaxed and her eyes keenly observing the scene around her. Nadia approached, her voice trembling but resolute.

"I challenge you," she said, her words cutting through the din of the club. The woman raised an eyebrow, looking Nadia up and down, her expression unreadable.

"Challenge me?" she repeated, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "For what?"

"A dance duel," Nadia replied, her desperation spilling into her voice. "If I win, I’ll be freed from this." She gestured to the chastity belt locked around her waist. "And if you lose, the belt will be transferred to you."

The woman considered her for a moment before shrugging. "You can’t do that." But Nadia already waved over an attendant and both were motioned silently but in authority to follow her to the stage. The woman was growing nervous by now.

Evelyn, ever watchful from her perch, noticed the exchange and moved to the stage. With a wave of her hand, she gestured Nadia and her chosen opponent to the spotlight. The crowd’s attention shifted, eager for the unfolding drama.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Evelyn began, her voice smooth and commanding. "Tonight, we witness a desperate attempt at redemption. Nadia, bound indefinitely in chastity by her earlier failure, seeks to free herself by transferring the chastity belt by challenging…" She glanced at the other woman, giving her a comforting wink, her eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Antonia," the woman answered.

"…our newest participant, the lovely Antonia. The stakes are clear: the winner walks free, the loser takes on the burden of the belt."

The crowd murmured in anticipation, the energy in the room crackling with excitement. Evelyn’s smile widened as she continued, "But should Nadia lose again tonight, as she already wears the belt, her fate will be far worse. She will visit the needle frame." The audience’s murmur turned into gasps and whispers, the infamous frame a well-known tool of torment within the club. As Evelyn’s words hung in the air, Antonia turned to Nadia, a bemused expression on her face. "And what do I get out of this if I win?" she asked, her tone light but mocking. Nadia’s desperation grew.

Evelyn explained "You have only the satisfaction that Nadia will suffer immensely in the Needle Frame for boldly challenging you, and she’d not be allowed to challenge anyone else for a year. Do you accept the challenge or reject it?"

The woman chuckled, shaking her head. "I reject. Why would I risk that?" Her laughter grew, filling the room with its cruel echo. "This is her problem, not mine. And I will enjoy to know her pussy languished for her crazy attempt to challenge me for no reason."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked off the stage, leaving Nadia standing alone under the harsh spotlight. The crowd’s murmurs turned into mocking laughter, their amusement at Nadia’s humiliation evident.

Nadia’s face burned with shame, her heart pounding in her chest as the weight of her failure pressed down on her. She turned to Evelyn, hoping for some semblance of solace, but found none. Evelyn’s smile was cold, her eyes filled with satisfaction.

"It seems your desperation has only brought you more humiliation," Evelyn said, her voice low and mocking. "Perhaps next time, you’ll think more carefully before randomly issuing a challenge to a stranger, foolish girl."

Nadia stumbled off the stage, her mind a whirlwind of shame and despair. The belt’s whispers grew louder, taunting her relentlessly as she made her way through the crowd. The laughter followed her, a cruel reminder of her failure.

As she left Abyss that night, Nadia knew she had reached a new low. The path to freedom seemed further away than ever, her desperation leading only to deeper humiliation.

Wager

Ana had stopped marking the days on her calendar. At first, she had kept meticulous count - each square filled with a neat, red X, ticking down the days of her chastity sentence like a prisoner awaiting release. But after month six, something shifted. The marks stopped. Not because she forgot, but because it began to feel pointless. The weight of the belt, the grinding routine of her humiliating weekends in Abyss, and the persistent ache of denied relief had eroded her resolve to the point of numbness.

It was now ten months since she had agreed to Evelyn’s contract. Her body, always on display, had grown accustomed to the strict routine of weekend torment. Her transparent latex servant uniform she wore was now second skin. The guests had come to expect her presence, silent and bowed, heels laced in spikes, activating if she moved to slowly, or barefooted, her languished soles patterned with pressure marks that refused to fade fully anymore. The teasing from patrons had grown crueler, especially when they realized she could never retaliate, never escape. Her belt was locked, unyielding, in the lounge her timer slowly counted down: "2 months, 12 days."

Ana was used to being watched, used to the way her footsteps faltered by the end of a night, her balance strained and posture ragged. She was no longer the girl who volunteered eagerly for money. She was worn down. Her bank account looked better than ever, but there were still debts to be repaid. She was a fixture. And it was breaking her.

One particular night, she found herself in Evelyn's private lounge again, summoned without explanation. She stood quietly, arms clasped behind her back, feet burning inside the latest version of the torment heels - the spikes thicker now, duller, but unrelenting.

Evelyn sat behind her desk, swirling a glass of red wine. "You look pale, Ana," she said without looking up.

"I didn’t sleep much last night, Mistress," Ana admitted.

Evelyn finally looked at her, setting the glass down. "No? Why is that?"

Ana hesitated. "The belt. I can't stop thinking. I can't stop… feeling. Even when I sleep, my dreams are full of it. I wake up, and the frustration is… constant."

Evelyn smiled slowly. "Yes. That is the idea."

Ana looked away, shame coloring her cheeks.

Evelyn stood and walked around her desk, heels tapping softly on the polished floor. She circled Ana like a predator with time. "You've done well. Ten months. Almost the full year. Almost out of it. But you're cracking, aren't you?"

Ana nodded once, eyes downcast. "I can’t take much more."

"That belt," Evelyn murmured, her hand grazing the metal at Ana's hip, "has become part of you. You've worn it longer than some wear their uniforms. It's reshaped your body. Your mind."

Ana flinched, but didn't move away. "Please. I need… I need release. Just once. Just to remember."

Evelyn turned to face her fully, arms crossed. "Then I have a proposition."

Ana’s breath caught.

"A game. A chance. Win, and I will remove the belt for one night. One night, one release, no questions asked."

Hope flared painfully in Ana’s chest. "Only one? And the forfeit?"

"Only one. Tied down. Under the otherworldly skilled tongues of the silents attendants. A night no-one ever forgets."

Ana gasped. That was different than a night on her own vibrator and her fingers. Evelyn smiled wider. "The forfeit: we extend your contract another year. Another twelve months. Same terms. No relief, no breaks."

Ana stared at her, mind spiraling. "Another year…"

"If you lose. If you refuse the game, we refuse to have it extended at all. Even voluntarily. You still need more money, we understand?"

Ana swayed slightly. She had still debts to repay. If she did not extend her contract at the end of the year, she’d be clear, but she would find herself in the same tight situation as before. She already knew that she would likely ask for an extension of her contract, even if it cost her one more year worth of orgasms. She needed more financial stability and a second year would bring her that. So why not try to squeeze at least an orgasm out of this? There weren’t too many options. "I agree to the extension forfeit. What kind of game?"

"A balance challenge," Evelyn said. "You stand still in torment heels. On permanent spikes. Endure twenty-five minutes, no break, no support. If you falter, stumble, or lean too far in either direction, and you lose."

Ana’s heart raced. The heels with permanently extended spikes had always been brutal, but twenty-five minutes? It was just short enough to seem possible, if she didn’t have to move or dance in them, but it was just long enough to destroy her.

Evelyn stepped closer, placing a hand gently under Ana's chin and lifting it. "It’s a fair game. One orgasm… or one more year. You choose."

Ana’s voice was a whisper. "When?"

"This weekend. Midnight, after your shift serving in Abyss. The lounge will be full. The patrons love a desperate wager."

Ana nodded, slowly. Her whole body was trembling. Her longing had become unbearable. This was her chance. She was going to take it.

That night, she lay awake in her small apartment, staring at the ceiling. Her hands twitched with the phantom of pleasure long denied. Her thighs pressed together, seeking contact that brought only more agony. She felt a gush of wetness at the very thought of an orgasm. She couldn’t sleep. She was already dancing on the edge of madness.

She whispered to herself. "Just twenty-five minutes. I can do this. I have to."

She repeated it like a mantra.

---

Ana stood at the edge of the stage, her breath catching in her throat as the spotlight found her once again. The crowd of Abyss patrons fell into a hushed anticipation. They had seen her perform, they had watched her falter, and they had grown accustomed to her slow, visible unraveling under the weight of her monthly contracts. Tonight, they sensed something different. Something final. Her feet were in pain, as she didn’t pick up on Evelyn’s evil timing. Midnight. After her shift. She has served three hours already, in her transparent suit, with spiked heels. Her soles had been pricked already many times. She had been tricked.

Evelyn stood at her side, ever the poised hostess in black latex, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She gestured to the stage attendants, who rolled forward a sleek black case. When they opened it, a gasp rippled through the crowd.

"The Infernal Spires," Evelyn announced, her voice rich with theatrical flair. "These are not the Stilettos of the Languished Arches, nor the Translucent Torment Heels. These… are permanent. The spikes within do not retract. There is no dance tonight. Only stillness. Only resolve."

Ana’s heart pounded. The clear heels inside the case gleamed under the lights, delicate and cruel. Their slender form was beautiful in an eerie, cruel way - but it was the soles that caught her breath. From heel to toe, the insoles bristled with fine, permanently extended needle-like spikes.

"You will not need to dance. Only relax and stand still," Evelyn continued, turning to Ana. "You will stand. Twenty-five minutes. Still. Silent. Perfect. Fail, and your contract with Abyss is extended by one more year. But endure, and you may finally have your release."

Ana said nothing, but her eyes drifted down to the floor. Her legs already ached from the tension of the evening. Her soles, still recovering from the night’s ordeal her spiked heels, bore the visible red impressions of hundreds of sharp points. No blood had ever been drawn, but the repeated pressure, the ache, the helpless stinging - it had left them raw.

The crowd murmured in approval as the stagehands took her by the arms and led her to the waiting heels. They sat on a pedestal barely a foot high, waiting like twin thrones of pain. The moment she lifted one foot and placed it into the first shoe, she winced. Her red, bruised sole pressed down onto the unyielding spikes, the pain sudden and sharp. The second heel was worse - her entire body trembled as her other foot joined the first.

The ankle straps were locked in place. She would not step out of them.

"Begin," Evelyn said simply.

The lights dimmed. The stage fell silent, save for Ana’s shallow breathing.

Each minute passed like an hour. Ana stood as still as she could, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The spikes pressed into the soft tissue of her heels and arches. Her toes curled in reflex, trying to lift the weight off her feet, but there was nowhere to go. No relief. The pain was different than the dancing - it was a deep, seated burn that refused to plateau.

By minute six, sweat beaded at her brow. She could feel the subtle tremors beginning in her thighs. Her calves twitched in resistance to the unrelenting fire beneath her soles.

By minute ten, she could no longer keep her jaw relaxed. Her teeth ground together, her breath came in shallow, desperate gasps. Her vision wavered with each heartbeat. She thought of her apartment. The rent overdue. The cold nights. The belt.

Fifteen minutes.

She swayed forward slightly - one of the spikes shifted deeper into the center of her heel, and she barely suppressed a cry.

Seventeen.

Her legs buckled. The pain no longer came in waves but in a steady, relentless tide. Her vision blurred. One foot lifted slightly, then fell again, unable to escape the prison of the locked shoe. Her knees bent. She tried to hold herself up.

Then she fell.

Her knees hit the stage with a hollow sound, followed by a sharp, involuntary scream. The pain had simply overwhelmed her. Gasps and murmurs erupted from the crowd. Evelyn only raised her arms, calm and expectant.

"The Queen of Endurance has fallen," she intoned. "Seventeen minutes. Ana has failed."

Ana couldn’t move. Her feet were locked in place, her upper body trembling as she tried to resist the panic of failure. The belt would stay on. One more year. One year and two months total. Sixty-two more weeks. Four hundred thirty-four more days.

She wanted to scream, but all she managed was a whimper.

Evelyn walked calmly across the stage, her heels clicking as she approached the crumpled woman.

"A brave effort," she said, her voice low, meant only for Ana. "But you knew, didn’t you? That your languished soles couldn’t take any more. Not yet. Not tonight."

Ana said nothing. Her face was flushed with sweat, her eyes glossy with exhaustion. The attendants moved to unlock her heels. They helped her upright, supported her trembling form. As they guided her backstage, Evelyn addressed the audience. "A reminder, dear guests, that endurance is earned - not claimed. Abyss does not forget. And neither will her soles."

The applause was deafening. Ana didn’t hear it.

Razor’s Edge

The oppressive atmosphere of Abyss embraced Lena and Mina like a welcoming cloak as they stepped through the club's steel doors, their identities concealed behind black leather stilettos in which their latex socks were visible. An eye which would dare to wander higher would gaze over the legs of a black latex catsuit, complete with gloves. Even higher, one would see full latex face masks, completed by gas masks strapped to their heads. Not a sliver of skin was visible. These sweat-inducing outfits allowed them to move through the crowd unnoticed, concealing their true identities from the familiar eyes that might seek them out. Only a very skilled, or very intrusive eye for that matter, would notice the slightly elevated nipple, poking outwards, as if trying to burst through the rubber. Nor would it notice the slight bump in their crotch, as if they were hiding a big coin in that unusual location.

Despite the anonymity the rubber masks provided, a sense of unease clung to them. The club was as darkly enchanting as they remembered, the deep pulse of the music vibrating through their bones. Once a place of liberation from boredom, Abyss had become their obsession. Tonight, they weren’t here to reclaim their past but to enjoy the atmosphere, the kink, and to observe, to understand the twisted games still unfolding within these walls.

The music throbbed in sync with the murmur of the crowd. Lena and Mina moved cautiously, sticking to the edges of the dance floor. Their eyes scanned the room, ever alert, their hearts pounding with the weight of the curses that bound them.

As the haunting melody softened, the crowd’s attention focused intently on the stage, where a lone dancer stood poised at the edge of a narrow, gleaming beam. She stood in a midnight blue latex dress, flowing around her, and her bare feet rested delicately on the starting point of a thin, three inch wide metal beam, which stretched across the stage like a suspended tightrope.

Evelyn stepped forward, her presence commanding as she addressed the audience. "Tonight, we witness the Razor’s Edge," she announced, her voice smooth yet edged with anticipation. "Violetta’s task is simple in description, but treacherous in execution. She must traverse this beam, a narrow path just wide enough for her feet, to reach the center where she will perform."

She gestured dramatically to the center of the beam, where a small circular platform, no larger than a dinner plate, awaited. "Once she reaches the center, she must dance, holding her balance while showcasing her grace. If Violetta loses her rhythm or stops, the beam will shake. But that is not the end. She must then continue her journey to the far end of the beam to complete her challenge."

The crowd leaned in, captivated by the challenge. Evelyn’s smile grew colder. "Beneath her, a bed of pointed glistening spikes awaits those who misstep and fall. A single moment of hesitation, a shift in balance, and she will feel the sting of failure."

Violetta took a deep breath, her resolve visible on her face. With careful, deliberate grace, she took her first step onto the beam, her movements fluid and precise. Her arms extended for balance, her bare feet sliding along the narrow surface.

The beam wobbled slightly with each step, responding to the subtle shifts of her weight. Every step was a calculated risk, a delicate dance between control and chaos.

As she approached the narrow circular platform at the beam’s center, the crowd held their breath. The music began as she reached it - a slow, mournful tune that grew steadily more intense. She paused briefly, centering herself, before beginning her performance. She moved with the rhythm, her body flowing in harmony with the music. Her body twisted and turned with effortless grace, each movement precise and deliberate. The beam, the platform swaying with her movement, trembled under her, but she maintained her poise, her every motion a testament to her mastery of balance and control.

The music swelled, and with a final, elegant flourish, she concluded her dance on the small platform. But her challenge was not over. She had to continue to the far end of the beam, each step as perilous as the last.

The spikes below glinted ominously under the stage lights, their sharp points a constant reminder of the stakes. Violetta moved with renewed focus, her bare feet carefully navigating the beam’s narrow surface. The audience watched in hushed silence, mesmerized by her grace and determination.

With the final crescendo of the music, she reached the end of the beam, her body trembling but triumphant. The spotlight dimmed, leaving her silhouette framed against the shadows, and the crowd erupted into applause, their cheers resonating through the club.

Evelyn stepped forward once more, her smile cool and knowing. "A stunning demonstration of balance and grace on the Razor’s Edge, our dear Violetta’s soles go unharmed, the Abyss’ hunger stays unsatisfied tonight." she declared. "But remember, in Abyss, even the most graceful dancer walks a fine line between triumph and torment." Her words lingered, a chilling promise of the challenges yet to come.

The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers reverberating through the club. Violetta, cash prize in one hand, her shoes in the other, disappeared back into the crowd, her performance lingering in the minds of all who had witnessed it - a haunting reminder of the delicate balance between beauty and pain.

Lena and Mina exchanged uneasy glances through their fogged up glasses of their gas masks, the performance stirring memories of their own experiences on that very stage. Sweat was flowing freely under their rubber enclosure. Before they could delve deeper into their thoughts, an attendant approached them. She was dressed head to toe in black latex. Her expression was blank, her movements precise, elegant but with an eerie strength, as she carried a small velvet cushion.

On the cushion rested a single folded note. Without a word, the attendant extended the cushion towards Lena, her gaze unwavering. Lena hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as she picked up the note with gloved fingers. The attendant offered a slight bow and disappeared into the crowd as silently as she had arrived.

Lena opened the note, her breath catching as she read the ominous message:

"We know who you are. Go home now and continue your suffering under your Caps of Despair and your Rings of Eternal Longing. You will be contacted."

Mina leaned in, her brow furrowing as she read the note over Lena’s shoulder. "They know we’re here," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the subdued hum of the crowd. "But who’s watching us?" She looked at Evelyn on the stage but she did not pay them any attention, just as she didn’t before.

Lena’s mind raced, the message’s tone both threatening and intriguing. "Whoever it is, they want us out of here. But why now? And what do they mean by ‘you will be contacted’?"

Mina shook her head, her fingers tightening around her glass. "It’s not just a warning. It’s a reminder. They want us to know they’re still in control, that we can’t escape the curse even if we defy them."

Lena’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of who might have sent the message. "It could be Evelyn," she murmured, "or someone else pulling the strings."

Mina’s gaze hardened. "Whoever it is, they’re playing a game. They want us to leave, to keep us in our place. But why tell us they’ll contact us? What’s their next move?"

The questions lingered between them as they made their way towards the exit, their minds churning with speculation. The message was clear: their return to Abyss had not gone unnoticed, and something was happening in the shadows.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, the weight of the note settled heavily on their shoulders. They knew this was far from over. The game had begun anew, and whatever was coming, they would face it together, their resolve hardening with every step they took away from the club that refused to let them go.

Lysa

Lysa had always considered herself composed. Measured. A woman of calculated moves and meticulously managed appearances. She knew how to read a room, how to enter and exit conversations with poise, how to keep her reputation immaculate while weaving just enough intrigue to remain relevant. She had survived boardroom politics, venture negotiations, and the occasional romantic entanglement with barely a wrinkle in her routine. And yet, on that particular Friday night in Abyss, within the heat-hushed walls of the Amber Vault and under the low-lit velvet ambiance that made everything feel slightly unreal, her control slipped.

The man responsible was Lennox - tall, silver-eyed, and disarmingly confident. A rising power in finance, one of those new-money types who moved through the world with the relaxed arrogance of someone who believed in his own myth. He'd been brought into Abyss after an especially infamous market maneuver that gained him both enemies and elite access. Evelyn had invited him herself. And now, three weekends into his careful courtship of Lysa, it had become clear he had grown impatient. Her own career in the finance sector was propelled by connections Evelyn had arranged after she signed her membership, introducing her to the right people.

They had spoken for hours, across candlelit tables and private lounges. She enjoyed the game - his mind was sharp, his flirtation practiced but not clumsy. Still, she had kept him at arm's length. She loved the attention, but was not rushing into any commitment. There were always meetings to prepare for, briefings to edit, late flights to catch. Even her time at Abyss - her only true surrender - had to be carved out with precision from her calendar. Lennox, unaware or unwilling to accept her boundaries, misread her absence as rejection. And when he confronted her that night, in front of patrons sipping from their frosted crystal glasses, something inside her coiled tightly and snapped.

"So what’s your angle, Lysa?" His voice was smooth, casual - laced with enough challenge to slice through the velvet air. "You flirt. You tease. But you never stay long enough for anything to happen. Are you here for pleasure or just to say you came? So what is your game?"

The silence that followed was heavier than the music.

Lysa turned toward him, her expression measured but glacial. "I don’t have time for empty games," she replied, her tone cool and precise.

"Then maybe you need a time-out. Show me, what you are made of." His reply was too quick, too sharp.

It was the kind of moment Abyss lived for. Around them, voices fell away. Even the dancers on the side platforms slowed, as if sensing the potential for spectacle. Evelyn herself appeared moments later, drawn to the scent of conflict like a moth to flame.

"A conflict? A duel maybe?" Evelyn said lightly, amusement curling on her lips. "On what terms?"

Lennox’s gaze never left Lysa. "A week in the Black Rubber Coffin. A chance for each of us to contemplate what matters. If I lose, I submit. If she loses - well, she gets the time off she so clearly needs."

Evelyn’s smile deepened. "An elegant proposal. A rubber duel. Lysa?"

Lysa inhaled once. Exhaled. How did he dare? But she cannot show weakness. They worked in the same industry. If he hinted at her not being able to handle calculated risks, it could be damaging to the accounts she managed. "I accept."

The duel was deceptively simple: a high-stakes trivia contest, curated by Evelyn herself. Each question pertained to real-world finance, market history, legal policy, and economic strategy - harmless in any other context, but rendered sinister by the implications of failure. They sat at opposite ends of a low obsidian table under a soft crimson spotlight. Between them hovered a disembodied voice, reading out each question slowly and clearly. For every incorrect answer, the opponent gained a point. Whoever reached five points first would win.

Lysa’s hands were steady, but her mind churned. She had worked fifteen-hour days for weeks. Her thoughts came slower now, and Lennox’s smirk said he knew it. The questions started manageable: fiscal policy, hedge risk strategy, foreign regulatory structures. She held her ground at first. But Lennox surged ahead. He was fresher. Bolder. His gambles worked. And then came a question about derivatives modeling in post-crash Asia that she second-guessed, hesitated on - lost.

Point five. Game over.

"Lysa," Evelyn said, standing again in the circle of firelight, her voice like silk pulled taut. "You will spend seven days in the Black Rubber Coffin. As agreed. A stillness you clearly lack."

Lysa bowed her head, accepting. "Mistress… I have a deal closing next week. A merger Abyss helped foster through your connections. If I vanish now, it could jeopardize the entire contract. May I defer - just ten days?"

Evelyn studied her for a long moment, one hand lightly grazing the back of her lacquered chair.

"You have ten days," she said. "Use them wisely. Return without excuses."

Lysa did not return. Not on the eleventh day, nor the twelfth. She sent charming messages at first, assuring Evelyn she hadn’t forgotten. Then came the excuses: urgent travel, critical presentations, unforeseen delays. The abyss of silence widened with each evasion.

Time passed. Her guilt calcified into defiance. The thought of the coffin haunted her - seven days in airtight rubber, suspended in dark silence, wrapped in layers of pressure and denial, a pulse of soft edging by the machines buried somewhere in her privates. It wasn’t the denial she feared - it was the nothingness, the sensory deprivation. The week where she would no longer be Lysa, the rising star, the consummate negotiator. Just a body, sealed and silent. The thought of Emma. And Celeste. The coffin had been occupied before, their occupants emerging haunted from its embrace.

Then, on the thirtieth day, came the letter.

Marked Final Notice.

Lysa,

Your defiance constitutes breach of contract. We will initiate public exposure and financial seizure per Article 4, Section 7 and 8, of your signed membership terms. You are invited back to Abyss, latest Midnight tonight, to negotiate a lessening of the impact of your infraction.

This is your final chance. Return, and explain yourself to Evelyn.

It felt like a chokehold around her throat.

She sat motionless at her kitchen island, the city skyline glowing cold beyond her windows. Her life - every piece of it - was wrapped in polished control. And now, it trembled on the edge of unraveling.

She knew what Evelyn could do. Abyss didn’t bluff.

So she packed. One small black dress. Her ID. Nothing more. She didn’t need to dress for presentation. She was returning to beg.

To bargain with that succubus.

Glass Towers and Rubber Dreams

The view from Elise's penthouse was, by any external measure, breathtaking. Towering above the city, the glass walls of her living room framed the urban sprawl in precise, shimmering lines - a painting crafted not by hand but by ambition, steel, and cold fortune. Below, a thousand lives pulsed through ribbons of traffic, their destinations meaningless to her, their desires irrelevant. The skyline was a testament to conquest, each building a monument to someone’s accumulation of wealth and status, and yet to Elise, it was little more than a reflection of the emptiness she could not name.

She cradled a cup between her fingers, a deep, rich green liquid swirling in its bowl, more decoration than pleasure. She sipped, savoring the sharp, expensive taste, but it did nothing to fill the hollowness clawing at her ribcage. The apartment was immaculate, curated with brutal precision - black marble floors, stark modernist furniture, a handful of carefully chosen artworks spaced just so across pristine walls. There was no clutter, no warmth. Perfection, Elise had long believed, was the ultimate armor. Tonight, the gleam of surfaces only emphasized the vast, echoing absence beneath them.

She set the glass down on a side table, its soft clink reverberating through the cavernous space, and allowed herself a rare moment of weakness - slouching into the buttery softness of an Italian leather sofa, one manicured hand rising to rub at her temple.

The duel.

Nadia.

The wound of it was still raw, festering beneath her otherwise unblemished exterior. She still couldn’t forget, nor forgive, Nadia’s audacity. It was now almost two years ago. Two years since the duel. A first year passed in denial and chastity for her rival. The second year still ongoing, eroding her, unraveling her. Still, she could not let got of it. It was not enough. It was not the risk that had injured her pride - Elise was no stranger to taking calculated risks. Her career had been built on daring moves at carefully chosen moments, propelling her forward when others hesitated. But she was otherwise risk-averse, meticulously controlling every variable she could. She had risked the whipping in the quiz against Claudia, but only because she knew she would win. In Abyss, where wagers held the weight of consequence, she had been cautious to a fault. Sexual risks, personal wagers - those she avoided. And Nadia’s challenge had been an ambush, a gauntlet thrown that demanded she risk something she never would have volunteered: her own freedom, her own sexuality.

Had she lost, Elise would have been belted indefinitely herself, and the very thought left a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth. A fate beneath her. A humiliation so profound it chilled her blood to imagine it. Even now, so much later, she could still feel the phantom sting of the heels’ spikes against her soles, a memory of how she had danced with a fury that burned through every nerve ending, pushing past the pain, past reason, because she could not afford to lose.

Nadia.

The audacity - to challenge Elise publicly, to question her claim over Alexandru, as if they were equals. The thought never left her, like a festering wound that refused to heal. She had a position, a name, wealth. Success. Nadia was a salesperson. How dare she challenge her. They were not equals. But Abyss’ rules allowed for such things. She needed to restore the natural pecking order, to set an example.

Alexandru. Her thoughts drifted. He had looked at Nadia’s ass. Her firm breasts, waist. Her toes. At least she locked away her crotch. Did she think she could flirt her way up to their level? No, retail girl would get nothing, and now she couldn’t even afford an orgasm.

Elise clenched her jaw.

Alexandru. He had been a trophy at first, nothing serious for her, a glittering bauble Elise intended to snatch from Nadia's trembling hands, a demonstration of her natural right to take what she wished. His value was that she could take him away from Nadia. Possession was not about need; it was about proof. And yet, in the strange days following her victory, Elise had found herself… noticing things. The way Alexandru's smile softened when he spoke of dreams. The steadiness of his gaze when he listened, truly listened, to her. She had expected to grow bored with him quickly. Instead, he lingered in her thoughts, not merely as a trophy, but as something she could shape into a new pillar of her existence. Now, they were a couple in all meanings of the word. She was content with him at her side. He was better for her than … being alone.

Part of her stayed with Alexandru - yes, there was a loving affection, especially from his side - but another, deeper part remained with him to ensure Nadia's perpetual denial. The forfeit's cruel elegance bound Nadia’s suffering directly to their relationship: so long as Elise remained with Alexandru, Nadia's belt would remain locked. It was a delicious irony, a slow, permanent form of dominance far sweeter than any immediate humiliation. There was nothing sweeter for her than permanent dominance. It was even sweeter than her wealth.

Elise rose from the couch, heels clicking a slow, deliberate rhythm across the marble. She approached the vast windows and stared at her reflection - tall, poised, immaculate in a severe black dress that clung to her like a second skin, still in it after having come home from the firm. The city lights scattered across the glass, spangling her silhouette in ghostly motes of fire. She lifted one hand, tracing a fingertip down the invisible seam where her reflection's heart would be.

Nadia would not be allowed to vanish into forgetfulness. That would be mercy, and Elise was not merciful. No, Nadia needed to endure - to be a testament to Elise's supremacy. Her defeat had to be sculpted, displayed, eternal.

Rubber.

Her fascination with latex had begun years ago, almost innocuously. An experimental evening during university, a party where she observed a girl in a latex dress - a second, unforgiving skin that shaped and defined, imprisoning while amplifying sensation. It had thrilled and terrified her then, awakening a hunger for control she could scarcely name. She had tutored a student, and finally rubberized her. Abyss had only sharpened that blade. In its halls, latex was not a fetish; it was a sacrament, a declaration of submission, endurance, and power. The artistry of full enclosure, cultivating sweat as punishment and challenge, the silent dignity of rubberized figures moving through the club’s rituals - these had become emblems of control in Elise’s mind, symbols of permanence in a world obsessed with transient pleasures.

She had her own catsuit, which she wore rarely, when she was alone and nobody saw it. When she wanted to remember how it felt, the tightness, the heat, the sweat; what she demanded from the ones she got to submit. A naughty reminder that she was a queen in two worlds. Latex was punishment. It was transformation. Correction. Control.

She imagined Nadia now: arms sealed into internal sleeves, legs pressed together under the tight embrace of a second skin, face smooth and featureless beneath a gleaming hood, her every breath forced to rasp through a tiny valve. Displayed. Pitied. Owned.

It would not happen overnight, of course. Nadia would resist if pushed too hard. No, it must be gradual. Wagers. Minor forfeits. A weekend in a latex suit. A night sealed in a rubber cocoon. A week of sleeping only in an airtight sleeping bag. She wanted her rival to totally submit. Each small step tightening the noose around her freedom, each loss accepted willingly, signed, sealed, documented. She needed to talk to Evelyn.

Elise smiled faintly, the expression not reaching her eyes.

To enclose Nadia in latex was not merely revenge. It was justice. It was a restoration of the natural order, a reassertion of the hierarchy that had been so brazenly questioned.

Yet beneath the layers of calculation and cold resolve, there was another, deeper truth Elise barely dared to name. Beneath the craving for dominance lay fear - a brittle, gnawing fear that she could be replaced, exposed, left vulnerable. That behind the perfect mask she presented to the world was a hollow space too fragile to withstand scrutiny. Loss had touched her before, early and hard, leaving scars she never spoke of. To control others was, in some twisted way, to protect herself.

She remembered the sting of betrayal from old friends who had envied her, the slow erosion of a family that had admired her success but resented the way she outshone them. In the end, Elise had learned to rely only on herself, to build walls no one could scale. To yield, even once, would be to invite disaster. Nadia's challenge had not merely insulted her pride - it had threatened her entire, carefully constructed fortress of certainty. That she had to risk the belt herself, for real, chipped away at the veneer she created carefully, that she could not be touched, that she was above the consequences. Nadia had brought her to face the reality behind the one she constructed and believed in herself. She hated her for that.

If she seemed cruel, it was only because she had no other choice. Mercy was weakness. Weakness invited loss. And Elise had sworn, long ago, that she would never again be powerless, never again be the one left standing alone amid the ruins.

She returned to the sofa and poured another cup, her movements fluid, unhurried. Planning brought a sharp, clean pleasure that the duel's hollow victory had not. She allowed herself to drift deeper into the vision: Nadia stumbling into the club, masked, rubberized, helpless.

The thrill of it tightened low in her belly as she slowly got wet.

Yet, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Elise caught a whisper - a flicker of herself bound, sealed, silenced. An image of vulnerability so alien, so repugnant, she dismissed it instantly. She was the mistress of her fate, the architect of others' destinies.

Still, the echo of that vision lingered, like the afterimage of lightning behind closed eyes.

She rose again, restless, prowling the length of the room with measured steps. Her mind plotted strategies, contingencies. Nadia would need to be baited, of course - presented with tempting victories, small triumphs that would lull her into confidence before the deeper snare closed around her.

Perhaps a dance duel, with carefully weighted odds. Perhaps a wager on an endurance trial. The possibilities were endless, each more deliciously intricate than the last. She could easily bait her with the prospect of winning an orgasm or at least an edge, as Nadia was unraveling with need, but she needed to be careful to design challenges that she could not actually win. An orgasm for Nadia was the last thing she wanted.

