Part 4
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.