Part 24
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.