Elise stopped before a framed photograph on the wall - a rare personal artifact. She and a younger sister, years ago, their arms around each other, smiling bright and foolish in some sun-drenched garden. Elise stared at it for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

Loss. It was not a foreign concept to her. She had understood what loss of control could do. But vulnerability? That she refused to know.

She stood at the penthouse window, a cup of tea untouched in her hand, watching the city blur beneath a silver curtain of rain. But it wasn’t just about Alexandru and Nadia, not truly. He was a symbol, a contest. And Nadia had dared to win once, wrestling control from her. Elise clenched the cup. Once. Losing control. Just once, and that was all it had taken to make Elise feel exposed. Vulnerable. Like back then - Elise had been upstairs, headphones on, pretending to be too busy to drive her sister to the party. I’ll meet you there. Metal on metal, the intersection just down the road. A bad feeling. Not her? Then came the sirens. Then the call. Their parents were at the venue, waiting there; the call reached her instead. She rushed. Ran there. The endless apologies from strangers in uniforms. Everyone said it wasn’t her fault. But Elise had never believed them. She should have known. Should have controlled it. Had she been in the driver’s seat, she would have been in control. That was the moment control became her lifeline.

When she finally turned away, the moment had passed. Her walls were back in place, gleaming and impenetrable. Luxury and success - control - surrounding her. She returned to the window, the empty cup dangling carelessly from one hand, and watched the city pulse and flicker beneath her like a living thing. Tomorrow, the games would begin anew.

She would sculpt Nadia's defeat as an artist shapes marble - not out of hatred, but out of necessity. Out of a need to restore the natural order that had been so carelessly disrupted.

The city breathed below her, indifferent and immense.

And above it all, wrapped in the cold perfection of her glass tower, Elise plotted the slow, beautiful ruin of the woman foolish enough to think she could challenge her and prevail.

The night had deepened, and the city below Elise's penthouse had turned into a shimmering ocean of lights, endless and oblivious. She stood by the wide expanse of glass, her figure a dark silhouette against the gleam, sipping slowly from a fresh cup of green tea. Her mind was no longer clouded by rage or hollow triumph. It had shifted into something colder, sharper: pure design.

Elise tapped a manicured fingernail against the glass, her reflection flickering like a candle. She would not force the next step. No, she would wait, patient as stone, for Nadia's own desperation to bloom. It would come. Chastity was a hunger, a tightening coil that would leave her gasping for release in months, not years. Nadia would beg. Perhaps not openly - at first - but she would seek. Relief.

And when that moment came, Elise would be ready.

The punishment had to be both exquisite and beyond proportional. A simple humiliation would fade. Pain would pass. What she needed was a transformation, a conditioning. Something that Nadia would carry forward, etched into her memory, her very skin.

Rubber.

But not crude, not grotesque. Beautiful. Immaculate. Ritualized.

Elise turned from the window and paced the silent marble floor, her heels marking slow, deliberate steps. It would not do to impose it outright. No, Nadia would have to choose it - or at least, lose it through fair challenge. A wager, then. One tied to Nadia’s own desperation. Perhaps a dance. A test of endurance. Perhaps a time limit, one not easily attainable, tying the dance directly to her rubberization. A trial that would appear achievable but would, under pressure, grind her down. The cruelly beautiful Stilettos of the Languished Arches came to mind immediately.

Twenty minutes maybe. It sounded deceptively short, doable. If it was appearing impossible, Nadia would never take the bait. But in those infernal heels, it would stretch into agony. Nadia, ever the optimist, might believe she could win. And when she failed - when the strain buckled her resolve and she fell - the penalty would fall over her like a second skin. She would record it, of course. Leverage. She would never let her escape.

A rubber suit. A thick, clinging rubber suit she would have to wear outside of Abyss - something subtle enough to be hidden beneath normal clothes, but ever-present. A punishment not just of discomfort, but of secrecy. Constant slickness. She thought back to the Rubber Suit of Resolve. She remembered, it had been used in a duel before. It could be worn long-term. But for how long?

Hours of wear would not suffice. Days would be a mere inconvenience.

Weeks.

Months, if she could manage it.

Time spent sealed away, hour after hour, day after day. Long enough for her skin to forget freedom. Long enough to engrave submission into her. Elise could already imagine Nadia’s squirming, the awkward way she would move, the sweat and heat that would build until every breath became a reminder of her place. She did not yet know the exact form it would take. She would need Evelyn's expertise. The Mistress of Abyss had resources, ideas. Elise trusted her to craft the final punishment with the necessary cruelty and precision.

But the seed was planted.

She would wait. Watch. And when the hunger in Nadia’s eyes outpaced her caution, Elise would offer her a chance at relief - with a price more permanent than Nadia could ever anticipate. She needed to talk to Evelyn. But she needed to be patient. She could only approach Evelyn after Nadia had approached Evelyn for relief.

And when it was done, when Nadia moved through her days in secret bondage of her own making, Elise would watch from afar, serene in her triumph.

Redemption

The chamber Evelyn had chosen for this meeting was not Abyss's grand stage, nor one of its velvet lounges. It was a side room - private, windowless, subtly oppressive. Walls draped in heavy crimson fabric muffled every sound. A single chandelier cast soft, threatening pools of gold light across the polished black marble floor.

Three women adorned the space like living art. One woman hung above the desk, sealed inside a suspended vacuum frame. Her body was flattened between twin latex sheets, the suspension lines taut and deliberate. The soft hum of the vacuum device barely masked her moans - throaty, rhythmic, involuntary. She twisted slowly within her black latex prison, nipples stiff against the compressing surface, a humming wand vibrator outlined and visible in the bondage device, her hands clawing at empty air in slow, elegant waves.

Evelyn sat at the head of a long table, clad in an impeccable tailored suit of midnight satin. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, exuding patience sharpened to a razor's edge. She waited without speaking.

Across from her, the woman - Lysa - shifted uneasily. She wore a crisp business skirt and blouse, the exact uniform of someone used to negotiations, used to control. But tonight, her mask of poise had slipped. Anxiety prickled at the edges of her posture. She knew why she had been summoned. Nervously she glanced at the other, unexpected guests in the room.

Lysa looked up, startled, as Evelyn caught her glance.

"Ana. Twelve hours," Evelyn said casually, gesturing to the swaying, black-encased shape above her. "Ana’s here voluntarily. She’s still on her contract, but came to me asking if there were… additional earning opportunities. We agreed on this."

Lysa’s gaze wandered to the left, then to the right. Flanking the office like tormented statues, two more women straddled high wooden ponies. Each was nude, bound tightly, feet fully suspended and twitching with strain. Their bodies glistened in sweat, and every few moments, a choked gasp or whimper would punctuate the silence. Their heads were encased in fully inflated latex hoods - no features visible, no identity to cling to. Only suffering and stillness. They swayed, rocked back and forth, in their pursuit to find a tolerable position. They were truly riding. It was clear to Lysa that they must have been on their horses for quite some time to be seen in this state.

"Those two are settling debts," Evelyn added, sipping from a crystal glass of something pale and fragrant. "They accepted their debt. Didn’t run. Didn’t hide."

"Lysa," Evelyn addressed her, her voice smooth, almost kind. "You know why we're here."

Lysa cleared her throat, affecting a brittle smile. "I'm aware. I just… needed more time."

"More time," Evelyn repeated softly, as if tasting the words. She leaned forward slightly. "You signed a membership contract, Lysa. We make careers, and we can break them. CEO or her secretary, in Abyss you all face the same commitment, you are all equal here. You are no exception. You have seemingly forgotten to whom you owe loyalties. You agreed to the forfeits. You consented - on camera, no less - to the consequences of failure."

Lysa crossed and uncrossed her legs, a flash of irritation crossing her face. "I had an unavoidable business trip. I represent significant clients."

"We are not unreasonable," Evelyn replied. "We granted your request for delay. Once."

The unspoken part hung in the air: once was mercy. Twice was weakness.

Lysa pressed her palms flat against the table. "Look, Evelyn, I'm willing to make reparations. A fine, perhaps? An extra performance night?"

Evelyn tilted her head slightly, her eyes glinting like obsidian shards. "Abyss is not a debt that can be paid off in currency, Lysa. We deal in weightier things: commitment, discipline, reputation. And I’d rather see you suffer sexually and in deep rubber bondage over destroying you financially and socially."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. The humming above the desk stopped suddenly, and Ana let out a muffled moan as her vibrator continued to molest her, denying her even the edge. They both looked up briefly at the shuddering female body.

Lysa shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to hold Evelyn’s gaze while the three women writhed silently around her. "I wasn’t trying to vanish, really, believe me." she said, her tone forced light. "I just needed more time."

Evelyn didn’t blink. She simply gestured upward toward Ana.

"She didn’t need time. She needed money. And here she is - sweating between latex sheets for a twelve-hour stretch."

"And," Evelyn continued, "you are not merely late. You have hidden. Broken contact. Refused reminders."

Lysa opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"You ran," Evelyn said softly. "You agreed to the contractual punishments for running. Your house, your bank accounts, your reputation. But you came back. And for that, Abyss offers mercy."

Lysa swallowed hard. This was more serious than she thought. Much more serious.

"Had you not returned," Evelyn continued, "your exposure would already be public. Your financial ruin, your personal annihilation - unavoidable. We would take your house, everything. 50% of what you own and earn. You don’t run from a bondage forfeit in rubber after accepting."

Lysa clenched her fists, her knuckles whitening. "I’ve seen Emma. I… I was scared. I can’t take that."

"Your forfeit remains. You will serve your week in the black rubber coffin - starting tonight. That is non-negotiable. We already negotiated your leave for the week with your employer."

She recoiled slightly, her skin turning cold.

"However," Evelyn said, her voice softening dangerously, "your greater punishment - your contractual ruin, your public exposure, the full weight of Abyss's penalties - that can be averted. We don’t waive it just because you came to your senses and returned, but you can significantly lessen the impact."

"How?" Lysa whispered.

"A Redemption Challenge," Evelyn said.

Lysa blinked. "Redemption?"

Evelyn's tone was light, almost playful. "A public challenge. A one-time chance to erase your deeper debts and avoid total destruction. Your finances are not on the line. But your social reputation will be."

"What kind of challenge?" Lysa asked, voice hoarse and trembling.

Evelyn turned, signaling to an attendant. A sleek black tablet was placed gently on the table. Evelyn tapped the screen, and a video played - a simple setup: a Sybian machine on the stage of Abyss, the black latex seat gleaming under the stage lights.

Lysa stared, feeling her face pale.

"You will be secured upon the device," Evelyn said, almost purring. "Fully nude, save for a ceremonial mask, on stage. Your challenge is endurance: thirty minutes without orgasm."

Lysa's mouth opened again in disbelief. "That's impossible - "

Evelyn raised a finger, silencing her. "Not impossible. Difficult. Brutally difficult. But possible."

She paced slowly around the table, the clicks of her heels sharp against the marble.

"If you orgasm once," Evelyn continued, "a video stream will activate on Abyss's social media channel. Anonymous - your mask intact."

Lysa clutched the edge of the table.

"If you orgasm a second time," Evelyn said, stopping directly behind her, "the mask falls. Your face - your name - will be revealed."

All blood drained from Lysa's face. Everybody would know. The outside world would know.

"Thus," Evelyn said silkily, "you can fight for complete mercy. If you survive without climax, you escape entirely. If you fail once, you face anonymous shame on our socials - but your finances, your career, can still survive."

She leaned closer, voice a mere breath. "Fail twice, and everyone you know will see you ride the sybian to orgasm. And your following rest in the rubber coffin."

The threat was absolute.

Lysa stared at the table, her mind racing.

"Of course you may refuse to ride. Then we will just proceed with your exposure and ruination according to your signed contract instead. However, I don’t see how that would be any better for you." Evelyn had her trapped.

Lysa saw herself - laid bare, mocked, destroyed. Her professional life, her private life, annihilated by a moment of weakness. And yet - the coffin. A week sealed inside, forgotten by the world. She feared it.

"Being shown to the world, to your colleagues, your friends, as a member of Abyss, nude, open, bare, in bondage, in latex, is not the end of it. You know the city is kink friendly. Celebrities come out with their latex wardrobe. Heck, even Emma and Celeste did, you remember them. Rumor is, it is even helping their career now. But you, Lysa, you have a different problem. People will not avoid you because they see you on the sybian, or see you in rubber. They will avoid you because you ran from a commitment, you ran from your responsibility. In your line of work, that is deadly."

Evelyn let that sink in, as Lysa was visible calculating the repercussions in her mind.

"Of course you may refuse to ride. Then we will just proceed with your exposure and ruination according to your signed contract instead. However, I don’t see how that would be any better for you." Evelyn had her trapped.

Lysa’s lips parted, then closed again. Her voice was faint. "There must be… another way."

Evelyn arched a brow. "I’m listening."

"I - " Lysa hesitated, heart pounding. "Chastity. I'll offer chastity. Instead of the Sybian."

Evelyn’s fingers tapped lightly on the desk. "You offer to be belted, then. For how long?"

Lysa looked down. "One year."

There was silence. A long one.

Evelyn didn’t speak. She didn’t even blink.

Lysa’s throat tightened. "Three."

Still nothing.

Her voice cracked. "Five?"

Evelyn finally leaned back, her gaze unreadable. "You think five years of orgasmic starvation is equal to the permanent ruin of your public identity?"

"I don’t know," Lysa whispered. "It’s… it’s all I can offer."

"Then you offer too little." Evelyn’s voice was soft. "You attempted to flee a binding forfeit. You violated our trust, and you stood on the edge of destroying what Abyss protects. Had you not returned, your name would be a hashtag by now. Your accounts, emptied, your house foreclosed. Your professional life, gone."

Lysa looked up, desperate. "Then - what? What would you accept? How long should I be abstinent?"

Evelyn stood, slowly, and moved to her side of the desk. She looked down at Lysa not with cruelty, but finality.

"It shall safe your whole financial life. Your whole social life. What do you think? Nothing less then your whole sexual life, of course. Permanent chastity. Locked under our terms, by our key. Forever. Then your shame dies here, and nowhere else."

Lysa sat frozen. Her eyes welled. The word forever echoed in her skull like a death knell.

"I can’t," she said. "I’m not ready to give up… my sex life."

The soft humming returned and an annoyed grunt was heard from above. The vacuum frame shuddered.

Evelyn studied her face. "You give up your sex life, or you give up your social life. Public ruin and exposure. The chastity would be final, but riding the sybian, you still have control over your fate."

Lysa was close to tears.

Evelyn gestured towards the wooden ponies, and the anonymous women riding them.

"Those two understood what it meant to lose. They didn’t flinch when the forfeit came. And the house always collects."

Lysa’s throat tightened.

The words landed like cold water. Lysa's bravado cracked. Her hands fidgeted in her lap.

"I didn’t mean - "

"Intent doesn’t matter. Compliance does." Evelyn leaned forward. Her voice lowered. "You will take the Redemption Challenge. Or we will proceed with your contractual ruin. Publicly. Socially. Financially."

Lysa looked again at Ana, her slow, rubber-encased dance in the air. Then to the bowed heads atop the ponies. The message was crystal clear.

Swallowing hard, Lysa gave the smallest of nods.

"Then," she said, slowly, her voice returning to a whisper, "you are ready to ride the sybian?"

The answer was stuck in her throat, but she managed to press the word out with force, which had been refusing to leave her lips. "Yes."

When she looked up, Evelyn's face had softened - just slightly. Lysa almost smiled - a small, broken thing - before Evelyn added, "Bravery alone will not save you on that stage."

A pair of attendants appeared, silent and efficient.

"Prepare her," Evelyn said, turning away. "She rides within the hour."

As Lysa was gently but firmly led away, the oppressive weight of the evening settled deeper onto her shoulders. She thought of the machine, of the unrelenting motion, of the minutes ticking down like a death knell.

Abyss would watch.

Her reputation would hang by the thinnest thread of her own restraint.

---

The velvet curtains that shielded the private side lounge peeled back slowly, revealing the yawning stage of Abyss. It was more intimate tonight - no mass of roaring patrons, only a select, shadowed group of masked members seated in a crescent around the platform, their attention keen and merciless.

Lysa stood behind the curtains, trembling despite herself. The ceremonial latex mask, smooth and black with open nostrils and mouth but no eye holes, had been fitted tightly over her face. It felt suffocating. Her body, slicked with a subtle latex-safe oil, gleamed under the faint, predatory light. She was naked but for the mask, her skin shivering in the cool air of the chamber.

The Sybian - a low, ominous device mounted on a heavy black pedestal - sat at the center of the stage, its chrome glinting like the edge of a blade. Around its base, an almost ceremonial halo of candles flickered in the gloom.

The clock above the stage showed 11:30 p.m. Her trial would begin at midnight sharp.

Two silent attendants approached. Without a word, they guided her forward. She moved like a sleepwalker, her legs wooden, her breath shallow.

The Sybian loomed larger with every step.

Lysa was helped onto it, her knees trembling as she straddled the infernal machine. Smooth rubber straps coiled around her thighs, her hips, her abdomen, and even under her arms, pinning her upright but exposing her utterly. Another attendant placed a small, unobtrusive box near the front edge of the stage - a secondary timer and a camera, already live, though currently not broadcasting.

Evelyn appeared, moving to the front of the stage like a dark queen presiding over a trial. She raised a single hand, and the murmurs of the crowd fell away.

"My dear guests," she began, her voice velvety and cruel, "tonight we witness a Redemption."

A few knowing chuckles rippled through the crowd. Lennox stood among the crowd, very interested in the unfolding spectacle. Elise chuckled, seated at the bar. Nadia was close to her, as always.

"The rider," she gestured gently to Lysa, who now stood trembling before the Sybian, "has returned to us from the edge of ruin. She fled her fate, abandoned her forfeit. You know, we take that very serious, but, to her credit, she turned back. And now she wishes to earn mercy. Instead of ruining her according to the terms of membership. Mercy is granted for her return to let her keep her financial life. She was not willing to give up her sex life in permanent chastity, so she has accepted our merciful offer to ride the sybian to at least keep her social life."

Evelyn turned her head slightly, letting the pause settle like perfume.

"But mercy, here in Abyss, is never free."

She circled behind Lysa as the attendants helped her mount the machine. The straps were drawn tight: hips, thighs, arms bound just enough to rob her of escape, but not of sensation.

"She will ride," Evelyn continued, now behind her, almost whispering into the audience, "over the abyss itself. Galloping faster than orgasm can chase her. Straining against climax as if her very life depends on it. Because her social life does."

Laughter. Cheers.

"Thirty minutes," Evelyn said, her voice rising again. "If she rides steady and does not succumb to orgasm, she will walk free. On her first orgasm, her shame will go live to our public stream. On her second however… the attendants will collect her mask, and her full name will be on screen in her life stream, starting her very public ruin. This shall be a reminder for all of you, Abyss can make careers and Abyss can break careers."

She turned back to face the audience fully now, arms opening.

In the audience, Nadia dug her fingers into the metal band circling around her hips. Her own belt felt heavy with dread. She didn’t even have a career. She was still a sales woman in a fashion store. All she wanted was Alexandru, back then. Everything else was on herself, she couldn’t bear the denial, trying to climb out of it by challenges and games. She didn’t play with Abyss for success and career opportunities, she would be gambling against Elise if she ever wanted out of the belt. Indefinite, she thought bitterly. How could she have been so foolish.

"So watch, dear patrons. Watch the saddle buck. Watch the rider grit her teeth. And ask yourselves… how long could you last?"

The guests nodded slowly in silent judgment. Lysa, masked and anonymous and unknown to them, nodded once, a broken, jerky motion.

"Begin," Evelyn said, and the device hummed to life.

The first wave of stimulation was manageable.

The Sybian's low vibrations seeped into her body, a cruel purr that grew slowly in strength. She closed her eyes behind the mask, focusing on breathing, keeping her muscles relaxed. She counted in her head: one, two, three…

The first minute passed.

The audience watched, impassive, sipping from crystal glasses as though attending a ballet.

At minute three, the intensity increased.

Lysa gasped softly, the sound muffled by the latex mask. Her thighs clenched involuntarily against the slick surface. She fought to control her breathing, inhaling through her nose in measured counts.

The timer's slow, relentless ticking echoed in her mind.

At five minutes, she was already sweating, small tremors betraying her growing struggle. The sensation was deep, almost invasive, crafted not for simple pleasure but to tear away composure.

The Sybian shifted subtly - a new motion, a different rhythm - and Lysa bit back a moan.

Time blurred.

Eight minutes.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Her entire world narrowed to the insistent pressure between her legs and the blinding knowledge that she could not - must not - fall.

She felt the first wave building, hot and vicious.

"No," she whispered under her breath, straining against the straps.

Evelyn watched from her chair, one slender hand resting beneath her chin, studying Lysa like a scholar examining an insect pinned beneath glass.

Lysa shifted her hips subtly, trying to move away from the relentless grind, but the bonds held her fast. The machine seemed almost alive, adjusting to her every twitch, chasing her.

Nineteen minutes.

Her hands clenched into fists. Her body shook violently.

And then -

A low, helpless cry escaped her throat.

Her back arched. Her bare toes curled. She came with a shuddering gasp, her body convulsing hard against the machine. Her gasp turned into a long scream as the sybian continued to hold its rider hostage.

A soft chime rang out - the stream had begun. Her nude oiled body shimmered under the bright spotlight in stark contrast to the dark curtains behind her. She trembled, her legs still spasming as she slowly came out of her intense orgasm.

The screen near the base of the stage lit up with a crimson border: LIVE

The audience shifted, murmured, leaned forward.

Anonymous for now. Her mask intact. Her shame partial.

Tears prickled behind Lysa's eyes, but she forced herself to stillness. The stimulation turned painful. Her long scream ended abruptly, and after a gasp for air, it was replaced by a long screech. The sybian held her clit prisoner and no amount of pulling away would lift her most sensitive bit off of the saddle. The overstimulation was unbearable, it cut like a glowing knife through her core. Lust turned into blinding pain. The pain was unbearable, but it was better than a second orgasm.

She had to survive the rest of the time without falling again.

But the machine - the machine didn't pause. It didn't relent. It didn’t care about her or her future. It continued, merciless and unknowing. She wasn't defeated. Not yet.

Twenty-one minutes. The sensations became sharper, almost cruel in their precision. Lysa bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably now. The audience watched, entranced. Somewhere in the back row, a masked woman whispered, "She's breaking." Evelyn allowed herself a small, predatory smile. The pain from her overstimulation was subsiding. Small flecks of pleasure were mixed in with the strong sensation. It was not entirely unpleasant anymore. Her screeches turned into moans.

Twenty-three minutes. The pleasure was returning. Sneaking back in, unwanted, unavoidable. She understood, the Sybian had started trying to pull out her next orgasm. The second wave built faster, harder. Her nerves were raw, exposed. She tried to think of something else - numbers, pain, her ruined reputation - but her body betrayed her.

Twenty-six minutes. Her hips bucked involuntarily. She could not escape the sybian. No matter how she shifted her body weight, she was unable to get her clitoris away from the vibrations. Her clit would fall victim to the sybian, only her willpower could hold her back and save her from social ruin. Her breaths came in short, desperate gasps. She was getting close again.

She wept openly behind the mask. She would be ruined if she came a second time. The thought helped her to push back against the building orgasm.

"Please, no," she whispered. "Please… no…"

Twenty-eight minutes. The pressure inside her built to an unbearable crescendo. Every muscle locked. The attendants watched with silent efficiency. No one moved to save her.

Twenty-nine minutes. The final minute. She squeezed her eyes shut, screaming silently into the mask. The climax hovered - a blade over her neck. She felt it, it was about to come. She was about to come. Twenty seconds. Her body trembled like a leaf. She choked on a sob but forced herself still. The final chime. The machine powered down with a hiss, the stage lights dimming to a deep, bloody red, leaving her tethering on the edge of orgasm.

The audience broke into polite, almost respectful applause. Lennox cheered for her; he didn’t want her to suffer that fate. Elise watched with quiet fascination, on how close the woman had come to her social destruction. As if of instinct, her thoughts wandered back to Nadia.

Lysa slumped against the restraints, spent, sobbing, but victorious. She had survived.

Her mask remained. The streaming stopped.

Her dignity - shattered but intact - was hers.

The attendants unstrapped her, handling her gently. Her legs refused to hold her weight; she was lifted, cradled as if she were a fragile doll.

Evelyn met her at the stage's edge, a rare expression of true approval flashing across her sharp features.

"You have earned our mercy, your mask stay," Evelyn said quietly, for Lysa's ears alone.

Lysa could not respond. She could only nod weakly.

She was carried, still nude, through a side corridor - away from the stage, away from the curious eyes - and down a staircase into the belly of Abyss.

The air grew warmer, damper.

At the bottom waited the black rubber coffin.

A single, glossy sarcophagus, lid open like a mouth waiting to swallow.

Without ceremony, they began preparing her. Lysa lay back against the internal inflatable lining, her body already trembling anew, feeling the soft cool rubber surface beneath her. Attendants adjusted her limbs, securing her carefully but with impersonal precision, guiding her arms and legs into the internal sleeves to hold her still. installing the tubes, sensors, pads. As the lid began to close, and the cushions to inflate, sealing her away for seven long, lonely days, she caught one last glimpse of Evelyn standing at the doorway, an inscrutable smile playing at her lips.

Then darkness swallowed her.

The world reduced to rubber and silence and the slow, inevitable passage of time. The small bullet vibrator in the latex pouch over her abused clit went life. Its torture would be her only entertainment for the coming week.

The Abyss had claimed her.

And Lysa, battered but unbroken, would endure. Evelyn would enjoy a week-long feast of fresh rubber-tinted energy, with a side of claustrophobic fear.

Rubber

By now, almost two years had passed since Nadia’s humiliating defeat at the hands of Elise and her partner Alexandru, yet the chastity belt locked securely around her hips remained a constant reminder of her failure. It had become a part of her, unyielding and merciless, amplifying every moment of her frustration. Though she had tried to focus on her work and daily life, the unfulfilled longing gnawed at her, leaving her irritable and reckless.

Her desperation reached a boiling point one evening at Abyss again. Spotting a random guest who seemed confident yet unassuming, Nadia challenged her to a duel on impulse, hoping to reclaim a shred of her dignity and trade the belt to her. The guest, startled and uninterested, declined with a dismissive laugh, further embarrassing Nadia in front of the crowd. Evelyn, observing from the stage, watched the scene unfold with barely concealed disdain. Evelyn approached Nadia "You’ve become quite the nuisance," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Challenging random guests again? What are you hoping to achieve? Nobody will accept. The belt stays, Nadia. The terms of your defeat were clear."

"You could at least let me prove myself," Nadia shot back, her voice trembling with frustration. "Give me a chance to earn some relief. Others got a career boost, what about me? I have nothing. I languish in chastity. Please."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow, amused by Nadia’s persistence. "You want a chance? Very well. Abyss may have a game for you. But it will be on my terms. And Elise’s."

Her gaze softened for a moment, almost being understanding and sympathetic for Nadia. "I admire your enthusiasm, but your naivety is what breaks you. You never asked for challenges to advance your career, instead you entered into a challenge over love and desire for a man. What relief you ask for now is an aftermath of that duel, this is between you and Elise, not between you and Abyss. As long as you are chaste, you can’t offer yourself to us really, can you? You can offer a game versus the needle frame for us to pull some strings for a small promotion. But risking a single night won’t advance you much. Your most valuable asset is already under lock and key which we hold as trustees safely for your rival… Poor Nadia, the most you get out of this is some sexual relief, if you are skillful, not more." She paused, then added mischievously, "It is so cute that you have trouble accepting a chaste life. Having demanded a forfeit in your duel that you now discover, you can’t handle that well. Why did you even suggest chastity if you are so bad at enduring it?"

Nadia stood heartbroken.

"It’s not just the chastity. It is … the belt. Some nights, the crotch shield is even warmer than body temperature. How is that possible? When I manage to ignore it for too long, it does play tricks with my mind. I can move, dance, run, yoga even. Then there are evenings, I can’t even sit, as…"

"… as if the belt feels neglected? As if it is a living entity with an evil mind of its own? The needles feel longer. Not grown, but as if they were always there? Not pricking but just ever so unignorably grazing your lips, until your pearl comes looking from under its protective hood? Every twitch being a painful reminder of what you wagered?"

"How do you know? How? What is this belt?"

"Like we said, it has a life force of its own. As a matter of fact, all Abyss paraphernalia has." Evelyn smirked knowingly. "Have you noticed it fits perfectly? Whether you lose a pound or gain a pound, it remains a perfect fit, always. And on your hygiene visits, there is never anything to clean really. These devices can indeed be worn for life."

She paused, then unnecessarily added, "Or however long a couple remains together."

Nadia swallowed, close to tears upon hearing more about the strange properties of her belt.

"Do not get me wrong, for us it is preferable when you are breaking under your unmet sexual desires. If it makes it easier for you, there are rich patrons here, wealthy, yet who cannot afford a single orgasm, the same as you. You have seen Ana and what she had to forfeit to advance. You are all equals here. Waitress, cleaner, millionaire, or CEO. She came from poverty to luxury and her pussy was starved for even longer as yours."

"No, she isn’t. She will be free again, being rich from it, and my chastity will continue. I have nothing. No money, no career, not the man I fought for. Mine is indefinite." Nadia whispered in despair.

"Indeed it is. Poor denial kitten. Some play for money, some play for fame. And some play for love." She paused for a moment, "But of all, love is the most dangerous game. Come back next weekend to accept a challenge for at least some sexual relief. A simple dance of endurance, but be aware, we need to define something for you to lose, too, if you don’t endure."

---

Later, finalizing her plans, Evelyn reached out to Elise and her partner, who had been enjoying Nadia’s continuing chastity. Meeting in one of the private lounges of Abyss, Evelyn proposed a new challenge. Elise had been waiting for this moment for a long time. She didn’t push and had waited patiently for the moment to come to her.

"Nadia is becoming restless," Evelyn began. "She believes she deserves another chance to prove herself. I’d like to use this opportunity to reinforce her place and her punishment, or to grant her some relief."

Elise smirked, her partner leaning back in their seat with a curious expression. "And what do you suggest?" Elise asked.

"As you won the duel, I consult you first. Do you have something to propose for her to prove herself?" Evelyn said smoothly, lifting a crystal glass to her lips. It was not a question. It never was.

"I do," Elise replied, voice crisp, steady.

Evelyn’s lips curled into a knowing smile. "Of course. Poor Nadia. She has been sniffing around lately, desperate for a reprieve."

Elise allowed herself a slight nod. "I thought it fitting that such… desperation be properly channeled."

"Go on."

"A dance," Elise said. "The Stilettos of the Languished Arches. Twenty minutes."

Evelyn laughed, a soft, indulgent sound, and set her glass down with a click. She was hungry, and Nadia’s suffering in chastity tasted great. She was in no mood to allow any orgasm. While she had some sympathy for the naive woman, she was not so foolish as to play with her food. Maybe Elise overestimated the Stilettos of the Languished Arches. "My dear Elise, do you wish to break her entirely? I propose the Infernal Spires. Heels with permanently extended spiked. Chastity is endurance. And so are these Heels. But twenty minutes would destroy her. She wouldn't make it past two songs."

Elise raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Evelyn steepled her fingers. "Two songs. That’s about twelve minutes. The second one faster paced. That will be the challenge. It will appear attainable - difficult, certainly, but not impossible. Tempting."

She leaned forward slightly, the shadows sliding across her features, sharpening them into something almost inhuman for a moment.

"And the forfeit?"

"I want her rubberization, long term." Elise said simply.

Evelyn’s smile widened, pleased. "So, rubber it shall be. This is really your style. Rubber. You really are after her."

The Mistress rose gracefully, moving to a side cabinet and extracting a thin leather folder. She opened it on the table between them, revealing a series of images and designs. Elise moved closer, her heels silent on the thick carpet.

"We have something appropriate for these events," Evelyn said, tapping a sheet lightly. "A latex suit, full coverage from neck to ankles, but no hood or gloves. Thin enough to be hidden under clothing. Worn for a minimum of sixteen hours a day. 112 hours a week."

Elise’s eyes gleamed with bright approval. "I remember the suit. Astrid had to wear it. Honestly, I loved it. It would be perfect to keep her under control."

"One day for every minute she fails to endure," Evelyn said. "If she collapses after four minutes, four days. If she endures eleven, only one."

"Days? This is barely more than Astrid, possibly even less time in it. And here the stakes are much greater, we talk about breaking chastity for her. I was thinking about months."

"While I admire your enthusiasm, for such an extreme forfeit, I would be willing to arrange that if it is going to be a duel instead of a challenge, with you risking the same."

