Part 1
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.