Part 35
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.