Elise’s smile falters for a moment. "It was only an idea. But days? How about the middle ground? Can we make it weeks instead of days?"

Evelyn smiled "Weeks will be acceptable for her solo challenge. But be aware that it is much more likely that she declines."

Evelyn watched her with predatory eyes.

Elise thought for only a second, "Even if she declines, she is unraveled enough to reconsider it a week later."

Evelyn knew that she was right, of course.

"Then we shall demand weeks as her forfeit. And coming back to your desire for months, if she falls into weeks now, we may offer a gamble for months later down the road, but you will have to counterbalance with some forfeit of your own. It will be called the Rubber Suit of Resolve," Evelyn added. "A poetic name for a fitting penance."

Elise allowed herself the faintest of smiles. "And the conditions of wear?"

"Very strict. She may remove it only for eight hours a day, including to wash herself and the suit. Any violation, any breach, and we insure further penalties, such as the Needle Frame for failing to endure the hours. And of course, if she runs or refuses later on, her contract would ensure she doesn’t take that route."

"Perfect."

They both stood there for a moment, savoring the weight of the plan solidifying between them.

"And what," Elise asked knowingly with silken amusement, "is the prize Nadia so dearly craves?"

"A single orgasm," Evelyn said. "Nothing more."

Elise’s laughter was rich, indulgent. "I do not want her to orgasm. Can we do something else?"

"Not really. She is sexually desperate," Evelyn responded. "I doubt edgings would get her to risk the kind of rubberization forfeit you are asking for. It is severe, and the price should match the prize. It is a challenge, not a sentence."

"Okay. I accept, but reluctantly. I’d prefer, if she never comes. But let’s make it clear: the belt stays permanently unless she wins. No more of these challenges. Give her a time out, so she cannot try again for an orgasm immediately."

"While I like your spirit, this is too harsh. The belt stays on as long as you two are together, or she wins a duel and can transfer the belt. That were the terms and they still stand. But as nobody would accept such a challenge to a duel, this is purely theoretical," Evelyn said. "However, I concede that she will be banned from issuing or accepting any challenge for one year, unless you yourself offer it. This way she will not be able to gamble for orgasms all the time. But the stakes are steep. Nadia will struggle to meet the suit’s requirements, especially since you said she works in retail."

Elise’s eyes gleamed with amusement. "That’s her problem. She can wear it under her clothes. Or all weekend long to compensate, her weekends then belong fully to the suit. That’ll teach her persistence."

---

The following weekend, Evelyn called Nadia to the stage. The audience quieted as Evelyn addressed them, her commanding presence demanding their attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began, "Nadia here believes she deserves another chance to prove her worth. Apparently, she is desperate for sexual relief as she cannot handle the tension. And so, I have devised a challenge. She will perform a twelve-minute dance routine in the Infernal Spires. If she endures until the very end, the belt will come off for one orgasm, and she will be able to find her long thought after relief and a deep satisfaction. But if she falters, if her knees hit the dance floor before the music stops, the remaining minutes will become weeks in the Rubber Suit of Resolve. It is thin and light, can be worn underneath her day-to-day clothes. Sixteen hours a day, 112 hours totaling per week. No hood nor gloves. Only inside Abyss, she will be hooded and gloved as well. And for one year, she cannot challenge random guests." The crowd cheered in approval.

Nadia’s face turned pale as she realized the enormity of the task. She was expecting to maybe endure the infamous night in the Needle Frame. "112 hours a week?" she echoed. "But I don’t work from home. I need at least ten hours out of the suit each weekday. Or I’ll have to spend my weekends almost entirely enclosed."

Evelyn’s smile widened. "Correct. You are in a latex club after all. Are you afraid of a little bit of rubber? And the Infernal Spires contain spikes, not even needles. But yes, weekends will mean 23-hour days of rubber enclosure, if you desire to not wear the suit to work. Do you accept, or do you concede now?"

Nadia hesitated, calculating the sheer amount of effort and discomfort required. Her weekends, once her reprieve, would become grueling marathons of confinement. The belt felt hot on her hips, as if to encourage her, to push her. A needle gently touched her clitoris as she was becoming more and more aroused at the promised orgasm. She flinched. The audience looked expectantly to her. The possibility to orgasm drowning all reason, the thought of one evening free of the belt drove her to nod. She needed it so badly, she could not think of anything else.

"I accept," Nadia whispered, her voice almost lost amid the gathered hush of the crowd.

The stage blazed to life, every spotlight focusing down with merciless intensity. There was no room to hide. No reprieve.

The attendants guided her forward, taking off her shoes, and fitting the Heels - the "Infernal Spires" - onto her trembling feet. Nadia looked down briefly as they locked the gleaming shoes into place. There was no retractable mechanism here, no chance for relief: the thin spikes were permanently extended inside the heels, millimeters long, like tiny fangs, pressing with cruel insistence into the delicate skin of her bare soles. This was about endurance of pain.

Every step she took would be agony. She stood carefully, barely breathing, feeling the foreign invasion already. The spikes did not puncture, but they pressed deep enough to ignite every nerve ending, a persistent whisper of suffering that would soon become a roar. Across the stage, Evelyn watched with serene satisfaction, her arms crossed lightly, her smile faint and knowing.

The music began - a deep, pulsing beat that filled the chamber like a second heartbeat.

Nadia moved.

The first step sent a shock of pain up her legs, an involuntary gasp escaping her lips. She swallowed it down, focusing, forcing her body to respond. She shifted her weight, each pivot and slide sending new flares of anguish through her.

One orgasm. Just one. Please.

The thought was her anchor. After almost two years of denial, of nights tangled in sheets slick with frustration, the prize was almost unimaginable. One release. One moment of peace. She twirled, the movement too sharp, too desperate - pain spiked higher, almost taking her breath. The audience watched with rapt attention, their masked faces unreadable, yet Nadia could feel their hunger, their expectation. She fought to find a rhythm, her body adapting to the spikes' cruelty, each step measured, delicate. She used her arms, her hips, every muscle in a delicate choreography designed not for grace alone, but for sheer survival.

Two minutes.

Already her calves trembled, the strength draining faster than she had feared. The Infernal Spires were merciless. Every beat of the music drove needles of fire deeper into her flesh.

Focus. Endure.

She tried to disassociate, to imagine herself floating above the pain, but it clung to her, inescapable, searing through her.

Nadia faltered, just a stutter-step, but the crowd noticed. A murmur swept through them, a tightening of attention.

Don't fall. Don't fall. Not yet.

But the spikes tore her resolve as surely as they tore her body.

By the fifth minute, her vision blurred with pain. The first song ended, and another began - faster, more brutal. The second song's rhythm demanded more than mere endurance - it demanded surrender to its tempo, a ceaseless, grinding motion that left no room for careful, slow footing. Her heart raced, her breath grew ragged. Each lift of her foot, each pivot, felt like driving a thousand thorns into raw muscle. Sweat poured down her temples, slicking her latex outfit to her skin. Her legs burned, spasmed involuntarily. The spikes felt larger, sharper, their invasion of her flesh complete.

Her ankle gave, and with a choked scream, she dropped to her knees. The Infernal Spires bit savagely into her soles one last time as her body collapsed forward onto the unforgiving stage. In this moment, nothing matters more than getting her tortured soles out of these infernal shoes.

The music kept pounding for a moment longer before it mercifully faded into silence.

The roar of the crowd filled the vacuum. Applause, whistles, laughter - not mocking, but rapturous, feasting on the spectacle of her fall. Nadia remained on the floor, trembling, her breath tearing in and out of her lungs. Her feet were a mass of burning agony, her muscles cramping violently. Above her, Evelyn’s voice floated like silk over glass.

"Brave, Nadia," she said smoothly, her voice carrying easily over the din. "But bravery alone does not defeat the Infernal Spires."

Two attendants stepped forward, their movements brisk, professional. They unlatched the towering heels from her feet, each touch sending fresh jolts of pain up Nadia’s battered legs.

Her mind reeled, not only from the pain but from the realization settling cold into her gut.

"No, no, please, no!" she called out, shaking her head in disbelief.

The sixth minute had begun just as she fell.

Six minutes of success.

Six weeks in rubber.

All for a dream of one fleeting orgasm.

The price for failure was already waiting for her, silent and inevitable.

Evelyn stepped forward, raising a hand for silence. "Six minutes remaining," she announced, her voice ringing through the room. "That means six weeks in the Rubber Suit of Resolve."

Elise and her partner stood from their seats, exchanging gleeful smiles before breaking into a small, mocking victory dance. The crowd joined in the celebration as Evelyn raised the microphone and shouted, "Rubber enclosure for Nadia!" The club roared with approval, the chant echoing in Nadia’s ears like a sentence.

The roaring of the crowd still echoed faintly in Nadia's ears as the two attendants appeared, their movements silent, precise, inevitable. Between them they carried a neatly folded bundle of black latex, its surface gleaming like spilled oil beneath the relentless stage lights. Without words, they approached her, their latex-gloved hands impossibly gentle as they lifted her trembling form from the floor. Nadia's legs barely held her. Every nerve in her feet throbbed from the spikes’ punishment, but there was no time to recover, no moment of mercy. The attendants led her backstage, the crowd’s laughter and applause fading into a muffled backdrop. Her mind was a maelstrom - a wild churn of humiliation, disbelief, and the creeping realization that she had stepped willingly into her own nightmare.

Laid out before her was the suit - not a mere costume, but a sentence.

They worked efficiently, wordlessly. The inner layer was a thin application of lubricant - a necessity, she realized dimly, to even slide into the merciless second skin. Then the latex itself - thin, supple, yet utterly relentless - was drawn up her legs, over her hips, encasing her torso like a vise. Her arms were eased into long sleeves; her fingers into delicate gloves that robbed her of sensation. Nadia’s breathing quickened as the high collar of the suit was zipped closed behind her neck, sealing her body from the world. An embedded LED was turning on, red.

Gloves were donned. The hood was next - a sleek piece of latex that stretched tight over her scalp, smoothing her features into anonymous submission. Tiny nostril holes allowed her breath; a small opening permitted speech, though she knew better than to try. Her world darkened, narrowed, became intimate with the scent of rubber and the pounding of her own heart.

Finally, rubber boots - shiny, thick-soled and heavy, no inner lining naturally, ensuring her languished feet felt nothing but latex, locking her steps into measured, silent movements - completed the ensemble.

When the attendants led her back onto the stage, a low murmur rippled through the audience. The transformation was breathtaking. Nadia, the vibrant, defiant woman who had once moved so freely across Abyss's floors, was now a slick, black figure of silent shame.

The suit hugged every curve cruelly, every tremor of muscle visible to the greedy eyes of the onlookers. She was beautiful - and utterly conquered.

Evelyn stepped forward from the shadows, her presence commanding immediate attention. Her smile was slow, cruelly elegant, as she addressed the crowd.

"Behold," she said, her voice a velvet dagger, "long-term rubberization for Nadia! The price of misplaced ambition."

She circled Nadia slowly, her heels clicking against the stage, savoring every heartbeat of tension.

"This suit," Evelyn continued, "will be her second skin. Here, in Abyss, she will wear the full ensemble: suit, gloves, boots, and hood. Outside our sanctuary, she will be permitted to forgo the hood, gloves, and boots - but the body suit must remain for sixteen hours a day."

Nadia swayed slightly under the weight of her humiliation, the heat of the suit already prickling against her damp skin.

"She will wear it," Evelyn said, pausing to let the words sink deep into every soul present, "for 112 hours each week, for the next six weeks. The LED will turn green when the 112 hours are met between Monday and Sunday Midnight and notify us. Believe me, dear Nadia, you want to turn that LED green."

There was a beat of silence - reverent, almost awestruck - before Evelyn added, with a razor-edged smile, "Because should she fail - should she fall short of her quota - she will find herself intimately reacquainted with our Needle Frame."

A collective shiver rippled through the gathered spectators. They all knew the cruelty of the Needle Frame, the way it punished even the slightest movement with unrelenting, exquisite agony.

"Up to six twenty-four hour sessions," Evelyn murmured, almost lovingly, "one for each week she fails to turn the LED green. That shall serve a reminder that there are worse things than rubber, before she would need to start her six weeks over."

Nadia's knees threatened to buckle again, but the attendants' firm hands kept her upright.

"Your only task," Evelyn said, her voice dropping to an intimate purr, "is to endure. To obey. To turn the LED green each week, indicating your successful hours. Fail, and the needles will find you, before you try the latex once more."

The attendants guided Nadia into a slow, humiliating walk around the stage - a parade for the patrons, a living lesson in the cost of chastity. Somewhere deep inside her, past the burning shame and despair, Nadia felt a tiny ember of resolve harden. She had lost the wager. She would wear their rubber, Elise’s rubber. She would find a way out.

Later that night, Elise and Alexandru passed by the lounge to admire the updated plague and photo.

NADIA

SCORNED LOVER. CHASTITY.

INDEFINITE

RUBBER ENCLOSURE: 6 WEEKS

---

The penthouse was silent late into the night except for the ragged breath of Elise echoing softly against the high glass walls. Her body still trembled faintly, the aftershocks of a third self-induced orgasm in a matter of hours tracing shivers up her spine. The sheets beneath her were rumpled silk, clinging to her skin as she sat up slowly, letting the coolness of the room kiss her flushed body.

She slipped from the bed, nude, her bare feet whispering against the polished floors. The skyline beyond the towering windows glittered in fractured constellations, a perfect mirror to the chaos inside her chest. She padded toward the kitchen, immaculate and sterile, lit only by under-cabinet strips of warm gold. From the sleek drawer, she selected her favorite tin of black orchid tea - an indulgence imported at ludicrous cost, worth every cent. She poured, inhaled, then tasted.

Perfection.

Elise leaned against the counter, sipping slowly. Her mind was alight. Not with romance. Not with Alexandru. He was incidental now. Her focus had narrowed to Nadia - beautiful, defiant, insufferable Nadia. And the rubber. Six weeks. Six brutal, sculpting, ritualized weeks. 112 hours a week. Sixteen hours a day. Encased. Controlled. Owned.

She grinned into her cup, a slow, private smile that curled at the corners.

It wasn’t about love. It never had been. It was about power. Precision. Control. Knowing Nadia will struggle under her rubberization rules in the coming weeks brought Elise a kind of pleasure far more potent than any lover’s touch. She didn’t need Alexandru, not tonight, not to enjoy this. The rubber rules were hers. The structure was hers. And now, Nadia’s time, her body, her breath - hers too.

The image was too much.

Her thoughts flicked back to Samira. Back in university. Shy. So very obedient. Tutoring had been a pretext, really. Elise had coaxed her into latex submission. Nothing like now. Nothing institutional. No contracts. But Samira had squirmed in a simple catsuit just the way Elise liked. She had been Elise’s first experiment, the first proof that surrender could be extracted through suggestion alone. A test. A prelude. A way to keep control on those around her.

Now she had Nadia.

Not just for a night. For weeks. Under contract. With terms.

Elise swallowed the last of her tea, her eyes burning with anticipation. She pressed her fingertips against the cool marble of the counter, trying to still the new flush rising under her skin. The thought of Nadia waking each morning to latex, enduring each hour under sweat-sealed restriction, knowing Elise had designed the regimen herself - it pulsed through her. She thought about the belt around Nadia’s hips. It had taken long, but now that was no longer the only token of her submission. Finally, she had gotten what she wanted. As always. Nadia was now under her rubberization rules, finally.

She didn’t even finish rinsing the cup. She turned, heart hammering.

By the time she reached the bedroom again, her mind was already deep inside the suit with Nadia. She thought about slipping into her own catsuit for the short remainder of the night, just to feel what Nadia would endure, but decided against it.

And Elise let herself sink back into the sheets, her fingers diving into her apex, complementing bodily pleasure with the images in her mind, sculpted by power, fed by control, and sweetened by the thought of her rival melting inside her second skin.

The First Circle of Hell

Six weeks had passed since Lena and Mina’s secret return to Abyss, their hearts still weighed down by the ominous note they had received, but no further contact had been made. They were not expecting any contact anymore. Neither did they dare to return. The memory of the dancer’s perilous performance and the chilling message lingered, casting a desire over their days. More than one night they slowly swayed on their double ended toy, eliciting a symphony of moans.

They were still baffled by the properties of their Caps and accompanying Rings. They were … pristine. No wear and tear, not a tiny scratch.

"This is not normal. I take care as good as I can of my hygiene," Mina said, "still there is never any, you know, ‘build-up’. And at times I feel like the Cap is drawing my pearl further out. It feels as if I am … sucked on."

"This is probably you getting aroused, for it to seem to have this effect."

"But you feel it too? Like sometimes they seem to be too heavy? Warmer than body temperature?"

After a pause, Lena answered, "Yes. I feel that too. It’s draining and tiring. Exhausting me from the inside, if that’s the right word."

One morning, almost two months after their return to Abyss, as the pale winter sun barely lit the room, a knock echoed through the apartment. Lena, wrapped in a blanket, opened the door to find an unmarked parcel with the logo of Abyss imprinted resting on the doorstep. Her brow furrowed as she brought it inside, placing it on the kitchen table where Mina joined her, curiosity etched on both their faces.

Carefully, Lena peeled away the plain wrapping, revealing a finely crafted wooden box. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, was an intricately designed black and glossy double ended dildo, its surface gleaming with strange, silver blobs that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light. Alongside it lay a letter, written on thick, parchment-like paper.

"You got to be kidding me."

The toy was long, with a silver metal section in the middle, separating it into two distinct sections, one to be received by one woman. On each section of the dildo were a series of ten small silver metallic nodules. While central metal part was obviously solid, the back, latex like dildo sections were flexible, covered in countless tiny dimples, bending obscenely upon being lifted out of the artisan box. Mina was first to point out a USB-C port in the metallic part.

"You got to be kidding me."

Lena picked up the letter, her hands trembling slightly as she began to read aloud:

"Lena,

Your return to Club Abyss did not go unnoticed. Your desire to experience the thrill of Abyss again is unquenched and this confirms that you are carved from a special stone. We are observing you and might offer you a position in Abyss’ inner circles, if you pursue this path. You feed on the pain as much as we do."

"Why doesn’t it say that about me?", Mina interjected.

Shrugging her shoulders, Lena continued to read.

"We are amused that you brought your personal pain maidservant with you."

"Maidservant? But I’m not your slave!"

"You kind of fall into that role sometimes by default, don’t you think? Asking me to spank you?"

Mina fell silent and let Lena continue.

"Your secret dance at home with your own instrument shared between you and your maidservant, while devoid reaching your peaks under your Cap of Despair and Ring of Eternal Longing, was observed, and your persistence in trying to defeat your chastity has intrigued us. Your secret is safe with us."

They looked at each other in disbelief. "How can they possible know that? They know about our toy?"

"Within this parcel, you will find the Cursed Clarinet, named after its silver nobs and black color. It is no ordinary toy, and its melody holds the key to a path not yet revealed. To prove yourselves worthy of further consideration for redemption, you must practice with this toy together. Synchronization is essential. Only when you unite with each other in perfect harmony will the Cursed Clarinet begin to reveal its secrets."

"Beware - the clarinet is not forgiving. It demands precision and unity. If you falter, it will remind you of the price of discord. Keep it charged. The clarinet can hear the music you have around you, it can hear your moans. The clarinet will know by its line of silver nodules up to which depth you seek your unison. Your goal is to be in sync. You will sway and follow the rhythm of the music to the end before disengaging. Only in harmony you can master playing the clarinet in duet."

"Play often. When the time is right, the flute will unveil what you seek to those you play flawlessly."

"Do not come to Abyss. We expect to find your old toys in the garbage by your apartment. You will be contacted again if you chose to obey these instructions."

The letter was unsigned, but its tone was unmistakably authoritative, a blend of intrigue and threat. Mina placed the letter down, her eyes wide with apprehension. "What do you think it means? Redemption? Could this be our chance? It mentions twice the dildo will reveal a secret."

Lena examined the dildo, her fingers tracing the mysterious knobs. "I don’t know, but it’s clear they’re testing us. If this is connected to our caps, we can’t ignore it. But it seems we are banned again and we need to throw out our toys."

"The new one looks a hundred times more intense anyhow … Do you think, they are, you know, different than human? Like in the old folk tales" Mina asked, expecting a comforting answer which did not come. Lena just looked at her, lost in thought.

Lena plugged the dildo into her charger. "Vampires with USB? Come on now." she giggled a bit too nervously.

That evening, they sat together in the dimly lit living room, the flute resting between them like a relic from another world. The air was thick with tension as they prepared for their first attempt.

Mina lifted the dildo between their naked bodies, ready to be joined at their apices, her hands steady but her heart racing. "We have to be synchronized," she whispered. "Let’s try something simple."

Lena nodded, her fingers positioned her end of the dildo carefully at her entrance. They exchanged a glance, a silent agreement, and then began to push. Soon they found their rhythm. Swaying, hips moving, diving deeper, their nether lips almost kissing, keeping just the center of the metal exposed. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. After half an hour they pulled themselves off and called it a night.

"Now, that was not too bad." Mina said to a smiling Lena. They collected their toys, heavy hearted, especially to part with their favorite double ended dildo, and put them all in a trash bag, taking them downstairs.

---

The suit’s requirements were grueling. Each weekday, Nadia endured at least twelve hours of confinement, her movements restricted and her body drenched in sweat. Her weekends became an unrelenting trial as she spent about 23 hours each day in the suit, the tightness and heat sapping her strength and willpower.

Nadia remained oblivious to the powers behind her denial having negotiated whether she danced for days, weeks or months. Evelyn, meanwhile, watched with satisfaction as Nadia’s suffering unfolded. The audience buzzed with the tale of the failed performance, and Abyss continued to thrive on its reputation for exquisite torment. As Nadia’s six weeks stretched on, she found herself questioning whether Nadia would ever find freedom or if her persistence would always lead her back to the stage. Nadia’s chastity supplied her with a steady stream of sustenance, as did Lena’s and Mina’s. The pain in the heels was a short but intense feast of drained energy. But six weeks of endurance and unraveling in rubber, this would elevate Evelyn’s own life-force immensely. She would look some years younger again before Nadia would get rid of her infernal suit.

---

The next evening, just as they sat down together, Lena’s phone received a message: "Play together or suffer apart. Your path begins with ‘Abyss: The First Circle of Hell.", including a link to a playlist on one of the streaming services. Lena tapped on it and it brought up "Abyss: The First Circle of Hell - 3:11". One tap later and a bass heavy slow melody played. They both realized they had used the Cursed Clarinet while it was being turned off. She pressed stop and linked her phone up to her speakers for a better quality.

With a sense of foreboding, but also an unveiled excitement, Lena and Mina prepared for their first attempt. They sat opposite each other, the dildo resting between them, pointed at their apices. The dual black ends shimmered ominously under the dim light of their apartment.

Mina took a deep breath, her hands steady on the middle section, guiding the first few inches inside both of them, needing no lubrication. "We have to be perfectly in sync," she whispered. "There’s no other way."

Lena nodded "Let’s start the track and see what happens."

She pressed play again, and the haunting melody of "Abyss: The First Circle of Hell" filled the room. It was a slow, ominous tune, with deep, resonant bass notes that seemed to echo from the depths of the earth. The started to move, the dildo sliding between their nether lips and began to play.

The first moves were hesitant, their breath uneven as they struggled to match each other’s rhythm. They noticed the gentle change, out of the dimples, dull extensions emerged, not spikes, but they were noticeable. The smooth dildo transformed into one with ever growing studs. In surprise they stopped and within seconds, the studs retreated and spikes beneath other dimples activated, pressing painfully into their vaginas, and started oscillating between extended and retracting in a slow rhythm. The sudden sting made them gasp, breaking their dance, slowly and carefully they worked themselves off of the dildo while the spikes worked them over. Once out, the spikes retracted, leaving only the smooth dimpled surface visible.

Mina winced, her legs throbbing. "It punishes us for every mistake," she muttered. "We have to stay perfectly synchronized, or it’ll just keep hurting us."

Lena rubbed her crotch, carefully not to agitate her Cap of Despair, the tiny pinpricks still stinging inside her. "We need to push in sync, move in sync - everything has to be exact."

Determined to avoid the spikes, they tried again, focusing intently on matching their movements. Slowly, they began to understand the clarinet’s demands. The dildo responded not just to the notes they played but to the rhythm of their riding and the depth of penetration.

Over the next few days, their practice sessions became a ritual. Each evening, they would sit together, the Cursed Clarinet inserted between them as they worked tirelessly to master its demands. The dildo seemed to possess a will of its own, responding sharply to every mistake, every lapse in harmony.

The challenge was more than just technical - it was a test of their bond. They had to listen to each other, to anticipate each other’s movements and breaths. The slightest misalignment in penetration brought the studs out, small first, growing more and more with every mismatch, retracting ever so slightly when they managed to continue their rhythm in perfection. Often, one of them stopped with a gasp, when she could not take the deep raking of her internal walls under the studs anymore. That gasp was followed up by both their screams when then studs retracted and the spikes started pulsing, signaling the end of their dance.

Despite the frustrations and the sting of failure, they pressed on, driven by the promise hinted at in the letter. The clarinet's haunting challenge began to take shape, weaving a tapestry sound composed of moans that resonated deep within their souls.

As the days turned into a week, they began to notice a change. The clarinet’s sharp reminders became less frequent, the melody flowing smoother with each session. Their synchronization improved, not just in their playing but in their understanding of each other.

Mina looked over at Lena after one particularly successful session, a rare smile breaking through her usual apprehension. "I think we’re getting there."

Lena smiled back, the warmth of their shared progress breaking through the cold grip of their curses. "It feels… right, doesn’t it? Like we’re finally in sync."

Their bond, forged in shared suffering, was now being tempered by their shared determination. The dance on the dildo, once a source of pain, began to feel like a bridge to something greater - something they could not yet fully grasp.

Though the letter offered no clear timeline, they could feel their anticipation building. Each note, each melody brought them closer to the secret the flute promised to reveal. The air seemed charged with potential, as if the flute itself was waiting for the perfect moment to unveil its hidden truth.

Lena and Mina knew they were on the cusp of something significant. The Cursed Clarinet was more than an instrument - it was a key, and they were determined to unlock its secrets, no matter the cost.

After a painful week, they managed to complete the first song, their synchronization improving with each attempt. As the final notes faded, the clarinet fell silent, and the spikes remained retracted.

The mystery of what lay ahead loomed large, but for the first time in a long while, they felt a flicker of hope. The path was uncertain, and the challenges were far from over, but they were ready to face whatever came next, together.

Relieved but exhausted, they set the dildo down. Lena’s phone buzzed almost immediately with a new notification:

"Congratulations. Your next piece is ‘Abyss: The Second Circle of Hell.’ Duration: 4 minutes and 25 seconds.", combined with another link.

The Seven Circles of Hell

Several weeks earlier … Just two days after Lena’s and Mina’s secret and forbidden visit to Abyss and the Dance on the Razor’s Edge, Evelyn paced the dimly lit corridors of her private chamber in Club Abyss, her mind swirling with the implications of the letter she clutched tightly in her hand. The words etched on the thick parchment were both a challenge and a threat:

"Evelyn,

Lena and Mina have returned to Abyss, their presence unnoticed by you. Despite the curses of the Caps of Despair and the Rings of Eternal Longing, their desire remains unbroken. Their resilience has caught our attention, and Lena is now considered as a potential successor to you. The idea of a chaste hostess is appealing to us.

Your failure to detect their visit in disguise has been noted.

You now face a choice: propose a challenge for Lena, a test of her endurance and resolve. If you decide not to issue a challenge, you will be cursed with your own Cap of Despair, but you will retain your position as hostess of Abyss. Also here, the idea of a chaste hostess is appealing to us.

Should you propose a challenge and she fails, her path to redemption is closed, and she will never threaten your position again. However, if she masters it, she earns the right to a final duel with you.

Be warned: the challenge you set for Lena will mirror back upon you. You must prove your endurance through a related trial. Only if you succeed will you have the power to define the stakes of the final duel, as mild or as severe as you wish.

If you fail your part of the trial, the owners will set the stakes of the duel. The winner will ascend as the new hostess of Abyss, while the loser will be retired to the needle coffin.

Failure to manage this situation adequately will lead to consequences beyond ordinary retirement. The owners are watching, and they will act accordingly."

Evelyn’s breath caught at the mention of the Needle Coffin. Though its exact nature was shrouded in mystery, she knew enough to dread it. The coffin was rumored to be a device of long-term confinement, where the occupant would endure perpetual, agonizing pain from countless needles pressing into their flesh, paired with amplifying their unfulfilled sexual desires. The mere thought of such a fate sent a shiver down her spine.

Evelyn sat heavily in her chair, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. Accepting the challenge would give Lena a path to redemption - a chance to overthrow Evelyn and seize control of Abyss. But rejecting it would bind Evelyn to the Cap of Despair, a curse she had inflicted on others, reducing them to hollow shells consumed by endless longing for orgasmic bliss that would not come again. She remembered the nipples of course, but still, it would not ever be nearly the same quality of relief, and she highly doubted that the Count would not issue her the Cap of Despair as an upgraded version to naturally include the Rings of Longing with their own little caps, even if not explicitly mentioned. After all, "Cap" could very well include the caps on the rings. Words are important in Abyss. The word being underlined in the letter was not a good sign.

The Cap of Despair was a torment she had watched with cold satisfaction as it broke Lena and Mina. The constant ache of them fed Evelyn well. But to endure it herself, to feel that constant ache and longing, was a prospect she couldn’t bear. She would be drained at a rate, until she was slowly turned into an empty husk of a woman. She would age unless she’d find a stable of pain slaves to feed upon. No, the Cap was unthinkable for her. Yet, the alternative - the Needle Coffin - was an even more horrifying fate. And ‘retirement’ was a very long time for her indeed.

Evelyn clenched her fists, the reality of her predicament sinking in. She had no choice but to accept and devise a challenge that would push Lena to her limits, making sure that she would never master it.

Her thoughts turned to the Cursed Clarinet - a perfect challenge for Lena and Mina. A well used toy designed for performances much more sexual than what happened in the club. She learned from the owners that Lena and Mina were using their own double dildo all the time. She’d love to take it away from them, making them throw it away and replacing it with a cursed version. The clarinet, a special toy, a double-sided dildo with hidden spikes and studs, demanded flawless synchronization. Every movement not mirrored by either partner would activate the spikes, punishing them for even the slightest error. The studs would extend more the less the dildo was penetrating. The challenge would require them to play through the seven songs, designed by the artisans of Abyss. She knew that they would of course be based on the bass heavy techno music, possible with some slower passaged. This sequence of songs were composed by the artisans of Abyss and known by the ominous name "Seven Circles of Hell", each increasing in complexity and length.

Evelyn smiled coldly. The Clarinet would test not only their skill but their endurance and unity. It was the perfect way to either break them so she would not be challenged into a final duel. The mere thought of Lena and Mina fucking each other to rapid techno beats while trying to maintain mirrored movements brought a smile to her face. This would be the challenge. For her own part in it, she had the vague idea that her own trial would probably be a similar dildo, designed for a single player. She knew how to masturbate with toys. With ease she would be able to follow a rhythm.

She would gather all the life energy she could get from Abyss’ regular guests.

Ana. Maybe she could trick her into a third year, that would sustain the baseline flow of energy. To her, each chastity device was a battery to be used.

Nadia. Elise was onto her, still, always. Nadia was weak and desperate, she could be maneuvered into long-term suffering. When Nadia or Elise would ask for their next challenge, she would be ready to present Nadia with the Rubber Suit of Resolve. This would give her a constant and high intake of Nadia’s energy, enough to coast through the Circles of Hell with ease and to condemn Lena.

---

The challenge was issued and Evelyn was informed the next day that the Clarinet had been delivered to Lena.

A day later, Evelyn received a package of her own. Inside was a pair of the Stilettos of the Languished Arches, the same ones she had mastered long ago. Accompanying them was a note:

"Evelyn,

You are not exempt from the trials you impose. You will endure the Seven Circles of Hell, not through the symphony of unison with a partner, but through sensual dancing to the tunes. These familiar heels will be your test. You will wear them, barefoot, as you as well listen to the songs of each of the seven circle. Should you succeed, you may set the stakes of the final duel. If you fail, the owners will set the stakes, and the loser of the duel will find herself retired within a very comforting embrace."

Included was a link to the first song.

Evelyn’s confidence surged as she slipped on the Stilettos of the Languished Arches in her chamber. She had worn them many times before in the decades past, mastering the art of dancing through the pain they inflicted. Of course she knew about the contact sensors which would spring the spikes out when anything other than skin was detected. The spikes hidden within the soles were familiar companions, and she knew how to endure them even when they were extended and she was able to move with precision to minimize their sting. In fact, she has learned, and endured, and proven in previous dance duels, that she can master even fixed, permanent erect spikes in her shoes. Indeed, a twenty-minute song on fixed spikes should win her a duel with Lena with certainty.

