Part 31
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.