She started the first track, "Abyss: The First Circle of Hell," began to play. The haunting melody was slow and deliberate, matching the 3-minute and 11-second duration. Evelyn moved with grace, her steps light and measured. The spikes dormant under her feet, but she barely noticed. This was a test she could handle with ease. Her phone buzzed, a text arriving. Apparently this pair of the Languished Arches was different, having their own uplink to report on her success.

The subsequent tracks followed, each slightly longer and more demanding. The second circle stretched to just over 4 minutes, the third approaching 7 minutes. Evelyn remained composed, her movements fluid, her endurance unwavering. The spikes, while ever-present, were a discomfort she had long since mastered.

As the tracks continued, her confidence grew. The fourth circle, nearly a 10 minute dance in the Stilettos of the Languished Arches, and the fifth, pushing past 15, were well manageable. She called it a night, smiling at the thought that Lena and Mina would spend significant time on the first songs, getting their insides raked and spiked. They would be so worked up within their permanent denial and under the curses of their caps. The Clarinet would fan their inextinguishable fires into an inferno. They would break on the Cursed Clarinet.

She would breeze through her task and she would set her own stakes of the final duel, if Lena ever demanded that. She would maybe choose the needle frame? Maybe dream up additions? Maybe electrified needles? Or maybe just a longer time? But nothing, so, so… long. Nothing so, so … embracing.

The sixth circle, lasting just under 20 minutes, was more challenging during the next night, but Evelyn remained focused, her years of experience and resilience serving her well. The spikes greeted her several times, but she dances through their sting, being strong enough to ignore their nuisances.

It wasn’t until she completed the sixth circle that she finally glanced at the length of the seventh track. Her heart stopped. "Abyss: The Seventh Circle of Hell" was an astonishing 3 hours long.

Panic gripped her as she realized the enormity of the task. Dancing continuously for three hours, even in normal shoes, would be a monumental challenge at her age. But in the Stilettos of the Languished Arches, with their spikes pressing into her feet, it seemed an impossible feat. If she had certain powers, these special shoes would not allow them to sway the dance in her favor. The shoes were harmless for her, but not for three hours.

Her confidence wavered as the music for the seventh circle began, the slow, haunting melody signaling the start of a grueling endurance test. Evelyn’s breaths came quicker, her mind racing. She knew she had to persevere - failure meant leaving her fate in the hands of the owners, with the needle coffin looming as a terrifying possibility.

As the first notes played, Evelyn began to move, her steps precise but hesitant. The spikes pressed deeper into her bare soles with every shift, and she felt the weight of the challenge pressing down on her like never before. The prospect of three hours of nonstop dancing in locked heels stretched before her, a daunting marathon that tested not just her body, but her very will. Evelyn knew she couldn’t afford to fail. She would have to summon every ounce of strength and endurance she had left. The stakes were too high, and the specter of the needle coffin loomed too close. With determination etched into her features, she continued, each step a battle against the inevitable.

She lasted twenty-eight minutes before she went down on her knees, the spikes extending fully as a reaction. They stayed that way. She quickly understood what was happening. The Count was draining her. She would be languished, her energy drained out through the soles of her own feet, the Mistress’s Soles. Someone else would need to suffer, and deeply. Pain was currency in Abyss, and chastity was a reservoir. Ana’s and Alina’s denial, carefully cultivated and prolonged, still gave her nourishment. Nadia, in her sealed silence, offered the richest reserve of all - a long-term wager with no defined end, a fountain of energy. But she knew how quickly such wells ran dry - if Alexandru and Elise split up, she would be in trouble as long as she didn’t master the Seventh Circle.

She was aware that while trying, prolonged painful dances on those Heels would drain enough that she would be looking older again. She could offset it temporarily, if she would get someone into pain again, the Needle Frame maybe. She wasn’t in danger. Not yet. But she was watching the time left on Ana’s and Alina’s keys. If their terms ended before she rebalanced the flow, she would be vulnerable.

There were always whispers about what happened to her predecessor. She had failed, they said - not in spectacle or poise, but in volume. She had let the suffering soften, had allowed mercy to dull the teeth of Abyss. She delivered less than what Abyss needed, and the Count had drained her. Some say she still lives, below the club, a husk, aged and in suffering. Sealed in a tomb somewhere beneath the foundation - a coffin, they say. Some say it’s latex-lined. Some say it’s laced with blunt moving needles. The source of the rumors about the needle coffin. Well founded rumors. For the Count, it would be merely a battery, providing long-term sustenance. For her it would be hell. A painful, endless stasis. Aging slowly. Forgotten officially. Remembered only in the flinches of the newer hostesses.

Evelyn would not join her.

She would find someone. Someone to suffer beautifully, unceasingly. She would keep the pain flowing.

The final duel awaited, and Evelyn understood that this was more than a test of endurance - it was a fight for her very place in Abyss. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it with the same cold resolve that had kept her in power for so long. The future of Abyss would be decided soon, and Evelyn intended to emerge victorious, no matter the cost.

Remarks: the inspiration for the needle coffin comes from the Torei Discord, or Torei/Torean wiki, a fictional universe where an Iron Maiden like device exists with spikes is used in a similar manner, containing a rubberized slave, for a life sentence.

Enduring

Somewhere in the city, Nadia sat on the edge of her bed, her breathing shallow as she stared at the glossy black suit laid out before her. The rubber shimmered under the dim light of her bedroom, a cruel reminder of her penance. Five weeks of relentless confinement had left her utterly drained, her mind and body struggling to endure the suffocating embrace of the Rubber Suit of Resolve.

Her logbook, open on the nightstand, bore meticulous entries of her hours in the suit. Each line recorded with trembling hands, ensuring there was no room for error.

Saturday, 23 hours complete.

Sunday, 23 hours complete.

Monday, 14 hours complete.

Tuesday, 13 hours complete.

Wednesday, 13 hours complete.

Thursday, 12 hours complete, lots of traffic.

Friday, 14 hours complete.

One hundred and twelve hours before Saturday started. Not one too many.

She couldn’t risk falling short - Evelyn had made it abundantly clear what failure meant. For six weeks, each week one full day in the needle frame, totaling six days of unyielding torment, each lasting 24 hours. The mere thought sent a shiver down her spine, despite the heat that seemed to cling to her perpetually now.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for the suit. The material felt slick and cool against her hands, but she knew that sensation wouldn’t last. Once on, the suit would trap her body heat, turning her skin clammy and slick within minutes. She hesitated only a moment before stepping into the tight rubber, her feet sliding into the boot-like extensions. She pulled it up her legs, the material clinging to her with a resistance that felt almost alive. The tightness around her hips and waist forced her to exhale sharply as she zipped it closed.

The hood was the final piece. As it slid over her head, sealing her inside the rubber cocoon, the LED lightening up in RED, her world grew smaller. The faint smell of latex filled her nostrils, and her breaths felt shallow and warm within the confined space. With a resigned sigh, she reached for her phone to start the timer: 23 hours to go.

Nadia’s weekends had become the most grueling part of her penance. The 23-hour stretches of rubberization left her with only a single hour of freedom each day - barely enough time to shower, clean the suit, and log her progress. The rest of the time was spent in an unrelenting cycle of discomfort.

By midmorning on Saturday, the suit had become a furnace. Sweat pooled at the base of her gloves and boots, the rubber refusing to let a single drop escape. Her plastic lenses were fogged up, her hair plastered wet against her skull under the thick rubber hood. She went to take another cold shower, the cold water running over her rubber suit. Her movements felt sluggish, the slickness inside making it difficult to maintain her balance as she paced her apartment. She tried sitting, but the tightness around her midsection made it unbearable after a few minutes. Lying down brought only slight relief, though the heat seemed to press down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

The chastity belt beneath the suit added another layer of torment. Its unyielding presence gnawed at her, amplifying her frustration with every passing hour. The thought of relief, even momentary, felt like a cruel joke. Nadia clenched her fists, trying to suppress the wave of unfulfilled desire that rose within her. Her weekends, once a time to recharge, had become a living nightmare.

She glanced at the clock. Four hours down. Nineteen to go. The enormity of the remaining time made her throat tighten, and she bit back a sob.

By the evening, the suit had become a second skin, every movement amplifying the friction between her body and the slick interior. Her muscles ached from the constant tension, her body desperate for relief. She tried distracting herself with TV, but the heat and tightness made it impossible to focus. When she finally slipped the suit off for her one-hour break, her skin was flushed and raw, the cool air feeling almost painful against her overheated body.

Sunday began the same as Saturday, stripping off the suit, a quick cold and then hot shower. Rinsing the sweat out of the suit, turning it inside out and toweling it dry. A glance to the clock. With a resigning moan Nadia meticulously sliding into the damp suit again and logging her start time.

She had developed small rituals to help her endure the endless hours. She paced her apartment methodically, counting her steps in sets of a hundred to pass the time. She played music, letting the rhythm guide her movements, though even the upbeat songs couldn’t lift her spirits entirely.

Water breaks became her only reprieve. She had placed bottles strategically around her apartment, allowing her to hydrate without removing the suit. The act of drinking was a challenge in itself, the tight hood forcing her to tilt her head at awkward angles. But the water did little to alleviate the oppressive heat building inside the suit.

By midafternoon, she found herself staring at the needle frame in her mind’s eye. The threat of failure loomed over her constantly, a cruel motivator that kept her from collapsing entirely. "Six days of torment or one more week of this," she reminded herself. The choice was clear, but it didn’t make the ordeal any easier. Her isolation deepened as the hours wore on. The constant reminders of her chastity and the suit’s oppressive grip left her longing for even the smallest reprieve. But she knew better than to hope - this was her reality, and no amount of wishing could change it.

As the fifth week drew to a close, Nadia’s dread for the final week consumed her thoughts. She had barely survived this far, and the knowledge that she had another six days of 112 hours left to endure felt insurmountable. Her body was breaking down, the constant heat and pressure leaving her exhausted and irritable. Even small tasks, like washing the suit during her one-hour break, felt monumental.

Her logbook had become her lifeline, each entry a small victory. She double-checked her hours obsessively, ensuring she wouldn’t fall short. Failure was not an option. Yet, the thought of another weekend trapped in the suit made her stomach churn.

Nadia hated the smug satisfaction Elise and Evelyn must have felt as she watched her struggle. But beneath the anger was a flicker of determination. She had made it this far. She couldn’t give up now.

Monday morning night arrived. As the alarm sounded, she let out a shaky breath, unzipping the suit with trembling hands and heading for the shower. The cool air hit her overheated skin, and she gasped, tears streaming down her face from the sheer relief. She stumbled into the shower, letting the water wash away the sweat and tension of the night.

She hung the suit to dry and left for work, only to don the suit again upon her return. She hoped she would not get stuck in traffic. Her body ached, her mind felt numb, but she had survived another weekend, a languished shell of herself. She even was not as sexually desperate as before the suit. With her mind a bit clearer, she had texted Alexandru, asked to meet. Alone. She needed answers. Tomorrow she would see him.

Later in the afternoon, back in her bedroom, she picked up her logbook and carefully recorded the day’s completion. Five weeks down. One to go.

She went to the bathroom and stared at the suit hanging in the shower, its glossy surface gleaming in the dim light. The thought of putting it back on made her stomach turn, but she knew she had no choice. The needle frame was not an option. With a resigned sigh, she closed the logbook. Ten minutes later, fully enclosed in heavy rubber once more, she crawled into bed, her dreams haunted by the endless hours of feeling the warm and slick rubber on her skin still ahead.

A secret meeting

The café was warm, its ambiance stitched together from polished brass fixtures, the soft clink of ceramic cups, and quiet jazz bleeding through the speakers overhead. It perched on the corner of a quiet street, out of view from the more frequented spots where Abyss’s usual clientele might gather. Discretion had been critical.

Nadia arrived first.

Her heels clicked too sharply on the stone sidewalk, each step a reminder of what clung to her beneath the long, charcoal-gray coat. Her full-body latex suit hugged every inch of her like a second skin - glossy black, gloves added on top of her ensemble. The outline of her chastity belt clearly visible under the tight garment. Six weeks. That had been the deal. Six weeks of wearing the suit for 112 hours each week. She had thought it would be manageable.

She had been wrong. It was eating at her. Every waking moment was a reminder of what she had lost. Every squeak of latex beneath her coat, every bead of sweat trapped against her skin, every time she felt her breath warm the inside of the hood when she wore it inside Abyss, reminded her that this punishment hadn’t simply come from Abyss. It had come from herself. Her own suggestion. Her own terms.

A single orgasm, that’s what she had wanted. One night of touch. One release. One attempt.

Nadia had paid the price in rubber.

She slid into a seat near the window, keeping her head low, her hands gloved in latex resting in her lap. She hadn’t hidden her suit today. Alexandru had insisted.

"If we meet," he had written, "you’ll come as you are. Latex. Visible. No hiding what you endure. That’s the condition."

And she had agreed. Hesitantly, but honestly. She understood she had no leverage.

A few minutes later, he entered.

He was calm, tall, and somehow unbothered by the strange contradiction of his world - the man who had been the subject of a duel, now walking through a café toward one of the women who had lost him in more ways than one.

He wore a grey sports jacket over a black turtle neck pullover, his scarf draped loosely around his neck. His expression was neutral, but not cold. Still, he looked at her differently than before. Not with longing. With curiosity.

"Nadia," he greeted, sliding into the seat across from her. "You look… well."

She smiled bitterly. "As commanded. And as well as someone can look in public in latex."

He studied her silently for a few moments. "You’re not wearing the hood?" He asked jokingly.

"Only in Abyss," she said quietly, a serious response to his joke. "You know I’m not required outside Abyss."

He nodded. "But the rest?"

She held up her gloved hands, showed her rubber booted foot from underneath the table. "Still faithful. Full body. My final week has begun."

A moment passed between them. The silence wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t hostile either. Just charged.

He broke it first. "You asked for this meeting. What did you want to talk about?"

She looked out the window before replying. "The duel. The forfeit. Everything I lost. Everything I thought I could win."

He leaned forward slightly. "You thought you’d beat Elise."

She laughed, low and bitter. "I thought if I gave enough, risked enough, you’d see it. Appreciate me. You’d choose me. I imagined Elise locked away in chastity, forgotten, and me at your side. Devoted. Yours."

He didn’t respond immediately.

"I thought," she continued, "that if I played by Abyss’s rules, I could earn something real."

Alexandru exhaled slowly. "You tried. That matters."

She met his eyes. "But it didn’t change anything."

"No," he said. "It didn’t."

Silence returned, thicker now.

Finally, he spoke. "Elise and I are together ever since then. As a couple, committed."

"I know."

"We’re… good together. Better than I expected. She surprises me. She’s deeper than she lets on."

"And she won," Nadia said quietly.

Alexandru studied her. "She did."

Nadia’s eyes dropped to her gloved fingers, twisting slightly in her lap. "And now I’m like this. Every day. Wrapped in this thing, with another even crueler thing underneath, reminded every second of what I failed to keep."

He hesitated. "It’s cruel. But I have to admit… it’s compelling."

She looked up sharply.

"You’re saying you like it?"

"I do. I’m saying it’s hard to ignore. The image of you in latex. Your restraint. Your denial. Your discipline."

"Objectifying me," she muttered.

"Admiring you," he corrected. "You chose this. Even if it backfired, these things were your idea. You took the risk. That means something to me. To Elise too."

Nadia’s face twisted. "Don’t include me in your foreplay."

His tone cooled. "I’m not mocking you. I’m telling you that this - what you’re enduring - is part of what drew us closer. Your presence, even absent, is part of our story now."

Nadia sat still. Her breath was shaky. "So I lost you… and became fuel for your love life."

He didn’t flinch. "You made yourself unforgettable. And that’s more than most ever manage."

They sat in silence for a while. Their drinks arrived. Neither of them touched them.

She finally spoke. "Would it have been different, if I had won?"

Alexandru thought carefully before answering. "I don’t know. Maybe. But winning wouldn’t have changed how deeply Elise wanted me. Or how hard she was willing to fight. She is controlling. Always in control. She would never risk anything severe in Abyss, she told me. But she risked indefinite chastity when you asked for that. She put herself on the line for me. That… impressed me."

He continued. "But it was not only for me. It was for you as well. You had the audacity to challenge her over me, to a duel. Even if technically, Elise was asked if she’d challenge. But you set it up, the duel and the forfeit. You wanted to control her, her choice of partner, take away her orgasms. She wants you to pay for that, Nadia. Heavily. As heavy as she can make it."

She nodded slowly as a sliver of fear crept up her spine. "And now I’m paying with my latex enclosure… And my sacrifice for you, doesn’t it mean something?"

"I respect it," he said softly. "And yes, I find it beautiful. But I won’t pretend it changes where I am now."

"You’re with her."

"Yes."

"And you’re… happy."

He met her eyes. "I am."

She looked away, jaw tight.

"But I’m glad you’re part of it," he added.

She frowned. "You mean part of your story. Not mine."

"No," Alexandru said. "I mean your discipline - your denial, your suffering, your submission - it lives with us. We talk about it. We… think about it. It’s shaped us."

Nadia blinked, unsure how to process that.

Alexandru leaned in. "You may not have won. But you changed the game."

She exhaled slowly. Her latex-covered shoulders relaxed just slightly.

"Then let me ask you something," she said.

He waited.

"Do you ever wish it was me instead? That Elise lost?"

He looked down at his cup, then back to her.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But not because I don’t love her. Because there’s something in the sight of you - contained, restrained - that stirs something in me I didn’t expect. Having a strong woman like Elise in restraints is intoxicating. Had she lost, she would have been a part of our story as well. But I also know… had you won, you’d also wear a belt and that suit. For me instead for Elise."

She exhaled deeply, then paused. Then smiled faintly. "But I also know… had I won, I would have been happy if you held my chastity’s key."

She put her rubber gloved hand on the table, close to his cup. But he did not touch her hand. They sat there a while longer, the distance between them no longer awkward, but heavy. Nadia tilted her head slightly, eyes fixed on him, still holding the ghost of that faint smile. But something flickered behind it - curiosity, or maybe ache.

"That’s sweet, but you should know that I also enjoy that you are chaste now and neither of us has access to the key."

"Next month, it will be two years already. I miss it so much."

"I cannot lie, but I like that. Your burning is like a flame to be admired. It will not help when I tell you, it will be much longer."

"Does Elise wear a belt for you?" she asked, quietly.

Alexandru didn’t answer right away. He looked down again, fingers wrapping around the porcelain cup, then returned his gaze to her.

"No," he said evenly. "She wouldn’t."

Nadia blinked, once. "Because you wouldn’t ask her?"

He shook his head. "Because she’s not built for it. She’s fire. Sharp edges. She doesn’t submit easily - and that’s part of what keeps our rhythm. Every night is a new conquest. She likes to lead. To seduce. And I let her."

"And me? Are you sure the duel came out the right way?"

His answer was gentle. "You’re different. There’s a softness in you that doesn’t come from weakness. It comes from intention. You wanted to surrender. You wanted to be held there, to be shaped in that space. That’s rare."

She looked down at her gloved hands again, resting against the tabletop like something ornamental.

Alexandru leaned slightly forward. "I don’t want Elise in a belt. But I want someone in chastity for us. For me. You… being in denial - it completes something. Even if you’re not beside us. And beside the chastity, I do enjoy your rubber forfeit. The enclosure is severe. I enjoy it, a lot actually. I hold nothing against you, but I do like to see you sink into deep submission."

The words hovered for a moment.

Nadia sat very still. The café, the music, the warmth - all blurred behind the crackle of her chest.

"Then I’m a symbol," she said sadly. "A fantasy. Not a partner."

Alexandru’s face didn’t shift. "You’re part of our story. That’s more than most ever get."

She nodded slowly, eyes distant. The coffee cooled. The light shifted. And Nadia remained - a woman wrapped in latex, sealed in silence, but no longer invisible. When they parted, they didn’t touch. She watched him walk away, tall and sure, part of a world she had fought for and lost.

And she, clad in latex and sealed in steel, grabbed for her coat.

Reflections

The next day, a different café. Alexandru sat across from the woman who had taken risk and won. The coffee shop was warm and bustling, the hum of conversation mingling with the hiss of the espresso machine. Elise leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips as she stirred her cappuccino. Across from her, Alexandru, her partner in life and victory, mirrored her mood with a wide grin.

"Well," Elise began, her voice low but brimming with amusement, "it’s been five weeks, and I imagine dear Nadia is barely holding it together. I mean, could you imagine her pacing her apartment, dripping in sweat, trying to keep up with the hours in that rubber suit?"

Alexandru chuckled, lifting his latte to his lips. "I can’t lie - I’ve thought about it more than once. The visual is just… too good." He set his cup down, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "It’s not just the physical discomfort, though. It’s the psychological toll. The constant reminder of her failure. That suit clings to her as tightly as her shame."

Elise laughed, a light, airy sound that turned a few heads nearby. She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "And the weekends," she said, her eyes gleaming. "Twenty-three hours a day. Can you even fathom that? She has one measly hour to clean the suit, shower, and catch her breath. And if she misses even a single hour, well…" She let the sentence hang, her smile growing wider.

"The needle frame," Alexandru finished for her, his voice tinged with mock solemnity. "Six days, twenty-four hours each. It’s almost poetic, really. Evelyn knows how to make her lessons stick."

"Evelyn certainly does," Elise agreed, taking a sip of her cappuccino. "But you have to give us credit too. We were the ones who sealed her fate. That belt - " Elise’s eyes twinkled mischievously as she spoke, " - it started it all off. The rubber enclosure is just the cherry on top of her misery."

Alexandru leaned back, crossing his arms. "You know, I sometimes wonder if she truly thought she stood a chance against us. That first challenge? She walked in with all the confidence in the world, as if she could actually win."

Elise shook her head, her curls bouncing slightly. "If she had won, she’d be sitting here with you now and I’d be wearing a chastity belt. But confidence or desperation - it doesn’t matter. Either way, she was woefully unprepared. And now she’s paying the price. Do you think she regrets it yet?"

Alexandru thought back to his prior secret meeting in another café with Nadia. How she asked what could have been, had she won. Elise belted instead. Her being at his side instead. He didn’t choose between both women’s attraction, and the fateful duel had decided for him. In the back of his mind, indecision still lingered.

"Oh, I’d not be sitting here with her, you know I’m into you, and yes, undoubtedly, she pays the price in orgasms she’ll never experience. And isn’t that the sweetest aphrodisiac we could ask for? I come so much stronger with you, knowing that she goes untouched, even by her own hands." Alexandru said, his voice rich with amusement. He did not add that he’d more than once imagined Elise losing, and in the belt, and the thought of her in heavy rubber was enticing. As frequent visitors to Abyss they were no strangers to including latex in their unisons, but he would avoid asking the full and heavy enclosure, hooded, from Elise as she should not think that he’d picture Nadia under him.

"And can you imagine her trying to get through the workweek? Sitting at her desk, knowing that as soon as she gets home, the suit is waiting for her? And the weekends? She must dread them like nothing else."

Elise’s laughter returned, softer this time but no less delighted. "The weekends are my favorite part. The thought of her lying in bed, encased in that rubber suit, counting the minutes until she can take it off for an hour… It’s exquisite. And all this for an attempt to get a single orgasm."

Alexandru raised his latte in a mock toast. "To your’s and Evelyn’s genius," he said.

"And to Nadia’s downfall," Elise replied, clinking her cappuccino cup against his.

For a moment, the two sat in companionable silence, their smiles lingering as they sipped their drinks. The coffee shop bustled on around them, oblivious to the dark delight they took in the suffering of another.

"You know," Alexandru said after a moment, his tone thoughtful, "I wonder what she’ll do when the six weeks are up. She’s got one left, right?"

Elise nodded. "Yes, just one. I wish we could keep her in this suit for longer. But what can we do? And what can she do? The belt isn’t coming off for a day unless Evelyn says so, and we both know Evelyn isn’t about to budge. If she wants to risk another gamble, Evelyn would consult me first. I get so hot knowing that my competitor is a puddle of unfulfilled lust. It makes my own orgasms so much stronger as well. And the belt never comes off as long as we are together."

"True, and it sucks for her that our love is still growing strong." Alexandru mused. "But people like Nadia - they’re stubborn. She might try to challenge someone else, thinking she can bargain her way out of this mess."

Elise smirked. "She’s banned from challenging for a while now. And after that she’ll fail. Again. Because people like her always do. And nobody takes her serious anymore."

Alexandru chuckled, leaning forward. "And when she does try her next act, I hope we get front-row seats."

"Darling," Elise said, her tone playful, "I wouldn’t miss it for the world."

They finished their drinks, their conversation turning to lighter topics. But the satisfaction lingered, a quiet undercurrent of triumph that neither could quite shake. For Elise and Alexandru, this was more than just a victory - it was a vindication, a reminder that in the world of Abyss, power and control belonged to those who knew how to wield them.

Just your normal night

Evelyn stood in the dimly lit heart of Abyss, the pulsing beat of the music vibrating through the floor beneath her. Despite the grueling preparation for her own challenge, the weekend routine called for her unwavering presence. She adjusted the elegant black latex gown that clung to her figure, the weight of her hostess duties pressing down as heavily as the spikes in the Stilettos of the Languished Arches she had been training in.

Tonight, like every weekend, she would oversee the club’s signature ritual - a dance challenge designed to entertain the dark desires of Abyss’ patrons.

Evelyn’s gaze swept over the crowd, her eyes cold and calculating. The club’s energy was electric, fueled by anticipation and the ever-present undercurrent of pain and pleasure. She knew precisely who she was looking for tonight - a guest who had caught her attention with her daring spirit and hypnotic moves on the dance floor. And tonight she was here again. And tonight she would dance.

Her eyes landed on Camelia, the striking young ballerina with auburn hair cascading in waves down her back. She moved with confidence, her body swaying effortlessly in her crimson latex catsuit to the rhythm of the music. Camelia exuded a fearless energy that intrigued Evelyn - a perfect candidate for tonight’s performance.

With a subtle nod to one of the silent attendants, Evelyn made her choice. The attendants let the spotlight seemingly wander for a minute over the crowd before slowing to a stop right on Camelia. Camelia’s eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and fear as she allowed herself to be guided towards the elevated stage.

Behind the heavy velvet curtains of the stage, Evelyn waited. As Camelia stepped in, her confident demeanor faltered slightly under Evelyn’s intense gaze.

"Welcome, Camelia," Evelyn said, her voice smooth and commanding. "Tonight, you have been chosen for a special performance - a test of your endurance and grace."

Camelia hesitated for only a moment before nodding, her curiosity outweighing any hesitation. "I figured."

Evelyn’s lips curled into a faint smile. "Good. Your outfit and heels await."

From a shadowed alcove, another attendant emerged, carrying a sleek black box. Inside was a tailored, form-fitting outfit - a deep crimson latex bodysuit adorned with intricate silver patterns nodules that shimmered ominously in the low light. The matching high heels were red, slender and elegant, but their true nature was revealed when Camelia examined them closer. The insoles were lined with subtle nodules, beneath which lay dormant spikes ready to activate with every misstep or pause.

"These are the Heels of the Enchanted Flames," Evelyn explained, her tone both instructive and ominous. "They will ignite with each movement, pushing you to maintain perfect rhythm. The spikes will remain hidden as long as you dance flawlessly. But should you falter… you will feel their bite."

Camelia’s expression hardened with determination. Evelyn gave her a bit of privacy as the silent attendants helped her slip into the bodysuit, the slick and oily rubber hugging her form, and then stepping into the heels, adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation beneath her soles.

Moments later, the curtains parted, and Camelia stepped onto the stage under the intense gaze of the crowd. The music shifted, a deep, pulsating beat filling the room. Camelia began to move, her body flowing with the rhythm, each step deliberate and precise.

Evelyn watched from the sidelines, her expression unreadable. Camelia danced with a mix of grace and ferocity, her movements captivating the audience. The heels responded to her every motion, the nodules pressing subtly against her soles, a constant reminder of the stakes.

As the tempo of the music increased, so did the complexity of Camelia’s performance. She twisted and turned, her feet gliding across the stage with practiced elegance. The spikes remained dormant, but the threat of their activation hung in the air, adding a palpable tension to the performance.

The crowd was entranced, their eyes fixed on Camelia as she pushed herself harder, her body moving in perfect synchronization with the music. Sweat glistened on the few remaining parts of exposed skin, but her resolve never wavered.

As the final note of the music echoed through the club, Camelia struck a final, dramatic pose, her chest rising and falling with exertion. The audience erupted into applause, their cheers a mix of admiration and disappointment.

Evelyn stepped forward, her heels clicking against the stage as she approached Camelia. "You’ve done well," she said, her voice carrying an edge of bitterness. "Few can endure the flames without faltering."

Camelia smiled, the adrenaline of the performance still coursing through her veins. "Thank you," she said breathlessly.

Evelyn gestured for the attendants to guide Camelia offstage, where she would be rewarded for her performance. As the curtains closed, Evelyn turned her attention back to the crowd, the night’s events far from over.

As the evening wound down and the sun started to rise, Evelyn retreated to her private chamber, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Despite the pressures of her own impending trial, she had fulfilled her role as hostess. With the control she had always wielded, she wondered why she was struggling to even make it halfway through the seventh song while the redheaded woman was the star of the evening. She would have so much enjoyed the view of deep pressure marks under her bare soles, wishing to inspect the inflicted pain closely. Or to hear her scream in a needle frame. But she was even polite and likable, and ever so unlikely to challenge her to a dance duel. Camelia’s screams would be the sweetest melody for her on a night like this, but now she went to bed hungry as this melody remained unsung.

Yet, the looming challenge of the Seventh Circle of Hell lingered at the edges of her mind. The endurance it demanded far surpassed anything she had faced tonight. Even as she maintained her poised exterior, a flicker of doubt threatened to creep in. She needed more energy. Camelia had endured and Evelyn stayed hungry and weaker. She needed to act, inflict pain or denial.

Shaking off the thoughts, Evelyn reminded herself that she had survived Abyss for decades. She would endure again. For now, her duties as hostess were complete, and she could turn her focus back to her own impending battle.

The Second Circle of Hell

Relieved but exhausted, they set the dildo down. It had taken almost a month to make it through the song. The phone buzzed almost immediately with a new notification:

"Congratulations. Your next piece is ‘Abyss: The Second Circle of Hell.’ Duration: 4 minutes and 25 seconds.", combined with another link.

Mina stared at the screen, her heart sinking. "This isn’t going to stop, is it? There are seven circles in hell."

Lena sighed, the weight of the challenge pressing down on her. "It’s only going to get harder. But we have no choice. We have to keep going."

Unbeknownst to them, for an countless time, in a chamber in Abyss a woman went down on her knees with a scream of despair again after a particular long and fast section. Spikes were extended fully inside her locked high heels, pointing into the soles of her feet. She could bear them, but not the cramp in her leg.

Over the next few days, Lena and Mina devoted themselves to mastering the cursed clarinet. They got better quickly, after having finally figured out their movements and rhythms while beating the first song. Each new piece brought fresh challenges - longer durations, more complex melodies, and faster tempos. The studs and spikes were ever-present, punishing them for the slightest mistake, but with each session, their synchronization improved.

They learned the demands of the Clarinet, and how to control the studs which raked their insides, until it became too much and they got stung. The studs were retracting when they danced with long and full strokes on their dildo ends, they were able to sometimes swing in sync, sliding them out until all silver nodules were exposed and then sliding in a synchronized motion back onto them until they were all gone, their nether lips touching over the metal center piece.

The clarinet became an extension of their shared determination. They learned to anticipate each other’s movements, their breaths falling into perfect harmony. The pain from the spikes became less frequent as their confidence grew, but the knowledge that a single slip could undo their progress kept them on edge.

Every time they completed a song, they received a new notification with the next piece. The titles were increasingly ominous, each one hinting at the escalating difficulty:

Abyss: The Third Circle of Hell - 6 minutes and 42 seconds.

Abyss: The Fourth Circle of Hell - 10 minutes and 15 seconds.

Their bodies ached from the their practice, often multiple attempts at one circle per evening. Sometimes they did not dance on their dildos at all, allowing them to recover, being bruised from the relentless spikes after to many mishaps. Yet, they persevered, driven by a desire to uncover the secret the clarinet promised to reveal.

Dancing their way into the fourth circle, the clarinet stayed smooth under these long and very deep moves, while they pounded into each other and moaning wildly when their nether lips kissed with the Clarinet swallowed fully by them. Even after this song ended they found themselves in each other’s embrace, kissing deeply. A big wet spot ruined their bedsheets.

"Yelena, oh god, oh god," Mina gasped, drawing in air, breaking their kiss. Her Cap and capped Rings pulsed heavily with a life of their own.

"Cosmina," Lena whispered, drawing her close again and resuming the kiss.

---

One evening, after successfully completing "Abyss: The Sixth Circle of Hell," Lena’s phone buzzed again. They hesitated before reading the next notification:

"Prepare for ‘Abyss: The Seventh Circle of Hell.’ Duration: 3 hours."

Lena and Mina exchanged a horrified glance, the enormity of the challenge sinking in. Three hours of continuous play, with no room for error, no respite from the studs, and the spikes if they faltered.

"This is insane," Mina whispered, her voice trembling. "How can they expect us to do this?"

Lena shook her head, her expression grim. "It’s a test. They want to push us to our limits, see if we’ll break."

Mina sighed, her resolve wavering. "What if we can’t do it? What if the spikes…"

Lena placed a hand on Mina’s shoulder, her gaze steady. "We’ve come this far. We can’t give up now. Whatever this clarinet is leading us to, it has to be worth it, Cosmina."

They knew the road ahead would be grueling, the clarinet’s challenges more punishing than ever. But they also knew that their bond, forged through shared pain and determination, was stronger than any curse.

As they prepared for the next grueling session, the haunting lure of the clarinet echoed in their minds. The path was dark and fraught with suffering, but they would face it together, driven by the hope that the clarinet’s secret would one day bring them closer to redemption - or something even more profound.

Luxury

Ana sat in her apartment, bathed in the soft amber light of her desk lamp, surrounded by quiet and luxury - the kind of comfort she never thought she’d afford just a year ago. It was silent save for the gentle hum of her wine cooler and the low ambient drone of her air purifier. In front of her, her Abyss ledger glowed faintly on her tablet screen, confirming her steady, satisfying financial trajectory.

She had grown her modest monthly stipends from Abyss into something impressive. Between her new position in a prestigious architecture firm - a connection Evelyn had effortlessly arranged - and her savings, Ana was finally above water. More than that, she was sailing. Her bills were paid before they were due, her fridge was always full, and for the first time in years, she had investments that bore actual fruit.

But none of that eased the gnawing heat between her thighs.

Just a six months into her second year of chastity, Ana was nearing her limit. What had once been a tolerable, even empowering, arrangement had morphed into a daily torment. Her thoughts, once sharp and focused, now wandered with alarming frequency. Simple things - the curve of a cup, the gentle hum of her phone vibrating on her nightstand - made her squirm. She barely slept. Her dreams were saturated in lust. Her entire being was coiled so tightly she feared she’d snap.

She had seen Nicoleta’s performance on the pillow last weekend. Even if she didn’t find fulfillment, it had awoken the hunger in Ana again. And she knew she couldn’t last another half year. She couldn’t even wait for the second year to run to completion.

The chastity belt around her hips, once a silent ally against temptation, had become a cruel jailor. It no longer just restricted; it dominated. She was past languishing. She was drowning.

Which is why, the next Friday evening, she returned to Abyss.

She dressed with more care than usual. Full latex. Black, shining, slick. Her catsuit hugged her in ways that made her both tremble and resentful. The belt was still visible beneath, a faint outline of its rigidity distorting the smooth silhouette of her hips. She threw a thick cloak over her shoulders and walked to the club with slow, deliberate steps, each one reminding her of what pulsed inside her that she couldn’t touch.

The club welcomed her with its usual decadent ambiance. She drifted through the crowd, heading straight to Evelyn’s private lounge.

Evelyn was already there, lounging in one of the oversized armchairs like a queen of shadows. Her wine glass glinted in the candlelight. "Ana," she purred, a slow, pleased smile curving her lips. "I sensed you’d come soon."

"Mistress, I can’t keep doing this," Ana said without preamble. Her eyes were glassy with restrained frustration. "I have everything now. The job, the money, the security. I just… I need something else. Something emotional."

Evelyn tilted her head. "You want sexual relief."

Ana nodded slowly, her voice barely audible. "Yes."

Evelyn swirled her wine and took a sip, studying her. "No. You got the money. We got to keep your satisfaction away from you. You enjoy the fruits of your labor and investments. We enjoy the sexual energy drained from your languished pussy. The contract stands. Two years minimum. You have still six months to go. You could simply wait. Endure, and languish."

"I know. But it’s unbearable now. Seeing Nicoleta on the pillow, even if she didn’t come, it has reminded me of how much I miss it. I’m asking if there's a way to… buy a reprieve. A loophole."

Evelyn set her glass down and stood with deliberate grace. She circled Ana once, slowly. "What you want cannot be bought with money. There are no loopholes in Abyss. Only games."

Ana didn’t flinch. "Then offer me a game. Just as Nicoleta got one."

Evelyn's smile turned foxlike. "Very well. Win, and you will experience a night of unparalleled ecstasy. The attendants will see to your every edge, every cry, every tremor. You will be worshipped by tongues unworldly, patient, and perfect. Orgasms beyond anything you have ever felt."

Ana’s heart skipped.

"And if I lose?" she asked, already dreading the answer.

"A third year of chastity, naturally." Evelyn said softly.

Ana's stomach dropped. "No. I can't. I can't survive three years."

"Then refuse," Evelyn said. "Or let me offer you something… gentler."

Ana waited, tense.

"A night of attention from the attendants," Evelyn said. "But no release. Only edging. Just like Nicoleta. If you envy her, then edging is enough for you. Denied again and again until the night is over. Even without orgasm, this will be a night you won’t forget."

"And the price?"

"Should you fail the game, you will be sentenced to one night in the needle frame. With the toe pads engaged."

Ana went cold. The foot pads. She had only seen them used once, and the memory had haunted her. Delicate metal arms, sliding sharpened tips beneath each toenail, dancing with the nerves. It was the most feared variant of the needle frame.

"What’s the challenge?" she whispered.

Evelyn walked to the velvet curtain and drew it back to reveal a pedestal. Upon it stood the "Infernal Spires." Clear, cruel, already gleaming.

"Endure ten minutes on them. Just ten. You need not move. Just stand."

Ana stared at them, then slowly nodded. She weighted her options. She had worn them before. Felt their painful bite into her soles. She lasted more than ten minutes. She could do it. "I accept."

Evelyn smiled. "Then remove your shoes. You will do this immediately."

The stage was private but visible to a small lounge of patrons. Ana was stripped to her latex suit, her bare feet trembling as she approached the heels. The memory of her last forfeit - seventeen grueling minutes on the same heels - sent a spike of doubt through her. But this time, she wouldn’t let her body betray her. Ten minutes. That was all.

She stepped into the Infernal Spires.

The spikes met her soles like old friends. Not with surprise, but with familiarity. They didn’t pierce - they never did - but they whispered pain with every micro-adjustment. Ana closed her eyes. She could feel the imprints on her feet from last time tingling, aligning with the spikes.

The timer began.

The first two minutes were tolerable. She found a rhythm with her breath, her knees locked, her shoulders square. But the spikes had memory. They knew her weak spots. Minute three arrived, and her arches began to spasm. Her toes clenched involuntarily.

Minute five. Sweat pooled at her collarbone. Her thighs shook.

Minute seven. She whimpered. Her arms trembled.

Minute nine. Her balance was compromised. She swayed.

Minute ten. She gasped aloud, tears streaking down her face as the bell chimed.

She had made it.

Evelyn appeared at her side, her gloved hands steadying Ana as she collapsed into her arms.

"You may enjoy your reward," Evelyn whispered. "Follow me to the bedroom."

Ana was trembling when Evelyn summoned her to the Inner Sanctum. It was a room whispered about in the lounges of Abyss but never shown to guests. Even those who had signed long-term contracts or served humiliating forfeits rarely glimpsed it. Tonight, it was hers.

She followed a silent attendant through a narrow, dim corridor, the only sound the faint swish of latex against polished marble. Her heart thundered in her chest, not out of fear, but anticipation. Not because she expected release, but because she didn't know what awaited her. It was the mystery, the promise of something exquisitely unbearable.

The door to the chamber opened silently. Warm amber light spilled out, illuminating a room that looked more like a sanctuary than a dungeon. Dark velvet curtains adorned the walls, and in the center of the space lay a wide bed draped in black latex sheets. It shimmered like oil in the soft light. Three figures awaited her.

Inside, the chamber was luxurious yet stark. Shadows clung to the corners of the dark velvet walls, and a large bed - circular and covered in shimmering black latex sheets - dominated the center.

"Welcome, Ana," she said softly, her voice smooth as glass. "Are you ready to receive what you wagered for?"

Ana nodded. Her throat was dry. She wanted to speak, but words felt too heavy, too fragile.

"Good," Evelyn said, stepping forward. She gave a silent signal. Two attendants appeared from the shadows, clad in skintight latex suits with high collars, open nostrils and exposed mouths - nothing else of their faces visible. They moved with a grace that defied normal motion, a liquid smoothness that sent a thrill down Ana's spine.

"Your catsuit and belt," Evelyn said gently. "They will be removed for now."

With surprising care, the attendants unzipped the thick suit from Ana's body. The air was cool against her heated skin as the latex was peeled back. The belt followed - her constant, unrelenting companion for so many months. The feeling of it being unlocked, even briefly, was so overwhelming Ana shivered. Naked, she was helped into a fresh latex catsuit, thinner and more form-fitting, almost like a second skin. It was open at the crotch. It was slick, polished, and warm.

Matching latex gloves and socks followed, then a tight, seamless latex hood that was pulled over her head. Only her mouth remained uncovered - effectively blindfolding her along the way, plunging her into perfect darkness.

She heard Evelyn’s voice again, now a distant murmur. "You will not speak tonight. You will not move without guidance. You will not be allowed to touch. The attendants will ensure your night is unforgettable."

Ana nodded faintly.

She was helped onto the bed, and laid down with reverent care. Her limbs were gently restrained - not harshly, but enough to ensure her helplessness. She could feel the presence of more figures around her. The scent of latex and something… stranger, more exotic, filled her nostrils. It was heady, intoxicating.

The first touch came like a whisper.

A warm breath at her ear. Then another at her inner thigh. Soft hands held her, stroking the latex over her skin in careful, maddening patterns. And then - something else. Something not quite human. A tongue, longer and smoother than anything she’d known, touched her inner thigh, then retreated. A new breath, this time from another direction, as though three shadows danced around her in perfect synchrony. She didn’t see it, but she imagined it. In her mind, it wasn't human. It couldn’t be. No human tongue could move like that, so precise, so invasive, touching where she ached most. It was maddening. Exquisite. Like they read her mind, they circled, tasted, but never gave.

The tongues never touched her directly where she longed to be touched. They circled, traced, teased. Ana arched against her restraints, moaning softly despite herself. Every breath, every flicker of movement, every brush of heat and pressure brought her closer to a peak that never arrived. Only her mouth and nether lips were visible in her latex outfit.

She came close. So close. Dozens of times. Her body trembling, her lips forming silent pleas, but they never let her fall. They always knew. Always retreated, paused, circled back with a fresh, maddening rhythm that brought her even closer the next time.

Hours passed. She lost track of time entirely. Her body glistened with sweat beneath the latex. She panted, whimpered, arched. She was held on the cusp of something deeper than climax, something that transcended it. A state of blissful torment, as a tongue curved and curled in unnatural ways around her clitoris. She never was so close in all her life.

Time lost all meaning.

They toyed with her gently but mercilessly, stroking her just to the brink of release before pulling away. Sometimes they pressed her thighs wider, sometimes they held her hands, and sometimes they simply held her. But always, always, the tongues returned. Every movement of their mouths was an artform - delicate, deliberate, and devastating. A tongue slid into her, parting her nether lips, entered deep. No tongue could be so long, so flexible. It reached to her cervix, grazing it with its tips, drawing unknown feelings out of Ana.

Ana whimpered, gasped, begged without words. Her body writhed against the restraints, her latex-coated form slick with sweat. Her mind floated somewhere beyond consciousness, tethered only by the never-ending ache of desire.

She felt fingers brush her cheek, almost tenderly. Then another wave of heat swept over her, her hips lifting involuntarily before a third tongue pushed her back into restraint. She couldn’t scream. There was no voice left.

Three times, she fainted from the sheer intensity. Each time she awoke, the teasing resumed, as though no time had passed at all. Her body was an instrument, played by unseen, otherworldly hands. It was the most sensual torment she had ever known.

In the early morning hours, she slipped into true unconsciousness.

When she awoke, the chamber was quiet. Her restraints were gone. The catsuit had been stripped from her. She lay nude atop the latex sheets, trembling from exhaustion. Her hips ached. Her breath was shallow.

She blinked up at the dim ceiling, trying to understand what was real and what had been a dream. But the cold weight at her waist told her the truth: the belt had been refastened.

A single note lay beside her on the pillow, handwritten in elegant script:

"We hope you enjoyed your night. You’ll find no greater pleasure in freedom than in longing. - E."

Ana closed her eyes. Her entire body still hummed. She had been gifted the stars for a night, only to be returned to earth - bound, aching, and desperate again.

And she would never forget it.

The Flickering Candle

The pulsing energy of Abyss filled the air Evelyn spotted that Camelia had entered the club once more. Her auburn hair shimmered under the dim lights, a wild contrast to her blue elegant latex dress, and her confident stride exuded a sense of excitement. She still believed her selection the previous week had been a stroke of luck - a random chance that had allowed her to shine. Tonight, she felt ready to enjoy the atmosphere, blissfully unaware of Evelyn’s plans.

Evelyn, from her usual vantage point, watched Camelia closely. The flawless performance had irked her, but more than that, Camelia’s ability to endure without breaking while she herself struggled in the Seventh Circle of Hell had stirred something darker within Evelyn - a desire to see her crumble under the weight of true pain. Tonight, she would orchestrate that fall. Indeed she had waited the last weekends until she spotted her again in the crowd to bring out the props she had in wait for her.

The centerpiece of the evening’s entertainment was the Wheel of Fortune, a large, ornate structure that glittered under the club’s shifting lights. Divided into three segments - Luck, Misfortune, and a small section labeled Fate - the wheel offered a tantalizing mix of outcomes.

While the dancing on the floor was in full swing, some patrons meandered towards the wheel, eager to see who would tempt fate. A guest stepped forward, encouraged by the silent attendant, and gave the wheel a vigorous spin. The symbols blurred as the wheel spun, slowing down before landing on Luck. The crowd cheered as the guest was handed a small envelope filled with cash. Several other guests, both male and female, played the game, most landing on luck, receiving little cash prizes or free drinks. Some landed on misfortune, having to strip one article of clothing. Under some laughter this left a woman in a latex catsuit and heels in the nude, as shoes did not count here. She did not dare a second spin.

Camelia, emboldened by the excitement and seeing most people spinning Luck, and by the reassurance of her underwear beneath her dress, stepped forward next. A silent attendant hovered near the wheel, hand resting lightly on a hidden switch beneath the surface. Camelia grasped the wheel and gave it a confident spin, unaware of the attendant’s subtle manipulation.

The wheel spun, the symbols dancing around the needle. As it slowed, the crowd watched in anticipation. The needle clicked past Luck, hovered briefly on Misfortune, and then settled decisively on Fate. The music faded away, drawing the attention the crowd. A collective gasp echoed through the room, followed by a ripple of whispers.

Evelyn’s smile widened, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. Everything was going according to plan. "It seems, the wheel has found the performer for tonight’s dance challenge, the Flickering Candle," she spoke into the microphone.

Camelia was ushered to the stage, where Evelyn awaited with a carefully curated challenge. The attendant presented a sleek, black box, which Evelyn opened with a flourish. Inside lay a pair of delicate boots, their design belied the torment they promised. They reminded the onlooker of ballet heels, but not exactly, more like 6 inch high heels, but without an actual heel.

"These," Evelyn began, her voice dripping with anticipation, "are the Ballet Shoes of Torment. As they have an extreme heel, they will elevate you onto your toes, forcing you to dance on the balls of your feet and the tips of your toes. The soles are translucent, allowing all to see the delicate needles beneath. Luckily, for our dancer, there are no needles under her toes or the balls of her feet, but they perfectly follow along the delicate arch of the foot. They will remain dormant as long as your performance is flawless. But any hesitation, any falter… and they will remind you of the price of imperfection. And to match your delicious auburn hair, you will be dressed as a flame."

Camelia’s eyes widened as she took in the shoes, the translucent soles revealing the fine, sharp needles underneath. A flicker of doubt crossed her face, but there was no way back now. The attendants led her behind the curtain and three songs later, they opened up, revealing the set-piece for the evening.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present the Flickering Flame."

Camelia stood atop a small white pedestal, only half a foot in diameter, but four feet high, dressed in a yellow catsuit. With her long flowing red hair, she did indeed resemble a flame emerging from a white candle. With some unease she shuffled forth and back, managing her high-heeled shoes upon the small platform. She was secured in a harness.

"Camelia will be our dancing flame, waving and swaying to the rhythm of the music. If she flickers, her boots will reprimand her. And if she falls, we don’t want her to break her ankles. So we have our safety harness to catch her. It is slack now, but will let her dangle freely with her feet off the ground should she slip. The catch is however, that the leather crotch piece of the harness is lined with needles. A saddle worthy of riding into the Abyss! Do I need to emphasize that Camelia’s catsuit’s crotch zipper is held wide open underneath?"

The crowd cheered and then hushed as the music began - a haunting, slow melody that promised to test Camelia’s every move. She started swaying like a flame in a soft wind, her body moving gracefully despite the unnatural position of her feet. The boots forced her to balance delicately, her movements precise and careful.

Evelyn leaned forward from her perch, her eyes fixated on Camelia’s translucent soles, drinking in the sight of her at-risk arches. Every step revealed the needles poised beneath, waiting for the slightest mistake. The visual was mesmerizing, like a lava lamp, the anticipation of pain hanging thick in the air.

As the music quickened, Camelia struggled to keep up. Her sways more erratic, balance wavered, and in that brief moment, the needles jabbed into the soft flesh of her soles. She gasped, a sharp cry escaping her lips, but she pressed on, determined not to falter again. The flame had started to flicker.

Evelyn’s smile deepened, her gaze never leaving the sight of the needles pressing into Camelia’s feet. Each misstep brought another jab, the translucent soles revealing the tiny needles extending and retracting with mechanical precision into her arched soles.

The music went on for several more minutes, a spectacle of beauty and pain, and Camelia’s strength began to falter. The pain grew unbearable, each misstep sending sharp shocks through her body. Finally, with a misstep, another jab and she slipped off the platform. A guttural scream escaped her mouth, her face fixed in shock as her full weight connected the crotch needles to her holiest. She swayed spasming in her harness the sudden lack of pressure under her heels triggering the shoes’s mechanism fully. The needles extended to their maximum, moving into the place of maximum pain. Camelia shrieked in agony, unable to reach the floor, the sharp points embedding themselves deeply into the arches of her soles. Desperation overtook her as she flailed helplessly in mid air. Evelyn drank in her emotions, her aura, her presence growing by each second of screaming.

After a minute, she was slowly lowered to the floor, where her body went prone, her weight taken off of the crotch. Her hands shot to her crotch first, then to her boots, but the locking mechanism held fast.

The crowd watched in stunned silence, a mixture of fascination and horror playing across their faces. Evelyn, however, reveled in the sight. Camelia’s cries were a symphony to her ears, each note a testament to her triumph. She had waited long to hear this melody.

Camelia thrashed on the stage, her hands scrabbling at the boots, tears streaming down her face. "Please, take them off!" she screamed, her voice brittle with pain.

Evelyn stepped forward, her expression calm, almost serene. "This is the price of imperfection, Camelia," she said softly. "You’ve danced beautifully, but every performance must end."

As the attendants moved to release Camelia from the cursed shoes, and offered soothing balms. Evelyn returned to her perch, the satisfied gleam in her eyes betraying her inner pleasure. The crowd erupted into applause, the intense spectacle seared into their minds.

Camelia was helped offstage, her body still trembling, the echoes of her screams still reverberating through the club. Evelyn watched her go, her mind already turning to the next weekend, the next challenge, the next symphony of pain.

Tonight had been a success - a masterful blend of grace, torment, and spectacle. Tonight had been a minor victory, she orchestrated perfectly the fall into deep pain of the woman she desired third most to see in needles. The other two of course being busy to get their insides raked and hopefully never be able to withstand that for three hours. She would replay this scene in her mind later in bed when she would be very happy not be wearing a Cap of Despair herself. Tonight had been a distraction from the challenge she actually feared. Her own pair of the Stilettos of the Languished Arches were waiting in her chamber.

---

The spies were quiet, as they always were, but the reports they brought her were rich with detail. Ana was spiraling. The reports showed increased physical agitation. Restlessness. Extended shower times. Weekly visits to Abyss where she did not speak - only watched. Only lingered.

Evelyn ran a gloved finger along the rim of her wine glass. She looked years younger, barely 40 anymore. In Abyss she wore a Venetian mask to hide the drastic change. Ana was languishing, and so was Alina, three years into her five year forfeit. Two woman starved of their sexual energy, brimming with need, drained by her. While the unfortunate guests who were drained by Evelyn and by Abyss itself, were in sexual frustration or even pain, they would not suffer other ill effects. There would be hollow eyes from lost sleep, tossing and turning with a leaking pussy and fingers not being able to slide underneath metal underwear. There would be screams in the basement, in the Needle Frame. Screams on the stage, with needles attacking unprotected soles. But no blood would be drawn, they still had enough energy for a normal life, but the sexual energy belonged to Abyss. To her. Nothing tasted better for her than the intense but unfulfilled need for an orgasm in long-term chastity. Served with a side dish of needle-induced pain. This was the sweetest food for her, the sweetest energy.

And Alina supplied a nice and steady base energy, which would continue to flow for two more years. She never stopped guests who were escalating the forfeits themselves.

And Nadia. She was delicate, her energy and desperation tasted so good. She was not used to denial before. Having her orgasms taken away by Abyss was pure sustenance. If Elise and Alexandru stayed together she would supply energy for a life time. Evelyn had designed this trajectory like a sculptor carving a statue from trembling flesh.

But Ana was always too careful. Too proud. So Evelyn had baited the trap with mercy. A soft challenge. A victory that felt earned. And a reward that tasted like paradise.

But longing would do what cruelty could not.

And longing was now Ana’s master.

Bound by Desire

The dim light of Lena’s apartment cast long shadows across the walls, creating a somber atmosphere that mirrored the weight both she and Mina carried. More than two years had passed since they had been cursed with the Caps of Despair and Rings of Longing, cursed bindings that kept their desires in constant torment. The fires of lust burned as intense as on the first day. Their passion remained, yet the chastity piercings stripped them of the fulfillment they needed.

The Cap of Despair dulled their time together, a constant, nagging reminder of their failings, while the Rings of Longing only heightened their unfulfilled desires, ensuring they could never fully satisfy their carnal cravings. The chastity made their growing closeness agonizingly bittersweet. Every intimate moment was tainted by the impossibility of consummation, leaving them yearning for what they could never truly have.

Despite their suffering, they found solace in the one activity that brought them closest: playing the Cursed Clarinet. The strange dual dildo, black with silver knobs and dimples hiding dormant spikes, was their shared burden and salvation. With its dual shafts, it required perfect synchronization, punishing any discord with sharp, sudden pain. The clarinet had become their most intimate connection, a means of expression where words failed. They had mastered its function, learning that synchronization of their movements would trigger the waves of spikes, while the penetration would expand or shrink the studs.

For months, they practiced daily, pouring their hearts into the complex pieces of the Seven Circles of Hell. The clarinet’s punishment was relentless, but their desire to succeed pushed them forward. Yet, no matter how hard they tried, they could never make it through the final, grueling piece - the seventh circle, a torturous three-hour endurance trial. Each attempt left them exhausted, physically and emotionally drained. What they could not master was the endurance required for the final songs duration.

One evening, after yet another failed attempt, they sat together in the quiet of Lena’s living room. The clarinet lay between them, its still glistening surface reflecting the soft light. Lena reached for Mina’s hand, their fingers intertwining as they shared a moment of silent connection.

"We’ll get through it one day," Lena whispered, her voice filled with quiet determination. "I know we will, Cosmina."

Mina nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I believe in us," she replied softly. "Even if it takes forever, I’m glad I have you, Yelena."

"It’s my languished soul speaking directly. For being with you, as close as we have grown, I think I can accept my chastity, accept that I will not orgasm again. I’m okay to be chaste for you, not for Abyss, not for Evelyn, but for you."

Lena pulled her close and kissed her partner again. "My dear, I love you too. It burdens me to see your soul languished, instead of your soles," smiling sheepishly at the word play.

The weight of their curse seemed to lift in that moment, replaced by the warmth of their shared bond. Their lips hovered close, the ache of their chastity palpable, but the emotional closeness they felt was enough, if only for a while.

As the night wore on, they found themselves lost in conversation, reminiscing about their first encounters at Abyss, the thrill of the dance, and the unspoken feelings that had grown between them. The pain of their unfulfilled desire was still there, a constant undercurrent, but the comfort of each other’s presence made it bearable.

Lena gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Mina’s face, her touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "No matter how hard this gets, we have each other. That’s what matters most."

Mina smiled, leaning into Lena’s touch. "As long as we’re together, I can endure anything."

They sat in silence, the clarinet resting nearby, a symbol of their shared struggle and commitment. Though the path ahead remained uncertain, and the torment of their curses continued to loom over them, they drew strength from their bond. Together, they would face whatever challenges came their way, finding solace in the love that grew stronger with each passing day.

The next morning, on a weekend, renewed by their emotional closeness, they approached their practice session with a fresh sense of determination. The Seventh Circle of Hell still loomed large, but they were resolved to face it together, one note at a time.

"Ready?" Lena asked.

Mina nodded, a confident smile on her face. "Let’s do this."

They soon found their rhythm, their connection deepening with every synchronized breath. The journey was far from over, but together, they would continue to fight, driven by the hope that one day, they would finally break free from the chains that bound them.

They knew the music and its beat by heart now, anticipating with perfection. They pushed deep over the dormant studs. For two hours and some, the smooth dildo was ridden, their nether lips touching, sweat flowing freely. Mina slipped eventually, losing a bit of her vigor, riding only a part of her side of the shaft. The studs responded instantly, surprising Lena on her side as she took the full length up to the center piece. Raked too deeply after two hours of hovering just under the edge, the unthinkable happened as the the studded dildo went in and out a few more time, hitting her deepest apex. She shuddered, her walls clenching down hard on the studs with the hunger of years, her muscles locked, toes curling into the bedsheet. A long cry escaped her mouth as the started to orgasm right here and there on the clarinet. Mina froze in total disbelief. Her surprise, unfortunately for Lena, triggered the retraction of the studs and their immediate replacement by the spikes. Her moan turned into a shrill shriek and her eyes flew open in a panic, as the spiked dildo plunged deepest into her apex, kissing her cervix in the most painful way.

Realizing what was happening, Mina slowly dismounted from her end and carefully helped retracting the pulsing instrument from a Lena who was writhing in pain.

As they sat at their table, Lena broke the silence, "We have found the way. Now we know."

---

Evelyn paced the length of her private chamber in Abyss, her feet already aching with every step even before she started the song. The Stilettos of the Languished Arches gripped her feet like a vice, the dormant spikes pressing just enough to remind her of their presence. Every night she practiced, and every night the weight of the seventh circle bore down on her more heavily.

The earlier circles had been a breeze, mere exercises of endurance she could easily conquer. But the Seventh Circle of Hell was an entirely different beast - three hours of relentless music, each note demanding perfection, each step threatening the sting of the spikes.

Evelyn’s confidence had carried her through the first six circles, but now, as the seventh loomed, doubt crept into her mind. The spikes pressed ever so slightly deeper with each misstep during her private practices, a cruel reminder of the stakes should she fail. The thought of enduring three uninterrupted hours in these heels seemed insurmountable, even in normal heels, at her age, even with her years of experience and her resilience honed over decades.

The fear wasn’t merely of failing the seventh circle. Evelyn knew that if she did not conquer it, the owners of Abyss would seize control of the stakes. The thought of the Needle Coffin - a device of long-term confinement - haunted her. She had heard the whispers of its design, a place where countless needles would press against the skin, never breaking it but creating a sensation of constant, maddening discomfort, and a sensor-laden tiny vibrator at the occupant’s clitoris. A promise of unending and unrelenting pain and unfulfilled arousal alternating. Retirement.

"If you fail, the owners will set the stakes, and the loser of the duel will find themselves retired within its comforting embrace." The words still echoed in her mind, chilling her to the core. Evelyn had built her life around control and dominance, and the idea of losing that, of being confined in such a horrific device, was unthinkable.

Despite her fear, one comforting thought lingered: the absence of any response from Lena or Mina. Since issuing the challenge with the cursed clarinet, she had neither seen them nor heard whispers of their progress. It was unlike Lena to stay away from Abyss for so long, especially with a challenge hanging over her head.

Evelyn sat down, her thoughts swirling. What could be keeping them? Were they struggling as much as she was? Or had they simply given up? The latter seemed unlikely, knowing Lena’s resilience and determination. But the uncertainty gnawed at her, feeding her anxiety about the impending duel.

She had expected some sign, some indication that Lena and Mina were working through the circles of the cursed clarinet. The silence was unnerving, leaving Evelyn to wonder if they were waiting for the right moment to return, stronger and more prepared.

The thought of the duel itself weighed heavily on Evelyn. If she couldn’t conquer the seventh circle, she would be at the mercy of the owners. They would set the stakes, and the needle coffin loomed as a terrifying certainty. The idea of being trapped, unable to move, feeling the incessant pressure of the needles, filled her with dread.

Evelyn clenched her fists, trying to shake the fear. She had always been in control, always the one dictating the terms. The thought of losing that control, of being at the mercy of others, was intolerable. Yet, the heels on her feet reminded her of the precariousness of her situation. Every step she took was a reminder of the stakes she faced, the ever-present possibility of failure. Despite her doubts, Evelyn knew she couldn’t afford to falter. The owners were watching, their expectations clear. She had to endure, had to push through the pain and conquer the seventh circle. It was the only way to retain her control, her position, her very identity within Abyss.

The thought of Lena and Mina lingering in the shadows, waiting for their moment, spurred her on. Evelyn had to be ready, had to ensure that when the time came, she could face whatever challenge lay ahead. The stakes were too high, the consequences too dire.

With the year coming to its end, new events to be planned in Abyss, Evelyn took a deep breath, steeling herself. The path was uncertain, the challenges daunting, but she had no choice but to continue. She would fight, endure, and conquer - or risk losing everything. She pressed play and the music started.

As she stood, the heels pressing into her feet once more, Evelyn resolved to push through the pain, to face the seventh circle with all the strength she could muster. The future of Abyss, and her place within it, depended on it.

---

Three weeks later, the heels of Ana’s boots struck the pavement like war drums. She didn’t wear a cloak. She didn’t hide the belt’s outline beneath her catsuit. She wanted them to see it. To feel what it meant.

Her latex was jet black, impossibly tight. As she moved, it creaked softly, like leather whispering secrets. The seams dug into her skin, her gloves slicked over her fingers. Each step sent a hum through her thighs, her calves trembling. Her breath came shallow.

The bouncer didn’t speak. He simply stepped aside. Ana entered Abyss.

Inside, the scent of warm latex, spiced oils, and candle smoke wrapped around her like a lover. The music pulsed low and steady. Bodies moved in shadows. Chains whispered. Laughter echoed from hidden rooms.

But Ana moved with purpose. She made for Evelyn’s private lounge without pause, her boots loud on the marble.

Evelyn was waiting, of course. Draped in blood-red latex, corset laced tightly, gloves reaching past her elbows. Her eyes, ancient and knowing, flicked to Ana’s form with amusement.

"You’ve returned with yet another demand," Evelyn said, rising slowly. Her voice was silk and poison. "So soon."

Ana pulled back her hood. Her hair tumbled free, damp from sweat. "I want it again. I need it. The sanctum. The tongues. I’ll do another challenge."

Evelyn approached, circling her like a cat. "You ache. I can feel it from here."

Ana bristled. "You planned this."

"Of course."

Ana’s voice cracked. "Then name it. Let me earn it."

Evelyn stopped in front of her. "Last time, you danced with mercy. You were given a stage with no audience, a pedestal that welcomed you like an old friend. This time, you must entertain."

Ana felt her throat tighten.

"The Stilettos of the Languished Arches," Evelyn whispered.

Neither shock nor delight was Ana’s reaction. Abyss’ standard heels. Malicious shoes, but tame compared to other high heels. She had watched others - dancers writhing on the stage, trying to stay in rhythm, every misstep punished by rising spikes beneath their feet.

Ana swallowed. "If I win - "

"You get the night," Evelyn said, smiling. "The tongues. The edging. The worship."

"And if I lose?"

Evelyn turned toward her chaise and sat slowly. "The needle frame. With toe pads installed. For a whole night. For your extreme desire to be met, I want to see if you are ready to risk extreme pain, under a real challenge."

Ana’s stomach twisted. She remembered the tales and rumors too well. Everybody knew, but few had personally experienced the foot pads. The thin, needles of the articulated pads, sliding beneath the toenails, forcing absolute stillness and punishing every twitch with sadistic pain. Was she ready to find out what they really felt like?

Sensing her hesitation, Evelyn explained, "You want extreme pleasure and we are ready to give you that. But we want extreme pain, and we ask you, are you ready to give us that as well? The toe pad addition is intense, I can tell you from personal experience. No blood drawn, but it’s a pain beyond comprehension when the needles invade under your toe nails. Of course you may decline this offer, but the Inner Sanctum will stay as locked as your belt."

Ana looked away. Her breath grew shallow.

"There is an alternative offer," Evelyn said quietly, sensing her ongoing hesitation.

Ana looked up.

"Should you choose," Evelyn continued, "to raise the stakes… should you truly crave something deeply satisfying, I can offer you something rare. And no pain if you should lose."

Ana didn’t speak. She simply stared.

"Orgasm," Evelyn said.

The word was a gunshot. A fire. Ana gasped. Her thighs clenched.

"Orgasm. On their tongues. You’ve lasted long," Evelyn said. "Going eight months into your second year already. That kind of denial carves new channels in the mind. It makes climax into a religion. Imagine it. Under their tongues, this is nothing comparable to a normal orgasm. No teasing. No denial. Just the fall."

Ana shivered. Her voice cracked. "And the price?"

"You desire most that what money can not buy you here. And you know what I desire most from you. Failure means a third year," Evelyn said.

Ana froze.

A third year.

Her thoughts spiraled. Could she survive that long? Could her mind remain whole? Would she become one of the silent ones - those who never laughed, only obeyed, locked for life?

She couldn’t. Not yet.

"No," she whispered. "Not yet. I want the night of edges instead. Edges are enough. No orgasm."

Evelyn smiled gently. "Wise. Then the terms are simple. Win, and the sanctum is yours. Lose, and you will learn that the pain runs as deep as the edges ran high. Pain all over your body and deep beneath your toenails."

Ana shivered, but nodded. "I agree."

Evelyn leaned in and kissed her forehead. "We have an event plan next week. The stage is will be yours the weekend after, Ana. And every eye in Abyss will be watching."

Company Woes

Emma’s workplace was abuzz with excitement as the year drew to a close. Rachel, Emma’s manager, had orchestrated a bold and unconventional plan for the company’s New Year’s celebration. She had made arrangements for the party to be hosted at Abyss, the infamous underground club that had become the focal point of office gossip ever since Emma’s supposed involvement in a duel there.

The breakroom chatter was relentless.

"Do you think she’ll do it?" Brian whispered to a group of coworkers, his voice barely containing his glee. "She’s got to, right? I mean, this is her place."

"I bet she was the blurred-face dancer in that duel," chimed in Rachel. "But would she risk it again? Especially with Celeste?"

The teasing didn’t stop there. Rachel herself had approached Emma with a sly grin. "You know, Emma, this could be an excellent opportunity for growth. Show everyone that you’re bold, fearless - the perfect candidate for that senior account manager position we’ve been discussing." She leaned in conspiratorially. "All you have to do is settle the score with Celeste and make our company shine. One duel, and the promotion is yours."

Emma’s stomach churned. The promotion was tempting, but the prospect of another public duel filled her with dread. She had barely managed to keep her identity concealed after the last one. Could she endure the spectacle again? At least they all would be together at the fetish club, the rumors and teasing would stop finally.

Unbeknownst to Emma, Rachel had taken her bold plan one step further. She had contacted Celeste’s company and proposed a joint venture for the New Year’s event, framing it as an opportunity for their employees to "explore teamwork and resilience." Celeste’s manager, eager to foster boldness and camaraderie, had agreed - and subtly hinted that Celeste would be expected to represent their team in a duel if challenged.

When Celeste received the news, she froze. The memories of her week in the Rubber Coffin came flooding back. She could still feel the oppressive heat, the slick, suffocating embrace of the rubber, and the maddening itch she couldn’t scratch. The isolation and discomfort had been etched into her mind, a constant reminder of her defeat.

"I swore I’d never go back," she thought, her hands trembling. But with her manager’s approval and the growing pressure from her coworkers, backing out wasn’t an option.

Evelyn, the ever-watchful hostess of Abyss, was delighted by the proposal. The idea of hosting a corporate New Year’s party filled with intrigue and competition was irresistible. Not having to come up with an extravagant idea for the infamous Abyss’ New Year, that would also free more time for her to focus on her practicing through the Seventh Circle of Hell in her spare time with her own pair of Stilettos of the Languished Arches. She agreed to waive the club’s usual latex -based dress codes for the guests, ensuring the event would be accessible to the employees of both companies. But Evelyn couldn’t resist adding her own twist to the stakes.

When Rachel and the other managers approached her to discuss the terms of the duel, Evelyn’s eyes gleamed with mischief. "We’ll make it a spectacle," she said. "But the stakes must match the grandeur of the event. A duel like this deserves consequences befitting its intensity."

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The loser will spend more than a week in the Rubber Coffin, you both will need to allow that leave of absence in case your championloses. And to make things more thrilling, the event - including the duel and the aftermath - will be prominently featured on Abyss’ social media channels."

The managers considered only for the shortest time, but Evelyn’s charisma won them over. By the time the deal was struck, the stage was set for a showdown unlike any other.

On New Year’s Eve, Abyss was alive with energy. Employees from both companies filled the club, their excitement palpable as they mingled and speculated about the night’s main event. Curious and fascinated they observed the latex-clad patrons. Emma and Celeste were called to the stage, both dressed in plain black catsuits, their faces flushed with a mix of nerves and determination.

As they stepped onto the stage, both women believed the stakes were similar to their last encounter. But Evelyn’s announcement shattered that assumption. "Ladies and gentlemen," she began, her voice dripping with theatricality, "tonight, we witness a clash of resilience and resolve. Two bold women, representing their companies, will face off in a duel of endurance and grace. The stakes are high, the consequences unforgettable."

She gestured to the needle-heeled shoes waiting at the edge of the stage. "Our contestants will don these exquisite heels, the Stilettos of the Languished Arches, designed to test their balance and precision. The duel will last until one dancer sinks to her knees, and the winner will claim their victory with pride and a promotion at their job. As for the loser…" She paused, letting the tension build. "…she will spend the next month in the Rubber Coffin. And their journey will be shared online with the world."

Emma’s heart sank, her pulse pounding in her ears. A month? she thought, panic rising in her chest. She glanced at Celeste, who looked equally horrified. The memories of her previous time in the coffin flashed across her mind, but the thought of enduring it for an entire month was almost unbearable.

"You can’t be serious," Celeste whispered, her voice trembling.

Evelyn’s smile didn’t waver. "The stakes are set. By your managers no less. I merely provide… the infrastructure. Now, shall we begin?"

The music began, a pulsing, relentless beat that demanded their full attention. Both women stepped into the needle heels, the nodules pressing waiting into the soles of their bare feet with every movement. The pain was ready to happen, but neither dared falter.

Emma started strong, her movements precise and controlled. She focused on the rhythm, her determination to win - and to avoid the coffin - pushing her forward. But as the minutes ticked by, the spikes began to take their toll. Her steps grew heavier, her balance faltering. The thought of the coffin’s slick, suffocating interior loomed over her, and she clenched her teeth, willing herself to continue.

Rachel and her teamed cheered her on, yelling encouraging phrases, "We believe in you, rubber girl!"

Celeste, fueled by the memory of her previous punishment, danced with surprising grace. The pain from the heels was excruciating, but it paled in comparison to the dread she felt at the thought of returning to the coffin. Her breaths came in sharp gasps, her legs trembling as she pushed herself beyond her limits. Also, her colleagues cheered her on. They gasped in horror when Celeste began to falter, her face distorting in agony as the spikes extended more and more often.

By the ten-minute mark, Emma’s movements became erratic. The spikes pressed deeper with every misstep, and her vision blurred with tears. Celeste, though barely holding on, found a second wind, her desperation and her memories of the coffin’s inside driving her forward. When Emma stumbled at the eleven-minute mark, the crowd erupted into cheers, Celeste’s victory sealed.

Evelyn stepped forward, her smile triumphant. "And so it is decided. Celeste, you have proven your resilience. Emma…" She turned to the defeated woman, her voice softening slightly. "Prepare yourself. Your month of reflection begins now."

The attendants guided Emma off the stage and toward the basement. Her coworkers watched in stunned silence, their earlier teasing replaced by a mix of sympathy and awe. Rachel, though disappointed by the outcome, couldn’t hide her fascination. As the lid of the coffin was sealed around Emma, she turned to her employees with a wry smile.

"Well," she said, raising her glass, "whether or not Emma was the original duelist, one thing is clear: she is now, without question, the official rubber girl of the company."

The room erupted into laughter and applause, the tension easing as the party resumed. But for Emma, sealed inside the Rubber Coffin, the month ahead promised to be a test of endurance unlike anything she had faced before. As the darkness closed in, she resolved to endure, knowing she would rise again. Her vibrator kicked in.

---

Mid-January, a few weeks after Lena’s orgasmic discovery, she had mastered the art of finding the occasional orgasm. The trick was Mina riding with her in sync to keep the spikes hidden, but riding her end only shallowly. They were successful twice, leaving Lena deeply fulfilled. Mina had been crying in Lena’s arm after their second time.

"It is so incredible frustrating and hard to keep riding with so little penetration and mimic exactly your motions when you are orgasming."

"And I thank you for it, I couldn’t have these orgasms without you. I will take any care for you in my power, my dearest Cosmina," Lena responded.

"I’m yours, Yelena.", Mina whispered, "… Mistress," she corrected herself. "I will stay chaste for you, if you so desire. For us being together, I’m willing to forego."

They hugged and kissed and retreated back into Lena’s bedroom.

Hooked

Ana stood behind the curtains, the hidden part of the stage, her heart thudding a slow, deliberate rhythm against her ribs. The air was cool, laced with the scent of latex polish and aged velvet. From beyond the crimson curtain, she could hear the hum of the crowd, their voices a low throb of anticipation.

She was dressed in nothing but her black latex catsuit, so tight it molded her body like wet ink. The Stilettos of the Languished Arches waited on a velvet cushion beside her. They gleamed under the soft stage light - elegant, spiked monstrosities. The insoles lined with embedded pain: fine-tipped nodules arranged with brutal precision, calibrated to reward stillness and punish imbalance.

---

These Heels! Ana and Evelyn looked at them together. For Evelyn they were no longer just a tool for her to use on others. Every night, in the dim privacy of her living room, Evelyn faced her private crucible. The Stilettos of the Languished Arches awaited her on a small pedestal, gleaming under a single spotlight like instruments of sacred torment. The pair already looked well-worn. She needed to complete her Seventh Circle of Hell before Lena or Mina could rise to challenge her. If she failed, she would lose the right to choose her own stakes - and risk the ultimate pain forfeit: the Needle Coffin, the tomb, the slow undoing of the mind and her very essence.

Each evening, Evelyn slid her aging feet into the towering heels, locking them into place with hands that never trembled outwardly but clenched tight inside. The energy of her victims helped a lot, but the Seventh Song was so very difficult.

For the first hour, she danced with calculated poise, her movements crisp, measured, and almost elegant. Years of control, discipline, and predatory patience served her well. She flowed over the stage, letting the music carry her, step after agonizing step over the needle-lined insoles that punished the slightest falter.

By the second hour, the edges of exhaustion crept into her muscles, betraying her body despite her will. Her calves tightened with slow, gathering cramps; her lower back flared with dull, persistent aches. The spikes, dull but pitiless, pressed deeper with every tiny misalignment, igniting flashes of pain that blurred the edges of her focus. She fought it. Gods, how she fought it - gritting her teeth behind smiling lips, keeping her spine straight and her pace unwavering. Yet inevitably, near the two-hour mark, the slow rebellion of her body became an uprising. Her calves locked into knots of agony, her knees quivered, and the pain in her soles became an overwhelming tide, drowning even her iron resolve. Collapse became inevitable - not dramatic, but bitterly humiliating. A slow sinking to the floor, her heels clattering against the polished marble as she knelt, trembling and gasping, before the music could finish.

The third hour - the final hour - remained a citadel she could not yet breach. She needed more energy. The Count was draining her, through these Heels, through her own soles. She needed to take in more than what was drained from her: Ana. She could not convince her to risk a third year in chastity. But that didn’t matter now. No, she didn’t need a slow flow, she needed to drain Ana fast and fully. She was more afraid of chastity than pain. She had agreed to forfeit pain, Ana had chosen to risk the Needle Frame over another extension of her chastity willingly.

Grace and control were still hers, but energy - life force… energy was slipping away, hour by hour, dance by dance.

Evelyn rose from the floor each night with a snarl of defiance twisting inside her chest. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow, she would conquer it. She would dance while Ana was screaming her lungs out in the Needle Frame, when her energy flowed at its peak.

---

Ana's gaze lingered on the Heels. Her toes curled in fearful expectations. She could already feel the spikes pressing against her memory. Evelyn appeared then, as she always did - silent and inevitable. Her figure draped in garnet latex, her corset cinched to architectural severity. She moved like inevitability given form.

"They’re waiting," Evelyn said softly, pointing at the Heels. Ana nodded, but her mouth was dry. Her limbs felt heavier than they should have. Each step forward was like wading through syrup.

Evelyn tilted her head. "Do you remember the terms, my dear?" Ana nodded again. "Ten minutes. Two songs. No breaks."

"And the reward?"

"The Inner Sanctum. Another night with the attendants."

"And the forfeit?"

Ana swallowed. Her voice cracked. "The needle frame. With toe pads."

Evelyn reached out and adjusted the strap of Ana’s mask with slow precision. Her touch was delicate, almost maternal. "For the full night, eight hours." She added. "You can still walk away."

Ana’s eyes flashed. "No."

"Good girl," Evelyn whispered.

The curtain parted. Ana stepped forward. The crowd fell into silence as Evelyn took the microphone. She didn’t shout. She never needed to.

"Tonight," she said, "we are witness to a test not of endurance alone, but of grace under suffering."

Her voice carried across the lounge, each word wrapped in velvet.

"Ana returns to our stage. A woman locked in chastity and desire. A woman who has tasted what Abyss offers, yet remains starved of what she hungers for. She seeks her reward again. But to earn it, she must dance."

A ripple of excitement moved through the crowd.

"She wears the Stilettos of the Languished Arches. And for ten minutes, she must obey the rhythm. Lose the beat, and the soles will awaken. Should she fail entirely…"

She let the sentence trail off, but every guest already knew. The needle frame. Toe pads. Pain beneath the nails. The kind of agony that left no scars but stole sleep for weeks. Evelyn turned and looked at Ana. "Begin."

The music swelled. The first song started with a slow pulse - deep, tribal, sensual. The world narrowed.

The first bite of the spikes drew a sharp hiss from her lips. They didn’t break skin, but they penetrated awareness. She had to distribute her weight perfectly, using the ball of her foot, the heel, the outer edge. There was no forgiveness. She moved. The rhythm seeped into her limbs. She let her hips sway, slow at first, her arms gliding like ribbons above her. The heels dug deeper when she leaned too far, and she corrected. Every gesture became mathematical. Poetry under threat.

One minute in.

Sweat bloomed already under her suit. Her spine arched, her shoulders rolled. She closed her eyes for a moment - dangerous - but she needed to lose herself. She imagined the mouths again, the tongues, the breath against latex. Her hips jerked forward in a sudden spasm of memory. A spike punished her left heel. Not sharp enough to draw blood, but deep enough to burn. She gasped. But the rhythm returned. She danced through it. The crowd watched silently, entranced.

Four minutes.

Her calves began to tremble. The latex no longer glided - it clung. Her thighs twitched involuntarily. Her arms moved more slowly now, mechanical, focused. She locked her gaze on Evelyn. The hostess watched without expression.

Six minutes.

Her arches screamed. Her balance wavered. She twisted a little too fast on a downbeat and was punished again - four needles rising just enough to stab. Her foot jolted. She nearly fell. Gasps from the audience. She steadied. The song ended.

The second song began harder, faster - an electronic dirge. Staccato beats. Less time to recover. Ana tried to match the rhythm. Her body no longer obeyed. Every shift sent agony racing up her legs. Her toes were beginning to cramp. She misstepped again. The heel spikes rose and a scream escaped her mouth.

She danced. She stumbled. Another misstep. Another strike. Her ankles buckled. The spikes flared beneath her, and she collapsed to her knees. The music did not stop. The crowd held its breath.

Ana tried to rise. One foot in the heel. Then the other. Her legs refused, as the spikes were now fully extended. She didn’t have it in her to step into them with her full weight.

Attendants emerged without haste. Two of them. Tall. Unnamed. Their suits were matte black, featureless. They approached her gently. One offered a hand. Ana took it. Her legs shook as they lifted her from the stage. The crowd applauded politely - no mockery, no pity. Just acknowledgment. She had dared. She had failed.

Evelyn waited offstage. Her face was unreadable.

"You were beautiful," she said softly and smiled. Tonight she would feast.

Ana didn’t speak.

"Prepare the needle frame for our dear guest," Evelyn told the attendants. The attendants didn’t care whether they hold Ana at the brink of ecstasy or at the brink of mind-fraying pain.

---

The moon hung high above the city, pale and indifferent, as within the hidden heart of Abyss, an ancient ritual unfolded once more. The needle frame was kept in a sub-level, past two velvet drapes and a silver door with no handle.

The room was warm. Fragrant. Ana stood silently as the attendants removed her heels. They peeled the latex from her body with practiced efficiency. She was naked, trembling. Her feet were red with pressure, marked by the memory of the heels.

The frame unfolded like a spider.

---

Ana had known pain before, but never like this - never so precise, so calculated, so complete in its ability to erase the world outside of her own body. The descent into the needle frame was not a fall but a glide, an artfully orchestrated ritual, and as the restraints clicked into place around her wrists and ankles, she felt less like a prisoner and more like a specimen - a living offering beneath the gaze of a cruel altar.

The chamber that housed the needle frame was unlike the rest of Abyss. Where the lounges were velvet and gold, theatrical in their menace, this room was almost sterile - sound-dampened walls of matte grey, a single overhead light, no music. Warm. Humid. Just the hum of the mechanisms preparing their delicate work, and the faint rush of her own pulse roaring in her ears.

She was naked now. Her latex had been removed with reverent efficiency, leaving her exposed to the warm air and the inevitability of what was to come. Her skin tingled not from warmth but from the nervous heat of anticipation.

And then she was suspended - face down, belly hanging toward the floor, her spine exposed to the upper frame, her soles and toes facing the cruel ceiling. The frame held her horizontally, arms stretched forward and down, legs straight, ankles parted. Her back and feet were completely vulnerable.

Her feet, red and sore from the failed dance, hovered just inches above the lower array, their arches already tight, her toes splayed slightly from tension. Deep dimples showed where the Heels had left their kisses. The configuration left her with no support and no mercy.

The toe pads moved first. She had tried not to look at them as she was being bound, but now, with nothing else to see but the pale reflection of light on the upper frame above her, she could sense them more acutely than if she were staring directly at their quiet, gliding arms. They approached slowly, with mechanical patience, each delicate tip of the micro-articulated arms aligning with her toes like a pianist placing fingers on ivory keys.

And then, with terrifying grace, the first needle pressed beneath the nail of her right big toe. Her entire body jerked violently - a spasm of pure, white panic - but it only drove her upper back into the waiting dull points of the upper frame. They reminded her immediately: stillness is salvation.

The toe pads - vile instruments of calibrated agony - worked beneath her delicate toenails, slipping fine, hair-thin needles just enough to ignite agony without true injury.

She gasped. Whimpered. But when the second needle slid under the next toe, the scream came.

Sharp. High. Raw. She didn’t try to hold it in. There was no composure, no dignity left as the pain bloomed like fire under the nail.

She screamed again as the third needle found its mark. Her legs shook. Her hands curled into fists against the restraints. By the time all five toes on her right foot had been claimed, her vision blurred with tears. She panted like a hunted animal, her jaw trembling.

Then came the left foot. Each needle slid into place with cruel elegance. And with each insertion, another scream was dragged from her throat, rawer, more desperate. It wasn’t theatrical. It wasn’t staged.

Her body spasmed, again and again, despite her will, her muscles rebelling, jerking her spine against the upper frame's dull needles, making her writhe. The algorithm tracked every twitch, every shudder. It responded in kind - lowering the upper frame by fractions of inches each time she flinched. Soon, the pressure along her spine, shoulders, the backs of her arms, intensified. Not sharp enough to break the skin, but unrelenting.

A scream tore from Ana's lips - raw, involuntary, pure - filling the sterile chamber with the music of suffering.

Far above, Evelyn danced.

Ana wept openly, sobbing into the silence of the chamber, her tears vanishing into the padded headrest beneath her face. The blunt pressure beneath her soles began then, slowly, rhythmically.

From the foot pads beneath her, the secondary wave began. Wide, smooth arms rose from their sheathes and began pressing into the soles of her feet - not stabbing, but undulating, pressing firmly into the soft tissue of her arches, heels, the sensitive pads beneath her pinned toes.

She cried out again, her throat growing hoarse. Each wave of pressure reignited the pain from her toes. The more she flinched, the worse it became. Movement led to punishment. Punishment led to more movement.

It was a cycle she could not win.

Her breath came in ragged gasps. She groaned through clenched teeth, trying, failing, trying again to stay still. The pads moved again. Her muscles convulsed. She screamed again, this time almost in shock that the pain had not dulled. Her body writhed, dragged against its own bindings, pinned between two forces. Above her, pressure. Below her, pressure. In her toes, fire.

Above her, Evelyn’s private living room, once a sanctuary of shadowed luxury, had become a sacred stage. The air shimmered with the strange, unplaceable hum that sometimes haunted Abyss when its true nature stirred. Velvet drapes muted the world outside, and the black marble floor gleamed with reflected candlelight. Evelyn’s form cut through the gloom, graceful and merciless. Her body moved with supernatural precision, a serpent weaving through invisible lines of ritual. The Stilettos of the Languished Arches clung to her feet, their hidden spikes waiting to press into her soles with every misstep - a dance of penance, of survival.

Ana’s mind began to fragment.

Evelyn was brimming with energy. The needle frame had become a conduit.

At the first hour, Evelyn was fluid, effortless. Ana screamed below. A sharp, keening wail of despair and searing pain.

Evelyn’s stride lengthened, her movements sharpening. She felt it - the energy spilling from Ana’s torment, invisible but thick on her tongue, seeping into her skin like a benediction. Her limbs grew lighter, the aches of age retreating from her joints. Her muscles tightened with fresh vigor. She felt ten years younger.

Ana reached for something, anything, to hold onto. And then she found it: the memory of the tongues. Ana grasped it like a rope in a storm, the memory of that night - the sanctum, the shadows, the gentle way she had been worshipped and held. No pain, only edging. Exquisite frustration. The tongues had worked with infinite patience, infinite cruelty. No climax, but the promise. Always the promise.

She wanted that back. She ached for it more than she ached to breathe.

She remembered the feeling of being opened by heat, of her thighs twitching under ghostly touches. The helpless, sacred torment of not being allowed to fall.

Was this worse than chastity? she wondered, her face twisted in agony. Was this pain - this total immersion in fire - worse than being denied for another year?

And the answer came without hesitation. No.

She was glad she didn’t accept the wager for a third year. Chastity was slower. Quieter. But it ate her from within. This frame would end tonight. Her body would scream and convulse, but eventually it would end. She would be lowered, soothed, clothed. Allowed to sleep.

Another year of chastity? That would not end. That would haunt every hour. Every breath. Every dream. She groaned, nearly laughed, though it came out as a strangled sob.

No. Never again. No more wagers. No more games. This was the last. She would wait her contract out.

She swore it to herself, even as her feet twitched again, and the needles at her toes punished her for the betrayal. Another scream. Another wave of fire.

The second hour came and went, and Evelyn moved with the confidence of a woman half her age, her smile flashing briefly in the mirror-like floor beneath her. Her black gown clung to her like a second skin, rippling with every precise pivot and turn.

Ana cried out again in the depths below, a hoarse sob of helplessness.

Evelyn inhaled deeply, savoring it, the rawness of it, the potency. She did not need blood, like the vulgar monsters of folklore. No - her hunger was for something far purer, far more refined: the energy of submission, of suffering, of endurance stretched to its breaking point. The candles seemed to burn brighter as Evelyn danced, their flames bowing toward her in unseen reverence.

But Ana clung to that oath. To the thought that she would not return. Not for another edge. Not even for Evelyn's whispered promise of release. She would survive tonight. That would be her victory. That had to be enough.

By the third hour, a whisper of fatigue coiled around Evelyn’s ankles. Her movements became tighter, more controlled. The floor beneath her heels felt steeper, more treacherous. Ana screamed once more - long, shuddering - and for a moment, Evelyn’s spine straightened, her step grew surer. She clung to the energy, drank it deep, weaving it into the aching lattice of her body. Yet it was not enough. Not this night. The seventh song started with its brutal crescendo at the beginning of the third hours, and Evelyn's calves seized with a vicious cramp. Her next step faltered - a stumble, slight but fatal. Her body, regal and relentless, sank slowly to her knees upon the marble. The music thundered on above her bowed head.

Breathing hard, Evelyn pressed her palms to the cold floor, the spikes of the Heels digging mercilessly into her tender soles. She gritted her teeth against the shame of it, feeling her gathered energy slipping through her fingers like smoke.

Failure. Again.

Four soles were suffering under Abyss’ spikes at this minute; one woman frustrated and angry beyond belief, the other apathetic to the needling, deliriously moaning in constant pain, toes twitching as needles demanded entry underneath their nails, half in, half out of consciousness.

Above, Evelyn massaged her soles to alleviate the pain after her failed dance.

Below, Ana moaned weakly, her body locked in a shivering paralysis of pain. And stillness, finally, slowly, returned to her. Her muscles burned with fatigue, but the adrenaline began to drain. Her cries became shallow breaths. Her spasms became twitches. The upper frame’s pressure found a cruel equilibrium - constant, but no longer increasing. The mechanism continued with constant waves of needle presses all over her body. Ana tried to remain still, it was easier now, holding barely on onto her conscious mind. Only her toes betrayed her, now and then. A jerk. The needle under that nail moved with it. Another scream. Then a defeated tremble. And the pain lingered.

But she bore it. She would bear it. Because it would end. And when it did, she would not be a supplicant again.

She had learned her lesson.

And it was written in fire across the languished soles of her feet.

Ripples

The New Year’s duel between Emma and Celeste had not only captivated the attendees of the event but quickly spread far beyond the confines of Abyss. The club’s social media team wasted no time, uploading a carefully curated series of photos and videos. This time, however, only Celeste’s face was blurred in the posts. Emma’s identity was unmistakably clear in Abyss’ social feed, her coworkers having witnessed her performance firsthand. They had been there, cheering her on and marveling at her determination, even as the stakes became devastatingly clear.

The posts included dramatic stills of the duel: Emma and Celeste locked in their painful dance atop the needle heels, their faces etched with determination, and, finally, Celeste’s triumphant final steps. The most controversial image was a short clip of Emma being led toward the Rubber Coffin, her posture slumped in defeat. Though Celeste’s blurred face concealed her identity, the symbolic weight of the punishment was unmistakable. The caption read: "Every duel has its price. Strength, endurance, and resolve tested on the grand stage of Abyss. Will you dare to play?"

The reaction online was immediate. Among the comments, several employees from both Emma’s and Celeste’s companies joined in, tagging their coworkers and speculating openly about their experiences.

- "Emma, you’re insane, but we’re proud of you," one colleague wrote.

- "She may have lost the duel, but that’s guts. Nobody else would’ve even stepped up."

- "The coffin though… that’s brutal. Emma’s tougher than anyone I know."

At Celeste’s workplace, the reactions were similar. Although her face had been blurred in the posts, in her office she became her own celebrity. The office buzzed with gossip, equal parts teasing and admiration. Her manager, eager to capitalize on the notoriety, praised her resilience during a team meeting.

"Celeste," she said with a grin, "you’ve shown remarkable resolve and adaptability under pressure. These are exactly the traits we value in leadership. I’m happy to say we’ll be promoting you to senior coordinator." The room erupted in applause, and though Celeste’s smile was genuine, her thoughts drifted to Emma. "She’s still in there," she thought. The memory of her own time in the Rubber Coffin sent a chill down her spine. Despite their earlier feud, her empathy went out to her former friend. Maybe they could reconcile after she served her time in rubber. Abyss did indeed built careers.

Back at Emma’s workplace, the atmosphere was more subdued. While her coworkers had celebrated her bravery at the party, the reality of her punishment quickly tempered their excitement. Seeing the photos and videos of Emma being led to the coffin brought a sobering weight to the situation.

Rachel, who had been one of the loudest voices cheering Emma on, now felt a pang of guilt. "I didn’t think it would be this harsh," she admitted to Brian during a coffee break. "I mean, she’s in there for a whole month, unable to move, and in all that sweaty rubber. That’s… unimaginable."

Brian nodded, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "She’s tough, but this is next level. I just hope she knows we’re rooting for her."

Rachel, Emma’s manager, maintained her outward confidence in promoting boldness and resilience but couldn’t hide her unease. She had championed the duel as an opportunity for Emma to showcase her strength, but now she found herself questioning the cost. The reality of knowing her colleague entombed for a month was much different from the teasing, the fantasy. This felt… heavy.

"She’ll make it," Rachel told the team during a meeting. Rachel gave them a weighted look and continued. "And when she does, we’ll be here to support her. And that promotion I promised her is not off the table. This is so much more intense than I first anticipated. It’s the least we can do."

---

Hooked 2

Ana sat curled in the corner of her sleek, high-rise apartment, comforted in a heavy, oversized sweater she had once thought decadent and now found insufficient. The amber glow of early evening filtered through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows over the polished floor, but none of it could touch the cold stillness in her limbs.

She hadn’t moved for an hour. The lights remained off. The only sound was the gentle hum of the purifier and the distant pulse of city traffic far below. Even her tablet - always glowing, always updating - lay untouched on the kitchen counter. There was no appetite. No curiosity. Only a steady, intrusive quiet.

Her feet and toes still ached.

Not sharply - not anymore. But in the deep, residual way that pain lingers in memory more than muscle. The echo of pressure beneath her toenails, the tension in her arches, the phantom touch of painful needles against the soles of her feet. The frame didn’t leave marks, not truly. But it etched itself into the nervous system. Into the breath. Into thought.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, brow pressed to the sleeve of her sweater, and let out a long, controlled breath.

It had been three days.

Three days since the dance. Since she had crumbled onstage beneath the rhythm. Since Evelyn’s voice - velvet and final - had announced her failure. Since the attendants had lifted her, silent and gloved, into the sublevel chamber where light went grey and pain became language.

The frame had broken something in her. Not her resolve - never that - but her certainty. It had showed her just how easily longing could be rewritten by punishment. How quickly desire soured when touched by consequence.

But even now, sitting here, her body washed and tended, her wounds beneath the surface, she could not forget the night that had preceded all of this.

The tongues.

She bit the inside of her cheek hard, as though it might banish the memory, but it only bloomed brighter.

That night, cloaked in latex, blindfolded, cradled by beings neither fully human nor fully machine - she had been undone. They had known every threshold, every pause, every rhythm. No fumbling. No impatience. Just pleasure held at a knife’s edge.

She had climaxed a hundred times in her mind and not once in truth.

The lust, the edges. Impossible tongues. Pleasure and desire beyond what is humanly possible. Once experienced, she was hooked. A very strong drug. Succubi. What else could they be under their faceless masks? It had been a perfect trap. It had hollowed her. And now, even with her body screaming for distance, her mind coiled around the hunger like a starving thing. Just thinking of their twirling and gripping tongues made her leak and gush under the metal shield of her belt. She stood, abruptly, just to feel the sting return to her feet. It grounded her. Reminded her that she had paid.

And yet -

"She gave me an easy one, the first one. To hook me, bait me. Make me addicted," Ana murmured to no one.

It was true. The first time. Ten minutes on the Infernal Spires. She had thought it brutal then. She had thought it fair.

But it had been deliberate. She wanted her to win the first one, to get her hooked.

Evelyn had handed her a doorway. Not to release, but to a teasing torment so exquisitely designed that even refusal became a kind of longing.

"She played me."

Evelyn wanted her hooked, addicted, to the succubi’s edges. Ana moved through her apartment, pacing slowly. The lights from the city flickered in reflection across the windows, turning her silhouette into a shadow that followed her.

She stopped in front of the large mirror that hung above her sideboard.

The woman in the glass was composed. Elegant. A professional. Her sweater slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the red imprint of a past restraint still fading on her collarbone.

"She knew I’d ask again."

And gods, she wanted to. Her thighs tensed just thinking of the blindfold. The warmth of breath against latex. The slow, devout tracing of her skin.

But she remembered, too, the needles. The shaking. The binding of her body in the frame. The way even a toe twitch could draw the screams out of her lungs.

"She perfectly baited me. Gave me the easy challenge, got me attached to the tongues like an addict. Then she raised the price. Paid in pain. She played me like a fiddle, that … that vampire. No. Succubus."

She had been hooked and then she had been drained. All her energy sucked away while she hung in the metal contraption that was the needle frame, screaming and screaming until she had no energy left for even that. Are succubi real? Vampires? The tongues could not be human. She never saw them. She felt them and she lost her mind to them. She felt what was not meant to be felt by a human. Beyond the veil, where monsters lure…

Ana turned away. No more games. That was what she had sworn to herself. In the frame. Between sobs. She would not risk another year. She would not beg for a climax and pay for it with a key withheld from steel.

But…

Would it be so terrible to try again for the edges? Just one more night? She could wager something bearable. She could ask for a challenge that left no scars. And if she failed - what then? Another frame? More pain?

But she had survived it. Is pain really worse than silence? she thought, and hated herself for thinking it.

She returned to the window. Watched the lights. Evelyn tried to drain her. Either in extreme pain or in extended chastity. And she might succeed. She’d had seen that indefinite chastity was very possible in Abyss. Nadia’s plague, the empty timer. Evelyn would happily take a third year, then a fourth year. It was a slippery slope. How much deeper would she slide, if she was not extremely careful? Even without a challenge, she’d probably could just buy an orgasm in the Inner Sanctum for the third year. She needed to be strong against the pull of temptation.

Her body burned - not with injury, but with the absence of touch. A hunger that even she could no longer frame as discipline.

She hadn’t decided. Not yet.

But she knew Evelyn would not be surprised when she would ask again. Ana hated how well the Mistress of Abyss knew her game.

---

Inside the Rubber Coffin, Emma’s world was a relentless cycle of discomfort and isolation. The heat inside the suit was unyielding, soaking her skin in sweat that pooled beneath her back and limbs. The slippery rubber lining clung to her, amplifying every slight movement and forcing her to remain painfully aware of her confinement.

The first week was the hardest. Time stretched endlessly as the darkness pressed against her senses. She fought against panic, forcing herself to focus on her breathing. The humid air filtering through the small valve near her face was warm and damp, leaving her feeling perpetually on the edge of suffocation. The lack of any external stimuli left her mind to wander, revisiting every moment that had led her to this point.

"Was it worth it?" she wondered. The thought came to her often, accompanied by flashes of her duel with Celeste. Despite the humiliation of her defeat, a small part of her still felt pride in having faced the challenge head-on. But that pride did little to soothe the oppressive discomfort of her present reality.

By the third week, Emma had developed coping mechanisms to endure the suffocating heat and the slickness of her sweat-soaked skin. Hallucinations came and went, her mind inventing its own worlds out of nothingness. The sensory deprivation was only interrupted by the automated flush baths, muscle exercises with the electro pads that left her itching afterwards. She focused on her breathing, her thoughts, anything to distract herself from the suffocating embrace of the rubber. Yet no matter how hard she tried, the days dragged on, each one feeling longer than the last. The memories of her coworkers cheering her on at the party became a faint light in the darkness, a reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone in her struggle. In this half in and half out of consciousness state, she drifted, the automatic vibrator just being an element of her dream worlds. Excited, aroused, sweaty and itching, she floated beyond the universe.

Above ground, Evelyn was already scheming her next move. The success of the New Year’s event had exceeded her expectations, and she was eager to capitalize on the momentum. Her interactions with Rachel during the party had sparked an idea.

"You know," Rachel had said, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin, "those duels are brutal, but there’s something exciting about the stakes. It’s like… a test of who you really are."

Evelyn’s smile widened. "Exactly, my dear. It’s not just about winning or losing. It’s about discovering your limits and transcending them. Wouldn’t you agree?"

Rachel’s laughter was light, but her eyes gleamed with interest. Evelyn made a mental note to cultivate that spark.

At the same time, Evelyn began weaving a plan to pit Rachel against Celeste’s manager. The idea of two professionals, who were just dipping their toes into the kink of Abyss, squaring off in a high-stakes duel was too enticing to pass up. She envisioned it as the ultimate display of leadership under pressure, a challenge that would captivate not only their employees but the broader Abyss audience. All she needed was the right moment to set the wheels in motion. She needed her own mind occupied as she danced each weekday in her private chamber, enduring her own Stilettos of the Languished Arches and their spikes.

When Emma was finally freed from the Rubber Coffin, she was a hollow shadow of her former self. Her once-confident posture was replaced by a hunched, weary stance. The light first hurt her eyes, slowly she was adapted to moving again, protected by a heavy leather blindfold for the first hours. Her skin was pale and raw from weeks of sweat and friction, and her eyes carried a distant, haunted look. The attendants helped her out of the rubber suit, their movements gentle but efficient. The rush of cool air against her skin brought tears to her eyes, a feeling almost alien by now, though it did little to alleviate the deep exhaustion that had settled in her bones.

Her coworkers greeted her return with a mixture of sympathy and admiration. Rachel, who had been one of her most vocal supporters, wrapped her in a careful hug. "You did it," she said softly. "You’re stronger than any of us."

Rachel, standing nearby, offered a smile that was both proud and apologetic. "Welcome back, Emma. Take all the time you need to recover. We’re here for you."

As the days passed, Emma began to rebuild her strength. Her coworkers rallied around her, ensuring she felt supported and valued. Though the memories of her confinement lingered, Emma found solace in their encouragement. She had faced the depths of Abyss and emerged on the other side. And while the journey had been harrowing, she knew she had proven something - to herself and to everyone watching.

---

The halls of Abyss were quieter than usual. A velvet dusk had settled over its chambers - one of those rare nights between spectacles, when even the regulars seemed to keep to the shadows and the air was thick with the soft scent of rose oil and anticipation.

Camelia lingered in one of the private lounges, her figure wrapped in a modest, wine-dark dress, her posture precise and careful. She sat with one ankle delicately crossed over the other, a glass of still water in her hand, though she hadn’t touched it. Her eyes roamed slowly, always thoughtful, always quiet, and when Ana approached, her expression softened slightly.

Ana was not dressed to linger. Her crystal-clear latex catsuit shimmered like glass in the low light, a clear latex hood encasing her head, every contour of her sweat-slick body visible beneath its polished surface. And beneath that, framed starkly in the transparency, her belt gleamed - tight, unmoving, inviolable. It wasn’t just visible. It was exposed. A French maid’s headband and a tiny transparent apron completed her outfit, making it a mocking version of a maid’s uniform, laying her body bare for all to see under the clear rubber.

So were her shoes. The Heels of the Swift Servant, transparent plastic. Besides her contract, these extra shifts allowed her to earn quick money on top of her base salary.

Slim, high, and spiked not to punish her for dancing, but for stopping. Delicate mechanisms at the base of each heel registered every moment of stillness. Two minutes, no motion, and they delivered their warning: a prickle, then a bite.

The heels had already reminded her once as she crossed the room.

Camelia watched her carefully. "You don’t have to sit, if it hurts."

Ana gave a small, breathless laugh as she lowered herself into the seat across from her. "I don’t get to not sit. I get to sit, then get up before they sting. Then sit again."

Camelia’s brow furrowed faintly. "How long since you’ve had them on?"

"Three hours," Ana said, shifting slightly. The latex squeaked faintly. "Evelyn’s orders. Something about keeping me… engaged."

Camelia hesitated. "You're serving tonight?"

"Yes. I’m successful now, I finally earn well, have invested even. But in Abyss I am a servant. As a waitress, I serve, my body displayed in transparent latex and my soles over waiting spikes. I accept that, we all are not carrying titles and position in Abyss. I’m just between tasks. They’ve let me drift here, since it’s quiet." She smiled.

Camelia nodded slowly, then glanced down at the table. "I’m glad you sat. I’ve been wanting to talk to you."

Ana raised an eyebrow. "About?"

"The Inner Sanctum. The attendants. What it’s like."

Ana blinked. Something flickered in her eyes - deflection first, then memory, and finally, something like reverence.

Camelia continued gently, "I know it’s private, and I don’t want to make it uncomfortable, but… I’ve never spoken to someone who went there. Not properly."

Ana opened her mouth to answer, then winced. The heel gave its warning: the subtle tick of mechanics. She stood quickly, circled the table once with slow, graceful steps, and returned.

When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "It’s hard to explain."

Camelia leaned forward slightly, her tone never pressing. "Try."

Ana hesitated. Her fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the table. "It’s like being erased. But not violently. Gently. Like they take everything that you are - thoughts, fears, even the sensation of time - and dissolve it."

She paused, searching. Her eyes glassed slightly. "You’re not touched. Not directly. But you are… consumed. They move around you. Through you. Every motion is calculated. Like they can feel every nerve under your skin and know exactly how close to take you."

Camelia’s cheeks tinged with color. She nodded slowly. "You cried."

Ana didn’t answer right away. She stood, circled again, heels tapping lightly on the marble, then returned.

"I did. Not because it hurt. Because it didn’t stop. Because I wanted to beg and knew that begging didn’t matter. They weren’t there for me. They were there to hold me on the edge."

Camelia was very still. Her voice barely audible. "And you wanted it again. After the needle frame."

Ana smiled thinly. "Wanting is the problem. It doesn’t go away. After the first night, it was all I thought about. Even while screaming in the frame. Even while they slid needles under my toenails."

Camelia’s fingers brushed her glass. "So… was it worth it?"

Ana met her eyes. "I don’t know."

She stood again, circled slowly, shoulders tense, then sat back down and exhaled.

"Part of me says yes. Absolutely. I’d do it again, if I knew I’d survive. But the rest of me… the part still healing from it? That part doesn’t answer. It just waits."

Camelia folded her hands in her lap. "Why not wait out your contract, then? Why not just… endure the belt? You’re almost done, right?"

Ana gave a quiet, incredulous laugh. "Because the Sanctum and the attendants tongues changed me. The belt wasn’t unbearable until I knew what I was missing. I was numb. I had adapted. Now I dream in tongues and heat and friction I can’t chase."

Camelia flinched. "And if you fail again? The frame again?"

Ana nodded. "Probably. Unless Evelyn demands even more. But I’d never risk a third year in this belt. Not even for all their tongues. Not even if they take me beyond the edge."

She lifted her heel up to table hight, flexed her toes slowly. "The frame’s pads touch each nail. Underneath the toes nails. Just enough to convince you you’re being undone. It flays the mind."

Camelia closed her eyes for a moment. "It seems… disproportionate."

Ana smirked. "That's Abyss."

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Camelia spoke again, her voice tentative. "Do you think the rubber coffin would be better? No pain in there."

Ana tilted her head. "You mean like what Emma had to endure?"

"Yes. The inflatable latex box. The sensory-deprivation."

Ana considered. "A full month of that horror, right?"

Camelia nodded. "She said it felt like eternity. Edged and denied in complete darkness. No touch. Just pressure. Breath regulated. No light, no sound."

Ana shivered. "I don’t know. It might be worse. The frame hurts, yes. But at least it’s something. The coffin sounds like being left alone with your desire until it eats you."

Camelia’s expression grew pensive. "Do you think she would have preferred the frame?"

Ana rose again, walked her loop, heels ticking lightly, then returned.

"Maybe. But that’s the beauty of Abyss, isn’t it? It never gives you what you want. Only what you’ll remember."

Camelia exhaled, her shoulders low. "You speak like Evelyn. You’re really going to do it again?"

Ana nodded slowly. "I think so. Yes."

Another circle.

Another moment.

Another reminder that stillness had a price.

Just like wanting did. Camelia’s gaze lingered on the belt beneath the suit’s clear gloss. "Two years," she said quietly. "It’s bold. I couldn’t have done it."

Ana gave a short laugh, not without bitterness. "It was supposed to be one year and manageable. Distant. Something I could ignore. But with the second year, my money troubles are finally over. But no one warned me what chastity does to the body over time."

Camelia nodded slowly. "It’s like building a house with no doors. You only notice when the walls close in."

"Exactly," Ana murmured.

Camelia traced the rim of her glass absently. "I still think about Alina sometimes."

Ana’s brows lifted. "The Ice Princess?"

Camelia nodded. "The same. She agreed to five years. Against her ex-lover, remember?"

Ana shook her head slowly. "That was more than three year ago. Her plaque’s still up." Camelia’s lips parted with a whisper. "The timer’s still ticking down. Go and see it. One year and eleven months."

Ana thought of it - the cold grace of Alina, her arrogance wrapped in elegance. Three years are possible here, even more. She knew that. Her own belt felt heavier suddenly. Camelia glanced down. "Maybe she thought she’d win."

"For sure she did. Or maybe," Ana said, her voice low, "she didn’t care if she lost."

They both sat in silence, the weight of that sentence hanging between them.

Camelia broke it. "And Nadia."

Ana stiffened. Her next rise was slower. Another circuit. Then she sat.

"She demanded indefinite chastity. For her rival. For Elise. A duel. Full terms. Loser locked forever, or however long Elise would be with her boyfriend."

Camelia looked away. "And she lost."

Ana closed her eyes. "She lost."

There was a hollow stillness then. Even the hum of Abyss seemed to retreat. Camelia whispered, "And now she’s here."

Ana nodded. "Her belt has never come off since then."

Camelia bit her lip. "Does Evelyn ever… suggest she could be freed? Experience the Sanctum maybe?"

"She did play." Ana’s voice was taut. "She smiles at her, you know? Like a teacher proud of a student’s obedience. I think, Elise would have to agree to all challenges Nadia asks for if she tries to gamble for some form of relief. You remember last time?"

Camelia whispered, "Nadia?"

Ana looked down. "She got into rubber. Long-term wearing, even outside of Abyss. And now, she’s breaking again. Unfulfilled. You can see it. Still elegant. Still composed. But when no one’s watching, she presses her hands to her thighs. She closes her eyes like she’s praying."

Camelia sat back. "I wonder if she regrets it."

Ana rose again, another small prick under her soles. Circled. Returned. "I think she does. But that’s Abyss. Once you sign up, you live it."

They sat together, side by side, in silence. Each trapped in their own private thoughts. And beneath it all, the soft ticking of Ana’s heels - two minutes from memory, two minutes from pain.

---

The apartment was silent, save for the hum of the city far below and the occasional whisper of the wind against the glass. Emma sat curled on the couch, wrapped in a loose sweater, knees drawn up to her chest. Her hair was damp from a long shower, her skin still flushed from being out in the real air for the first time in weeks.

She had thought the freedom would feel more euphoric. But instead, it felt… distant. Muted.

The rubber coffin had stripped her of time, sensation, and self. Now, alone in the quiet comfort of her apartment, she found herself haunted not by pain, but by the void it left behind. The silence here was different. It wasn’t oppressive, but it wasn’t peaceful either. It reminded her of the absence - the way she had floated through darkness, suspended in a latex tomb, no sound, no touch, no sense of movement save for the trembling inside her own skin.

Emma shifted slightly. Even now, her muscles twitched from the weeks of near-total stillness, broken only by artificial stimulations: the mechanical muscle pulses, the slow flush cycles, the edging that made sleep and sanity blur together. Her breath hitched slightly. That constant low thrum of arousal had never truly disappeared. Even now, the memory of it lingered, like an itch too deep to scratch. She had trouble satisfying herself at first. First, she failed, her arms and hands weak, she, being exhausted too quickly. When she did have her orgasm after her enclosure, it was deeply satisfying. She slept a whole day after.

She stared at her hands. They were her hands. Not gloved. Not sealed. Just skin. She pressed one against her cheek, savoring the contrast. For weeks, her body had not truly belonged to her. The suit had dictated her boundaries. The seals had defined her form. Even her breathing had come through a controlled valve. She had become a shape, a vessel inside something inhuman.

And now?

Now she was expected to return to normal. To return to work. Emma, the Rubber Girl. To sit in her apartment, to drink tea, to respond to messages from people who hadn’t seen the inside of what she had endured. She wasn’t angry. Not at them. They had cheered for her. They had offered kind words. But none of them knew what it felt like to be edged until your sense of self fractured, to live in a heat-trapped silence so complete you started to hallucinate conversations with people who weren’t there.

She got up, walking slowly to the kitchen. Her legs ached from the movement. They weren’t used to carrying her yet. The world felt too large. Too bright. The air too dry. She poured a cup of tea and leaned against the counter, staring out over the city lights.

She had endured. That meant something. But she hadn’t yet decided what.

What she did know was this: the coffin had changed her. Not just physically, not just mentally. It had bent her inward, stripped her bare, and forced her to meet parts of herself she had never known existed. Her control, her fear, her fantasies - they had all danced together in that coffin, wrapped in sweat and pressure and relentless denial.

Now, she had to choose what to do with the silence it left behind.

Emma walked back to the couch, sat down, and pulled her blanket close again.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t smile.

She just breathed.

Free from it. Finally.

Alina

The lounge was dim and decadent, drenched in red velvet shadows and low jazz that never resolved. The air smelled faintly of latex polish and dark perfume, and above the black marble fireplace, the ever-present counters ticked silently down in glowing Abyss-red numerals.

ALINA

ICE PRINCESS. CHASTITY. 5 YEARS.

1 y, 8 m, 21 d, 03:12

She stared at it, glass in hand, but not drinking. Her throat was too tight. The number had once seemed mythic, distant, almost unreal in its scale. Five years. A whole era of denial. But now, with 40 months already spent locked, sealed, untouched - every second left on that clock screamed.

Alina sat rigid in the velvet armchair, her legs crossed tightly, clad in a sleek long black latex dress that reflected the crimson lights above her. Her posture was impeccable, but her fingers - gloved and resting on the armrest - twitched slightly. Submission had its uniform in Abyss, latex was mandatory for those under the rules of others. She wore it well, even if the belt beneath the tight latex screamed for notice.

Every inch of her skin was slick with sweat, not from heat, but from her nervousness for the negotiation she was about to enter. There had been moments - dreams mostly - where she thought she’d forgotten what it felt like to be touched, to climax. But those dreams had become tormenting now, echoing reminders of what she had lost.

She didn’t look up when Evelyn entered. She didn’t need to. The presence of the Mistress was unmistakable - an invisible hand that drew all eyes without lifting a single finger.

"Alina," Evelyn’s voice was velvet and vice. She moved with deliberate grace, hips swaying slightly in her emerald corset and thigh-high boots. She slid into the chair across from her guest, her eyes already dancing. "A negotiation, I hear? That is important. And delicious."

Alina’s voice came quiet but sharpened by restraint. "Forty months. That’s how long I’ve lasted. No relief. Not even complaints - until now."

"True," Evelyn mused. "And I commend you for it. Some have cracked far earlier. But I must warn you, endurance is not always currency."

"I’m not here to plead. I’m here to propose. I want a hearing - with Valeria."

Evelyn gave a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "She’s on her way. And you know as well as I do - any relief or adjustment to your forfeit is hers to grant."

Alina nodded stiffly. "Yes. She holds the right."

Moments later, Valeria entered like the chill that precedes a storm. She wore high-waisted black leather trousers, a fitted deep red blouse, and a long coat that glinted with matte buckles and shine. Her boots were tall and vicious. The leather wasn’t just a statement - it was status. She no longer belonged to the level of players and guests. She was ascending.

She greeted Evelyn with a graceful tilt of her chin. "Mistress."

Then, eyes flicking to Alina. "Still ticking, I see."

"Still holding," Alina replied tightly.

Valeria didn’t sit immediately. She stood by the fireplace, arms folded. Her presence was calculated. "You asked for me?"

Alina shifted in her seat. "I did. I want to request a challenge - a single opportunity to earn one release. One orgasm."

Valeria arched an eyebrow. "You think you’ve earned that?"

"I think I’ve endured more than anyone who’s worn that belt before. Forty months of obedience."

"And now you’re breaking," Valeria said flatly. "You wouldn’t be here otherwise."

Alina leaned forward, voice strained. "I’m asking. Not demanding. I know the rules. You won the duel. You have full authority over the forfeit. I'm asking you to permit a challenge."

Valeria was quiet for a moment, her gaze unreadable. Then she moved to the chair beside Evelyn, crossing one leg over the other, her leather creaking. "You made your bed, Ice Princess. And now you want to warm it."

"Better than being leathered and lifeless," Alina snapped, glaring. "You're not above me, Valeria. Just parading around in leather hoping someone calls you a dom."

Valeria’s smirk didn't falter. "If that’s how you talk to me, how would you even think I grant you a chance? And yet I'm not the one squirming after nearly four years of zero release. Sleep in your steel belt, Alina. You earned it."

Evelyn interjected, her tone airy but pointed. "Ladies. Let's focus. Valeria, as you well know, the winner retains discretion. But if she’s serious…"

She turned her head, fixing Alina with a glittering stare. "Then perhaps a challenge can be arranged."

Alina's heart jumped. She sat up straighter, her eyes focused. "What kind of challenge?"

Evelyn’s smile sharpened. "Something fitting. If you win, a single, unassisted, ceremonial release. Monitored, supervised. If you fail…"

She leaned back, fingers steepled. "Your five years start over. From zero."

Alina stiffened beside her. Valeria’s smirk faltered - but didn’t vanish. She knew the rules, and Evelyn was well within her rights to propose the offer. As the winner of the duel, Valeria held the authority to approve or deny any terms relating to the forfeit. And this one… this one was exquisitely cruel.

She didn’t want to grant Alina anything - not a touch, not a hope - but the idea of her rival risking everything, only to be dragged back to the start, was intoxicating. Five more years. Five. To see Alina crushed not by her, but by her own desperate gamble? That had a flavor all its own.

Her voice was tight when she finally responded, torn between savoring the idea and keeping her foot on Alina’s throat.

"You’re not seriously offering that," she said - but the words were slower now, deliberate. She was entertaining it. She wanted it. Not the challenge. The failure.

"If she takes it and loses…"

Valeria’s thoughts finished the sentence in silence. Then she would be bound in chastity for almost nine years in total. And it would be beautiful.

"I am suggesting it," Evelyn said, watching them both. "It’s balanced. Tempting. And terrifying. Isn’t it wonderful?"

Alina flinched, visibly. Her jaw clenched. The weight of those words settled over her like lead. "Reset… the entire sentence?"

"Yes," Evelyn said softly. "A full reset. Forty months erased. One mistake and you go back to month one. Think of it as an abyss of your own making."

Valeria leaned in, voice low and dangerous. "You're trembling. I can see it. You're not built for this, Alina. You are not cold enough to face this challenge, Ice Princess. You’re built for ruin."

Alina didn’t respond immediately. Her body screamed yes. Her pride whispered no. And in the middle, her reason wavered, trembling like her thighs under the belt. Her fingers curled against the arms of the chair, her breath short.

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed, watching. "But it must be decided here and now. We do not entertain wobbles in Abyss. You came to negotiate. Make your choice."

Alina’s chest rose and fell rapidly. The heat under her skin felt unbearable. Her temples pulsed. Forty months. Could she truly start again? Could she risk everything for one moment of relief?

She looked to Valeria - so composed, so smug in her leather regalia. Then to Evelyn - expectant, already savoring the outcome either way.

Her heart thundered. Her thighs pressed tighter. And the fear - the raw, animal fear of being reset, of having nothing to show for her torment - rose up and choked her will.

"No," she whispered, barely audible.

Evelyn’s expression didn’t flicker. "Speak clearly."

Alina swallowed, her voice shaking. "I decline. I won’t risk it."

Valeria exhaled dramatically, mock-disappointed. "Sleep in steel then. Keep dreaming. Maybe in year five you’ll start to enjoy it."

Evelyn rose gracefully, nodding once. "Then the counter remains. The sentence holds. And Abyss respects your refusal as much as your denial."

Valeria chuckled darkly. "Poor Ice Princess. Frozen over and locked tight. You'll count down every second of those last twenty months, and you’ll still beg before it ends."

Alina said nothing. Her gaze was fixed again on her counter, glowing crimson.

ALINA

ICE PRINCESS. CHASTITY. 5 YEARS.

1 y, 8 m, 21 d, 01:46

The fireplace crackled. The conversation fell quiet. And with her silence, she sealed her fate. No challenge. No mercy. Only steel. Only time. Only longing that would stretch, unbroken, for the rest of her term.

She would endure. She had no other choice.

Longing

Ana stood once again at the threshold of Abyss, the scent of latex and velvet drifting out through the half-shuttered entrance like incense from a temple, cloying and familiar. The wind whipped gently through her coat, but she didn’t feel the cold. Not really. It was heat she lived in now - not fire, not warmth, but the deep internal friction of a body denied, restrained, relentlessly aware of itself.

She stepped inside, and the hush of the club swallowed her whole. The soft lighting, the whisper of movement through distant hallways, the glint of candlelight on black marble - it all felt inevitable. As if she had never left.

She moved without being guided, her boots echoing softly as she made her way to Evelyn’s private chamber. She didn’t glance toward the stage, nor at the alcoves where figures lingered in shadow. She kept her eyes forward.

Evelyn sat in her high-backed chair as though she had always been there, draped in obsidian latex, a single gloved finger idly circling the rim of a wineglass. Her hair was pinned up in the severe style she wore when particularly focused, and her gaze was sharp - too sharp.

Ana stopped three paces from her and bowed her head, the gesture half-pride, half-admission.

Evelyn did not rise. "I told myself you wouldn’t come back."

"I told myself the same."

Evelyn's smile was slight, unreadable. "And yet here you are."

Ana forced herself to meet her gaze. "I want another night in the Sanctum. With the attendants. No release. Just… the edging."

Evelyn studied her, saying nothing for a long, brittle moment. "So. You’ve returned for denial. Not pleasure."

Ana nodded. "Yes."

The hostess set down her glass and rose. She circled Ana with slow steps, the click of her heels like a clock ticking. "Still afraid of a third chaste year. And yet, the needle frame did not stop you."

"It hurt," Ana admitted. "But it ended. The longing doesn’t."

"And so, we return to this cycle." Evelyn stopped beside her, voice velvet-smooth. "You reject climax, but beg for the torture that brushes against it."

Ana’s throat worked to form words. "I just want just one more night. The tongues. The edges. I’ll wager pain again. But I won’t risk more time in the belt."

"Why now? You are so close to finishing your contract. Two more months of chastity and you can have all the sex you want."

Ana didn’t respond at first. She stood by the low alcove window, hands folded stiffly in front of her. The outline of her metal belt was visible beneath her latex skirt, a faint but unmissable symbol of her commitment.

"I thought I was strong enough to wait," Ana murmured. "But I was wrong. It’s not just need anymore - it’s not even about orgasm, not exactly. It’s about them. The attendants. When my belt comes off, masturbating to orgasm won’t be the same as a night of those impossible highs. The belt off, it means satisfaction. But the attendants, they mean bliss. That night… what they did to me - it didn’t just leave me hungry. It left me marked." She turned her head slowly toward Evelyn. "I feel like I was touched by something beyond human. Like my soul opened and hasn’t closed since. And I can’t pretend I didn’t love it. It felt like worship - of me and from me. I crave it like monks crave silence, like zealots crave pain."

Evelyn’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes sharpened.

Evelyn moved across the room with slow deliberation, her heels echoing off stone. "Then you shall have a challenge. But do not think it will be the same as before. That was an introduction. This will be a rite."

She pressed her hand to a hidden panel in the wall. With a whisper of pneumatics, it opened, revealing a device neither as elegant nor as ambiguous as the needle frame. It was raw. Angular. Direct.

A bench, tilted just so, padded in black latex. Arm and leg restraints. Knee rests to elevate and spread the thighs. Two mechanical arms beneath, each fitted with motion-sensing pads and retractable spikes.

"This is the Obedience Bench," Evelyn said. "It doesn’t test your balance. It doesn’t respond to rhythm. It responds to your ability to be utterly still."

Ana stepped closer, swallowing. "And the rules?"

"You will be restrained," Evelyn continued, walking alongside the device like a curator presenting a masterpiece. "Your feet will be locked onto insoles that press blunt needles upward with every twitch. The arms beneath you will stimulate small pulses beneath the thighs and lower back - just enough to provoke reaction. You must not flinch."

Ana’s breath caught. "How long?"

"Four hours." Evelyn turned to face her. "You may faint. If you do, the clock stops. Your time resumes when you recover."

Ana’s brow furrowed. "So what defines failure?"

"If you cry out, you fail," Evelyn said simply. "One cry loud enough over the threshold. One scream of surrender. That is your rule."

Ana stared at the bench. Her limbs trembled faintly at the memory of her last wager.

"And if I succeed?"

"You will visit to the Inner Sanctum. The attendants will see to you. Edges, Ana. Only that. Hours of it, should you endure."

Ana nodded slowly. Her eyes burned. She felt a gush of wetness, as the recognized that the tongues were actually in range now, if she accepted.

"And if I fail?"

Evelyn smiled, and this one had teeth. "Then you return to the needle frame."

Ana's heart stopped. "I thought - "

"This time," Evelyn continued, stepping closer, her voice a breath against Ana’s skin, "with both toe and finger pads installed. For twenty-four hours. You will be restrained fully. Arms forward. Toes and fingertips exposed to the articulated arms. Every digit, touched. No piercing. No blood. Just exquisite, calculated agony - short of injury."

Ana couldn’t speak. Twenty-four hours was insane. Three times as long as she had suffered last time. And her finger nails in addition to her toe nails. Only few club patrons had to endure that.

Evelyn’s voice dropped lower. "To experience the highest lust just short of orgasm, you must wager the highest pain just short of your mind fraying. That is the deal. You can accept or refuse it."

Ana looked away. "But this is so much worse than what I suffered through last time," she whispered.

It was obscene. It was manipulative. It was cruel. And it was utterly fair. Evelyn knowingly smiled, she’d have so much energy if Ana failed. She would try more than once at the Seventh Circle while Ana’s mind was fracturing and she’d be drained to the brink.

"Absolutely. More than three times the agony. That is my final offer, yes," Evelyn knew she had her hooked on the otherworldly tongues. Like a drug, Ana had trouble to ignore the temptation. Evelyn would drain her again, suck her dry, in chastity or in pain, it didn’t matter, she’d feast on her energy, her screams or her dripping desire when she finally caved into an extension.

Ana tried to focus - tried to breathe - but the thought of the Sanctum bloomed behind her eyes like heat. She remembered the tongues. The way they had circled her, hovered just shy of satisfaction. The way she had screamed in her the mask, riding the razors edge of orgasm, shaking and sobbing and never allowed to fall.

It wasn’t even pleasure - it was something more precise, more haunting. They had dissected her arousal, teased it into ribbons, sculpted it into madness. She had never been touched so fully. Never denied so deliberately. She had been made art. And now that memory was part of her. It lived beneath her skin. It twitched in her nerves. The thought of failing twisted her stomach. The idea of being silenced not by discipline but by reflex - one cry, one broken scream - and then finding herself again in the frame, this time with finger nails added to the torment…

She imagined it. The tiny needles under her nails. The steady torment of her fingertips, usually so protected. The weight of the belt at her hips, still unmoved, still locked, while her body convulsed in pain far worse than before.

But then - the alternative.

The Sanctum. The mouths. The slow, endless ride along the ridge of climax, never quite reaching, never quite ending. She wanted it. No, she needed it, regardless the cost. She was hooked. A torment of beauty. A ritual of exquisite restraint. She wanted it more than she wanted to breathe.She wanted to be lost in it again, helpless and blind and vibrating with ache. And she was willing - truly willing - to suffer for it.

Everything inside of her screamed no. "I accept," she whispered. Like a moth, she crashed into the flame.

Evelyn stepped back, serene again. "Then you return next weekend. Bring nothing. We will provide what you need."

Ana turned slowly toward the door. She didn’t trust herself to say more. She knew the cost.

She also knew she would keep crawling through fire again for the echo of their tongues.

---

The club had fallen into that strange, ritual quiet that only came before a true challenge. Ana stood at the center of the stage, surrounded by velvet shadows and expectant silence. Her body was already glistening with a sheen of nervous sweat beneath the slick contours of her latex, her eyes focused not on Evelyn, but on the ominous structure being wheeled into position beside her. The Obedience Bench was not a thing of grace; it was blunt, brutal, functional. A black padded bench tilted to expose the thighs, arms, and feet, flanked by mechanized arms tipped with retractable pads. Beneath the bench, twin insoles waited, dotted with blunt pressure needles calibrated to detect the tiniest movement. It was a test not of endurance, but of stillness.

Evelyn had explained it to the crowd with the ceremonial cadence of a priestess unveiling an ancient relic. The challenge was simple: Ana would be restrained by her wrists pulled above her head. Her feet standing onto insoles that would punish every twitch with blunt agony. She must not flinch. Her only task was silence. Not stillness, though it helped, but the ability to keep from crying out. The attendants placed a microphone an a tripod in front of her, waiting to capture a scream. Just one scream, one sound above the threshold, and the wager was lost. Four hours of torment without a word.

Ana accepted it with a nod, more solemn than proud. The room watched as she was secured into the Obedience Bench. Arms high, legs spread, feet on the insoles. She inhaled once, deeply, embracing her stillness. She though of the Sanctum and the Tongues. It took an half an hour before the he muscles started twitching from the demanding position. The tension building beneath her skin. The insoles didn’t stab. They pushed, rising up and down in response to her trembles, into her tender arches, blunt but unyielding, reminding her that stillness was merely the baseline. Three hours to go, she understood she had no chance as hope left her. She understood that Evelyn had set her up in an impossible challenge. A tear escaped her eye, not from pain, but from the knowledge that she would not enter the Sanctum tonight and that a hell of needles is already waiting in the basement. Her thighs twitched again and she held her breath, jaw locked, eyes wet. It was not a pain that surged or screamed; it was a pain that waited, that watched her with quiet patience and would not be hurried. And she endured, well into the second hour. Then her back spasmed. The insoles needles surged and she tried to instinctively move her legs. The needles jabbed up higher.

The cry was loud. It was short, raw, unintentional. But it was enough. The moment it escaped her lips, the Obedience Bench stilled, needles retracted. Other needles would take over soon. A light blinked red above the stage. Evelyn, unmoving, inclined her head. The silence in the club turned from reverent to resigned. Ana had failed.

She didn’t protest. As the restraints were loosened and her limbs lowered, she didn’t cry or bargain. She knew what she had wagered. She knew what it meant. She was taken below, to the chamber that held the needle frame, and the world closed around her again.

The ritual was swift. Latex peeled away, her body laid bare. The attendants took her to the basement, where the frame shimmered in the dim light. Suspended in perfect alignment, her arms drawn forward, her legs back, spine arched. The frame enveloped her, a machine of pain with the gentleness of an undertaker. The special needle pads per installed upon her feet and hands. Each fingertip, each toe, was the site of intricate torture. Needles slid with surgical precision beneath each nail, hair-thin and relentless, short of the point of actual punctures. Abyss was delicate, never raw torture. Her shrieks began not with surprise, but inevitability. The agony was refined, precise—a thousand years of cruelty coded into algorithm.

For twenty-four hours, Ana remained there. Her screams echoed in that chamber like prayers in a stone temple. She wept until no tears remained. She shook until her muscles spasmed. And through it, Evelyn danced.

Above, in her private chambers, Evelyn once again donned the Stilettos of the Languished Soles. She needed to finally beat her own personal challenge. She moved with grace sharpened by hunger. The dance of the Seventh Circle had begun. Every misstep pressed spikes into her own aching soles, and yet she glided, fed by the rich current of Ana’s torment below. Not that it mattered much; she had learned most of the song by heart, when to expect which note and how to dance. Rarely, she even felt a spike under her feet. Ana’s screams lifted her. The conduit of energy was open, and Evelyn was drinking. The pain was an offering, and Evelyn, shedding years off her appearance by the hour, consumed Ana’s suffering, drank it deep.

The first attempt lasted over two hours. Evelyn soared through the patterns, the fire in her joints pushed back by Ana’s suffering. But as the final segment began, the part requiring unbroken motion atop the highest tempo, Ana had slumped into the needles and held motionless. The intense pain replaced by a dull carpet of suffering. Ana sobbed, shallow breaths, trying to still her fingers and toes. The energy faltered. Evelyn's strength waned. Her heel caught, her rhythm cracked. She stumbled, breath ragged, and the dance ended not in triumph, but in silence.

Three hours later, she tried again. Ana had revived, barely, her body quivering in the frame, her eyes glassy with pain. Every twitch of a toe extracted a scream. The pain resumed. So did the feeding. Evelyn rose, danced, drank. From zero again. This time, she moved carefully, more deliberately. But the second hour marked her. Her calves, tight with exhaustion, began to burn. Just into the third hour saw her steps grow rigid, her calfs trembling. She made it through the spiral section. She faltered in the turn. Her body dropped to one knee, the stilettos pressing spikes deeper into her soles than she could endure. No scream escaped her, but neither did victory. She knelt there, breathless.

Below, Ana lay broken, her fingers twitching, her toes spasming under the persistent kiss of the needles. Her body convulsed, then quieted. There was no climax for her, no tongues; just a moth that burned in the flame. Only the sharp, echoing sting of her own failure.

The Seventh Circle of Hell

One orgasm and weeks later, the air was thick with tension as Lena and Mina reached the final moments of the Seventh Circle of Hell. The clarinet danced between them, their breaths synchronized, moving in unison as one single organism. The three-hour marathon had pushed them to their limits, the spikes within the instrument pressing painfully reminding them to sync back up. Deepest pushes into their apices to keep the clarinet smooth. Yet, they persevered, driven by the hope of finally breaking free from the curse that bound them. Lena’s Cap of Despair seemed alive, more so, it felt angry when she reached her peak, seemingly fitting tighter, feeling warmer and trying to bite into her clitoris, as if the needles underneath were tiny fangs. Her orgasms were not free of pain. But it could also just be her imagination, combined with the rush of her delayed orgasm and her clit swelling towards the inner needle lining of the Cap.

The last haunting note of the piece echoed through the room, fading into silence. For a moment, they sat in stunned disbelief, their hands trembling, their bodies exhausted, drenched in sweat, the bedsheets a mess and wet. Then, a wave of relief and triumph washed over them. They had done it. They had conquered the Seventh Circle of Hell. It had taken them more than ten months to achieve this.

Lena turned to Mina, her eyes glistening with tears of joy. "We did it," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Mina nodded, unable to speak, overwhelmed by the moment. They embraced, holding each other tightly, the weight of their shared burden lifting ever so slightly.

Later that evening, as they sat together, savoring their victory, a soft knock echoed through the quiet of Lena’s apartment. On the doorstep lay an ornate black envelope, its seal marked with the emblem of Abyss. Lena picked it up with trembling hands, her heart pounding in her chest.

They opened it together, the heavy paper crackling as Lena unfolded the letter within. The elegant script was unmistakable, the tone both congratulatory and foreboding:

"Congratulations, Lena and Mina.

You have achieved what few have dared to attempt. The Seventh Circle of Hell has been conquered, and with it, you have earned the right to challenge Evelyn. Your dedication and resilience have not gone unnoticed.

As a reward for your perseverance, we offer you the chance to break free from the curses that bind you - the Cap of Despair, and the Rings of Longing, and the chastity that they impose and which has shadowed your desires."

They exchanged an exasperated look. "Break their curse? Does this mean they can be taken off somehow?"

"Evelyn, however, has not yet completed her side of the task. Thus, the stakes of this duel will be set by us, the owners of Abyss.

Should you win, Lena, you will be freed from all curses and will ascend as the new hostess of Abyss. Both you and Mina will be released from your chastity, and your burdens will be lifted.

But know this: failure is not without consequence. Should you lose, you will be retired into the needle coffin, a position from which there is no return. Mina will remain bound by her curse, left to endure her chastity alone. Be informed that both positions, being the Hostess or the occupant of the Needle Coffin, are permanent positions in Abyss. As the Needle Coffin is shrouded in mystery, to aid you in taking your decision, be informed that it is a device of long-term confinement - a place where countless dull needles will press against the skin, never breaking it but creating a sensation of constant, maddening discomfort, and a sensor-controlled vibrator at the occupant’s clitoris, or in case of a capped occupant, inside her vagina instead. The Needle Coffin promises a retirement into unending and unrelenting pain and unfulfilled arousal in its tight embrace.

If you decide not to challenge Evelyn, the Caps of Despair and the Rings of Longing will continue to bind you for the duration of your lives.

Consider your choice carefully. You may respond to this offer at the following email address.

We await your decision.

The Owners of Abyss"

Lena and Mina sat in silence, the gravity of the letter settling over them like a heavy shroud. The stakes were clear - freedom or eternal torment. Victory meant liberation and a future free of the agonizing curses that had haunted them for so long. Failure meant unimaginable suffering, not just for Lena, but for Mina as well, splitting them up as a couple and leaving Mina alone in chastity.

"Yelena," Mina whispered, her voice trembling, "what do we do?"

Lena’s mind raced, weighing the risks and rewards. The thought of becoming the hostess of Abyss was a little daunting, but the promise of freedom was too great to ignore. She looked at Mina, seeing the fear and hope mirrored in her eyes.

"We have to try," Lena said firmly. "We’ve come this far. We can’t let the fear of failure stop us now. I can not keep a chance of freeing you from your chastity untaken."

Mina shook her head, eyes wide, her trust in Lena unwavering, a tear in her eye. "I’ll stand by you, no matter what. Don’t take the challenge. Not for me. Not for me. I take my chastity anytime over the possibility of loosing you into a coffin of horrors. Not for me. I just want to be with you, Yelena. That’s enough for me."

She continued, fearing Lena’s answer. "Do you want to become a mistress of pain? Clubbing in Abyss every weekend? Becoming Evelyn eventually? She grew bitter, and it will consume you as well, Yelena. And what if, what if she really is something else, like a vampire or succubus. Do you really want to fight her again at these stakes?"

"No, I don’t want it. Even if I despise her for what she did to us. She brought us together in love, even if that was never her intention. I’d only risk the duel to free you. I enjoy being your mistress, but I don’t want to push random people into pain for my or the owners pleasures."

"Love prevails over fear and pain, always. Sometimes it just takes time. And I enjoy being your pain kitten, even if I have to be chaste for life."

"It is time to let go of the past.", Lena said.

"Even if Evelyn was responsible to take away our orgasms, it did not destroy us. We cannot allow hate or a thirst for revenge let consume us. I forgive her. We break the circle.", Mina added.

"We break the circle of revenge."

"Love beats hate, always."

"It’s the polar opposite."

"No, the opposite of love is fear."

This night they loved each other in the nude again with no toys after a long time again, without the clarinet, just their bodies, fingers and mouths, carefully playing around the ever present caps. They loved each other for hours with no other resolution than being with each other. Orgasm was not the goal, not anymore.

The next day, with a deep breath, Lena sat down with her phone and composed their response. Her hands shook as she typed, the words carrying the weight of their shared determination:

"To the Owners of Abyss,

We have considered your offer and, after much reflection, have decided not to pursue the duel. The risks are too great, and we choose to remain bound by our curses. We are aware that our Caps and Rings will bind us for life, but we are happy to be bound together. We seek no retribution nor revenge on Evelyn.

However, we ask for one thing: to keep the clarinet. It has become a part of us, a symbol of our struggle and connection. And, if it is not asked too much, one pair of the Stilettos of the Languished Arches, as we would like to remember the atmosphere of Club Abyss on special occasions.

Thank you for the opportunity.

Lena & Mina"

She hit send, the message disappearing into the void. The decision was made, the path set. They would endure their curses, but they would do so together, finding solace in their shared bond and the music that had brought them closer.

In the days that followed, Lena and Mina continued their sessions, the clarinet now a source of comfort rather than torment. Each song they played was a reminder of their resilience, their love, and their choice to face the future together, no matter how uncertain it might be.

Though the path ahead remained fraught with challenges, they found strength in each other. Their curses were heavy, but their bond was unbreakable. And in that bond, they found the will to endure, to create beauty amidst the pain, and to embrace the chains that bound them.

A package was delivered the following week end. Inside a letter was sitting atop two pairs of high heels and two transparent latex catsuits covered in black nodules, and a small control box. They read the accompanying letter first.

"Lena and Mina,

You have made your choice.

The chastity imposed by the Cap of Despair and the Rings of Eternal Longing shall persist, unbroken and without end. No position within Abyss, neither as its hostess nor in any other embracing capacity, awaits you.

Do not come to Abyss. Evelyn would subject you to pain beyond reason and imagination if you enter. We cannot protect you there. Leave her in the dark about the challenge and your decision. We will invite you back, whenever she retires.

We acknowledge your request to retain the cursed clarinet. Your relentless use of the instrument, even after conquering the Seventh Circle, has not gone unnoticed. We understand the desire that Abyss has awakened within you, and we shall grant your request - but only within the spirit of Abyss.

Enclosed with this letter, you will find a control box, which links to the Clarinet as soon as it in close enough range. As you will soon discover, its spikes are fully extended, as its use has been restricted by us. The clarinet will remain unusable until you have danced for it.

To activate it, you must don the Crystal Penance Suits and the Glass Agony Heels provided. Despite the time passed we are sure you remember them well. We do remember them well and smile as dueling in this ensemble once completed your chastity. Once you press play on the control box, the outfits will lock onto you until the randomly selected Circle has played to completion. You will dance. If you endure to the end of the song, the clarinet will be available to you - but only for one single use. Should you desire to use it again, you will be required to dance anew. If any toy breaks or latex rips, a new set will be available to you. This is how it shall be from now on.

The Owners"

They exchanged looks, "What do you think? Is this good or bad? We have to dance in these outfits again.", Mina asked.

"Come on, you like the challenge of the heels", Lena answered.

"Yes, but not the Glass Agony Heels! This is the worst pair they have. It’s all needles, no spikes. And it’s so many needles, look at those nodules. Just looking at them again after all this time, I still feel the stings. These are the highest difficulty, and it may lock for three hours."

"We mastered high difficulties, didn’t we? But three hours, if that 7th track is chosen is just for us to suffer. A one in seven chance to receive only pain, three hours writhing and enduring on the floor."

"Still better and shorter than the Needle Frames. But with this added stipulation you will orgasm even less frequently, Yelena. A lot less."

"It may be, but that’s even more satisfaction than what you feel. Unless we can also get you beyond the edge eventually, Cosmina."

"I doubt it. I always have been very clitoral. But that is okay. I’m happy the way we are. I’m your pain kitten now," and added with a sly smile, "Mistress."

"Then we shall keep it that way."

They looked deep into each others eye. Mina asked, "Should we? You know?"

"Yes, let’s dance."

Endless Dance

Evelyn stood in her private chamber, the dim light casting long shadows across the mirrored walls. The air was thick with the faint scent of rubber and leather, mingling with the tension that seemed to permeate the room. The Stilettos of the Languished Arches glistened on her feet, their sleek design betraying none of the agony they inflicted. She adjusted her stance, the spikes embedded in the insoles waiting to bite sharply into the sensitive flesh of her soles. Taking a deep breath, she pressed play on the control panel, and the haunting opening notes of the Seventh Circle of Hell began to echo through the room.

She kept trying. Ana’s ordeal in the Needle Frame hadn’t helped, neither did her second stay in it - of course she had failed the Obedience Bench trial and ended up in the needles again. She planned it, she played on her addiction to the tongues. She needed the drain. That night, in her first attempt at the song, as Ana was suffering through her first hours, she made it again into the last hour of the song, but eventually failed. One particular passage of notes was hard to follow, and more than two hours of energetic dancing left her weak and vulnerable to the spikes. Her second attempt, after some hours of rest went even worse. Her soles, legs and ankles were still sore from the previous dance. She couldn’t siphon as much energy from Ana as she had already stopped screaming and trashing, and was semi-consciously hanging in the Needle Frames devices, moaning, shuddering, screeching occasionally. But she was already drained too dry. And now, Ana’s time had come.

---

Ana sat motionless in the quiet lounge of Abyss, the lights dim, the velvet walls absorbing every sound like secrets. The club was closed to guests on weeknights - just the staff and the shadows, and Evelyn. The silence felt ceremonial, as though the building itself were holding its breath.

Evelyn arrived precisely on time, gliding into the room in a silhouette of tailored black, as crisp and ageless as always. Ana rose as she entered, her movements slow, controlled. Her breath was tight in her chest. She had rehearsed this moment so many times - imagined what it would feel like to be released. Yet now, as Evelyn stood before her, she felt none of the euphoria she had pictured. Only weight. History. Something final and irreversible.

Evelyn said nothing at first. She circled Ana slowly, once, a quiet inspection. Ana stood still, arms at her sides, palms sweating. The belt gleamed under her fitted skirt, catching the golden light. Twenty-four months sealed. Not one moment of freedom.

"You did it," Evelyn said softly. Her voice was not kind, nor cruel. Just true. "Two years. One night on the tongues. Zero orgasms."

Ana exhaled, barely.

"Undress."

"Yes, Mistress." She responded, stepped out of her heels, slid her skirt down. Her top followed soon after.

Evelyn stepped closer and gently touched the keypad with its sensor on the waistband. Her fingers moved with precision, reverence. The lock clicked - once, twice - and with a sound as soft as a sigh, the belt loosened. Ana felt it instantly. A strange weight lifting, but leaving an echo. The belt slipped from her hips and Evelyn caught it smoothly, holding it for a moment before placing it aside on a velvet-lined tray.

The sudden air against her most private skin made Ana shiver.

"You’re free," Evelyn said, stepping back. "From this." She didn’t smile.

Ana nodded slowly, but her eyes were still fixed on the tray, on the artifact of her own endurance. Her legs felt weak, not from fatigue, but from the sheer unfamiliarity of her own body now.

"I thought it would feel… different," she admitted.

Evelyn tilted her head. "Pleasure and pain are mirrors, Ana. You don’t remove one without distorting the other."

Ana glanced at her, unsure if it was wisdom or warning. Maybe both.

"You’re financially sound now," Evelyn added. "You did what many couldn’t. But remember - being free doesn’t mean being whole. It means choosing what to do with your hunger."

Ana nodded again, slower this time. The echo of the belt lingered on her skin.

She was free. But not unchanged.

And not untouched.

---

Evelyn had rested. But some days later, the song was as relentless as ever, its rhythm an unyielding taskmaster. Evelyn moved to the beat, her body a practiced machine, every step deliberate and precise. Yet no matter how many times she had danced to this infernal composition, she had never made it past the two-hour mark. Tonight, she hoped would be different. She had to believe it would be.

As the music swelled, so did the pain. The spikes within the heels pulsed with each misstep, a cruel reminder of the stakes she faced. Evelyn’s teeth clenched as she pushed through, her muscles screaming for relief. But it wasn’t just the physical strain that wore her down - it was the ever-present shadow of what loomed if she failed.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the Needle Coffin. The little she knew about it was enough to haunt her every waking moment. She had seen a drawing of it only once, glimpsed in the shadowy depths of the club’s basement, its sleek, ominous form radiating menace. No one spoke of it openly, but the whispers were enough to feed her nightmares. And now, as the spikes in her heels drove deeper with each faltering step, her mind spiraled into an anxious monologue, comparing the horrors of the Rubber Coffin with what she imagined the Needle Coffin to be.

The Rubber Coffin was bad enough, she thought, her movements faltering slightly as the pain shot up her leg. It’s hot, suffocating, the rubber clings to every inch of skin, amplifying the discomfort. But at least it’s smooth, slick, uniform. It’s… tolerable, in its own way. You can breathe, you can endure, you can rest in it’s warm slippery cushions. It’s meant to break you slowly, but it doesn’t pierce you.

Her breath hitched as she pictured the Needle Coffin again, her imagination running wild. But the Needle Coffin… The name alone sent a shiver down her spine. She had overheard fragments of conversations - words like "thousands of needles," "sound responsive pressure points," and "nail sensors." She pictured its interior, lined with short, cruel spikes designed to press into every inch of flesh. Not deep enough to draw blood, perhaps, but enough to inflict a symphony of pain that would drown out any thought of endurance.

Evelyn’s movements became more frantic, her fear bleeding into her performance. Her heart pounded as she imagined being sealed inside such a device. Would it be hot like the Rubber Coffin? Would the needles grow slick with sweat, making every shift of the body a fresh torment? Or would it be cold, the metal spikes biting into damp skin, leaving her shivering and helpless?

She stumbled slightly, the spikes in her heels punishing her lapse with a sharp jolt of pain into her arches. She forced herself back into rhythm, her mind refusing to let go of the imagined horrors. And what about movement? In the Rubber Coffin, you’re immobilized by the inflatable padding. But the Needle Coffin… what if you’re forced to move, even slightly, to avoid the worst of the spikes? What if every breath, every twitch, only made it worse?

Her chest tightened as the song pressed into its second hour, the tempo growing more demanding. The pain in her feet was relentless, but it was nothing compared to the terror clawing at her mind. She had heard rumors that the Needle Coffin was designed to play the club’s music with needles pulsing in rhythm - a cruel irony for those who failed the 7th Circle’s song. Music to torment you, while you’re trapped and helpless. Would it be this song? The thought nearly broke her.

Evelyn’s body was slick with sweat, her movements growing increasingly erratic. The idea of being confined in the Needle Coffin for even a day was unbearable, let alone for her retirement as the owners might decide. She pictured herself screaming into the void, her cries muffled by the oppressive confines of the device. It would be worse than the Rubber Coffin, she thought, her heart racing. At least the Rubber Coffin gives you space to think. The Needle Coffin… it wouldn’t even let you have that. Should she offer to retire into the Rubber Coffin willingly, to not face the duel she dreaded most? Would this even be possible, would the wash and drying cycles keep her skin intact, forever?

The visions became more vivid with every step. She could almost feel the suffocating silence of the Needle Coffin, the sensation of countless spikes pressing into her skin, creating a constant, maddening hum of pain. Her thoughts turned darker as she speculated about its mechanisms. What if it’s worse than I imagine? What if the spikes shift, digging in deeper if you try to move? What if there’s no way to find a position of relief, no escape from its unyielding embrace?

The relentless tempo of the song pressed on, matching the pounding of her heart. Every beat seemed to echo her growing panic. She imagined the metallic interior of the Needle Coffin reflecting her distorted face, the sweat pooling beneath her immobilized form, the endless hours stretching into eternity. The Rubber Coffin, for all its discomfort and heat, suddenly seemed merciful in comparison. At least it was predictable.

She stumbled again, and this time she couldn’t recover. The song came to a grinding halt as the control panel registered her failure. Evelyn collapsed to her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the spikes in her heels extended fully, pressed into her soles mercilessly. She clawed at the floor, tears streaming down her face as the weight of her failure settled over her.

Perhaps the Rubber Coffin isn’t so bad after all, she thought bitterly, a hollow laugh escaping her lips. "At least I know what to expect. But the Needle Coffin…"

The room was silent now, save for her labored breathing. She sat back on her heels, wincing as the extended spikes bit deeper. Her mind was still consumed by the thought of the Needle Coffin, its shadow looming larger than ever.

With a click her shoes unlocked. As she removed the heels, her hands trembling, she resolved to try again tomorrow. She had no choice. The 7th Circle’s song was her only path forward, her only chance to avoid the unknown horrors that awaited her. And so, as she wiped the sweat from her brow and steadied her breathing, Evelyn whispered to herself: "Tomorrow, I’ll make it. I have to."

Evelyn

Evelyn paced the dimly lit confines of her private chamber, the ever-present thrum of Abyss pulsing through the walls. Each night, the same haunting thoughts plagued her: Lena and Mina, somewhere out there, mastering the cursed clarinet and preparing to challenge her. The image of Lena standing victorious, ready to strip Evelyn of her position and consign her to the needle coffin, haunted her every waking moment.

The stakes were unbearably high. Evelyn knew that failure to complete her own challenge would leave the owners to decide her fate - a fate that would likely end with her retirement into the needle coffin. The thought of that confinement, the relentless, unyielding press of needles against her skin for eternity, drove her to the brink of madness.

She had to complete her Seventh Circle of Hell before Lena and Mina did, so she could set the stakes herself to anything other than the coffin.

Every night, Evelyn donned the Stilettos of the Languished Arches and stepped onto the private stage in her chamber that her living room floor had become. The music began again, the very familiar notes of the Seventh Circle of Hell echoing around her. She moved with practiced grace, each step carefully measured, her endurance tested to its limits.

Her lovely batteries were brimming, embedded in the infernal circuit of suffering. Women were drained constantly in their chastity, under Caps of Despair, slowly but steadily drawing out their energy, empowering Evelyn. Yet, her own soles leaked enough of it away, to the Count, into the Abyss itself. No matter how hard she pushed herself, she could never make it past the two-hour mark. After that long time, her calfs would be cramping up, the spikes digging more and more into her soles, adding to the pain searing through her resolve, forcing her to eventually collapse in exhaustion. The song’s final hour remained an insurmountable wall, one she feared she would never conquer.

Unable to escape her growing paranoia, Evelyn began channeling her frustrations into the weekly pain games at Abyss. She needed more. More energy, more sustenance. The club’s patrons thrived on the dark aura she exuded, their own desires for pain and pleasure feeding off of her intensity.

Nadia returned weekly for hygiene, her chastity belt still sealed tight, her desperation palpable. Evelyn reveled in her suffering. Her chastity didn’t mean as much to her as Lena’s and Mina’s of course, but it was very tasty and she drank in her sexual frustration like a succubus. Nobody would ever take up on any of the desperate challenges issued sometimes by Nadia, and Evelyn orchestrated again a cruel dance that Nadia could not resit. It left her crumpled on the stage, the sharp spikes in her shoes fully and mercilessly extending into her soles. Elise and her boyfriend Alexandru were among the audience and cheered, kissing passionately while observing this display of pain.

They jumped up on stage for a surprise they had arranged with Evelyn before. Alexandru stood behind the still kneeling Nadia, steading her, to look up at her rival. Elise flashed a golden ring on her finger and erupted into cruel laughter. Her orgasms were so much better knowing her former rival languished and would go without sexual relief for the foreseeable future. Looking at Elise's engagement ring, Nadia screamed once more, this time out of horror instead of pain. There were cheers from the audience, but only few understood the cruel meaning of her ring. Nadia condemned once more the forfeit she demanded in that dance duel so long ago. As long as they are a couple…

In the background, Evelyn smiled satisfied. This battery was not running dry anytime soon.

Camelia, too, reappeared regularly as a guest, her confidence still intact and unbroken by her previous dance as the Flickering Flame. Evelyn challenged her to dance in the Ballet Shoes of Torment once more, delighting in the sight of Camelia struggling to maintain her poise as the translucent soles revealed the needles working over the arches of her feet. Though Camelia endured, gracefully floating, almost defying gravity despite her heels, Evelyn found a bit of solace in the brief moments of her pain. She obsessed over her, not as much as over Lena of course, in her fantasies she invited Camelia as a centerpiece to her solitary sessions of lust in the depths of the night. She’d need a better way to feed off of her.

Each month, new faces joined the familiar ones, all seeking the twisted pleasure that only Abyss could offer. Evelyn manipulated them with ease, her own fears and frustrations manifesting in the challenges she devised. Yet, no matter how much control she exerted over others, the fear of her own downfall remained.

Evelyn’s paranoia grew with each passing day. She saw shadows where there were none, imagined whispers of Lena and Mina’s impending triumph around every corner. The thought of the needle coffin consumed her, its existence a constant, looming threat.

Despite her nightly attempts, the Seventh Circle remained undefeated. Each failure chipped away at her confidence, leaving her more vulnerable to the fears that gnawed at her soul. The owners had made it clear: if she could not master the final circle, the duel’s stakes would be set by them. And Evelyn knew exactly what that meant.

Evelyn had trained for endurance, and her pain tolerance was legendary. The Stilettos of the Languished Arches, with their retractable spikes that punished every misstep, no longer terrified her. She could absorb the pain for quite a while. Her soles had suffered for Abyss in countless trials, and she had danced long enough that the spikes, once biting, now felt even like mercy, when compared to more demanding needle-equipped heels. But time itself had become her enemy. Age had quietly crept slowly back into her body, stiffening her joints, robbing her of the breathless fluidity that once came so easily. She had never admitted aloud how deeply the second hour of the dance drained her - not from pain, but from sheer, bodily depletion. That final hour, the abyss between her and triumph, stood like an iron wall.

She stood again, her back stiff, and walked barefoot over the polished stone floor to the corner of her chamber. There, resting like a relic, lay her personal pair of the Stilettos of the Languished Arches. She placed a hand over them, letting her fingers trace the shape of the nodules, the smooth leather. She would try again.

The Stilettos of the Languished Arches bit into her flesh again as she stepped onto her private stage in her quarters, her candlelit chambers. The music rose - haunting, relentless. The first hour passed like a ritual she had rehearsed a thousand times, her feet gliding in perfect sync with the punishing rhythm. The spikes within her heels activated only when her rhythm slipped, but she had long since mastered their cadence. It was not the spikes that defeated her. It was time.

Her age betrayed her. She looked visibly older now. The Count had drained her too often through the infernal heels.

By the second hour, her legs ached with a tremble she could not suppress, her joints stiffening, balance becoming tenuous. Her body no longer obeyed with the crisp ease of decades past. She had always prided herself on endurance, on control, on poise - but now, the final hour seemed like a summit she could no longer scale.

And yet she danced.

What made this harder, more unbearable, was not simply her age, or the cruel tempo of the Seventh Circle, but the subtle drain that accompanied her movements. She did not feel it directly. No one could.The drain was elegant, hidden. There was no bite, no sting, no invasive hand siphoning strength - but she noticed the fatigue afterward. A hollowness. A depletion that sleep never truly cured.

When Abyss was brimming with activity - when chastity belts clicked shut, when sobs echoed from the Needle Frame, when guests suffered - then Evelyn could draw strength. She fed indirectly, her form sustained not by direct rituals, but by the collective currency of pain, endurance, and erotic frustration.

Nadia’s long belt sentence, Alina’s ice-cold devotion, Ana’s fruitless cravings, and the occasional screams from the needle frame gave Evelyn enough to maintain her presence, to keep her skin smooth and voice crisp. But it was a fragile balance. When the games waned, when chastity belt timers reached zero, and when no fresh pain ignited on the stage - her source weakened.

She remembered well her recent attempt - she thought back again to the night she tricked Ana into the Needle Frame. Evelyn had taken to the stage while Ana writhed and screamed beneath the cold attention of the automated pins. It had worked. That night, she had passed deep into the third hour. Her feet had burned, her calves twitched uncontrollably, but she had nearly conquered the circle. Nearly.

She almost made it. But ‘almost’ was never enough in Abyss. She still had failed.

Now, she danced again in her chamber, her breath tight, her skin glistening with exertion. The hourglass on the wall ticked down. Her lips were cracked. The arches of her feet pulsed in remembered agony. The heels, locked to her like an oath, offered no forgiveness.

She sank to her knees.

Another defeat.

Evelyn sat slumped in the center of her stage, a dark silhouette framed in candlelight, every muscle trembling, her strength spent. She gazed into the dark corners of the chamber and whispered names like spells.

"Camelia… Ana… Nadia… Elise… Lena… Mina…"

She needed them. Their pain. Their denial. Their dread. Without them, she would not make it through her challenge. Abyss would grow quiet. She would grow old. She would be retired.

But she would not surrender. She had one more gala to plan, one more challenge to orchestrate, and many more strings to pull.

Camelia could be tested again. Those delicate arches were still learning pain.

Ana could be baited. Her hunger for the tongues still lingered. Evelyn would turn it into a noose. She would drain her completely until she would be a husk of her former self. Rich, but empty and hollow. But she understood, just as she had baited Ana into impossible challenges, so had the Count baited her.

Nadia… a puppet of denial, still so malleable, so desperate.

And Elise? Still seeking retribution.

The Count would not have her. Not yet.

Evelyn pushed herself upright, her joints protesting. Her soles tingled with remembered spikes. Her reflection in the mirrored wall looked once more older than she remembered. Just slightly.

She would dance again tomorrow.

But she could not afford to fail many more times. If she didn’t make it tomorrow, she would need to rest, regain energy and age. If she did not master the Seventh Circle before Lena and Mina completed their own terms, she would be at risk of being retired. She needed to find a delicate balance. Dance too often, and the drain would win, she would age and wither. Delay the successful dance too much, and the she could find herself suddenly facing a duel for the Needle Coffin and for her permanent retirement.

The rules were simple: defeat the song, or be defeated by it. And if she could not… she knew where she would go. And the Count would feast continuously. And she would wither within the embrace of her retirement.

Yet, despite the terror that gripped her, a flicker of resolve remained. She would continue to dance, to fight against the inevitable, to delay her fate for as long as possible. She had managed Abyss before, she had the tools and knowledge to solve the situation. The darkness of Abyss was her world, and she would cling to it until the very end. She would need to keep Abyss spinning, the Inner Sanctum shivering with tongues, the Needle Frame groaning with pain, and the rubber coffins occupied with fresh captives.

Unbeknownst to her, the soles of her own feet were destined to become the most languished soles in the history of Club Abyss. She truly had entered the Seventh Circle of Hell.

The End