Part 46
The Flickering Candle
The pulsing energy of Abyss filled the air Evelyn spotted that Camelia had entered the club once more. Her auburn hair shimmered under the dim lights, a wild contrast to her blue elegant latex dress, and her confident stride exuded a sense of excitement. She still believed her selection the previous week had been a stroke of luck - a random chance that had allowed her to shine. Tonight, she felt ready to enjoy the atmosphere, blissfully unaware of Evelyn’s plans.
Evelyn, from her usual vantage point, watched Camelia closely. The flawless performance had irked her, but more than that, Camelia’s ability to endure without breaking while she herself struggled in the Seventh Circle of Hell had stirred something darker within Evelyn - a desire to see her crumble under the weight of true pain. Tonight, she would orchestrate that fall. Indeed she had waited the last weekends until she spotted her again in the crowd to bring out the props she had in wait for her.
The centerpiece of the evening’s entertainment was the Wheel of Fortune, a large, ornate structure that glittered under the club’s shifting lights. Divided into three segments - Luck, Misfortune, and a small section labeled Fate - the wheel offered a tantalizing mix of outcomes.
While the dancing on the floor was in full swing, some patrons meandered towards the wheel, eager to see who would tempt fate. A guest stepped forward, encouraged by the silent attendant, and gave the wheel a vigorous spin. The symbols blurred as the wheel spun, slowing down before landing on Luck. The crowd cheered as the guest was handed a small envelope filled with cash. Several other guests, both male and female, played the game, most landing on luck, receiving little cash prizes or free drinks. Some landed on misfortune, having to strip one article of clothing. Under some laughter this left a woman in a latex catsuit and heels in the nude, as shoes did not count here. She did not dare a second spin.
Camelia, emboldened by the excitement and seeing most people spinning Luck, and by the reassurance of her underwear beneath her dress, stepped forward next. A silent attendant hovered near the wheel, hand resting lightly on a hidden switch beneath the surface. Camelia grasped the wheel and gave it a confident spin, unaware of the attendant’s subtle manipulation.
The wheel spun, the symbols dancing around the needle. As it slowed, the crowd watched in anticipation. The needle clicked past Luck, hovered briefly on Misfortune, and then settled decisively on Fate. The music faded away, drawing the attention the crowd. A collective gasp echoed through the room, followed by a ripple of whispers.
Evelyn’s smile widened, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. Everything was going according to plan. "It seems, the wheel has found the performer for tonight’s dance challenge, the Flickering Candle," she spoke into the microphone.
Camelia was ushered to the stage, where Evelyn awaited with a carefully curated challenge. The attendant presented a sleek, black box, which Evelyn opened with a flourish. Inside lay a pair of delicate boots, their design belied the torment they promised. They reminded the onlooker of ballet heels, but not exactly, more like 6 inch high heels, but without an actual heel.
"These," Evelyn began, her voice dripping with anticipation, "are the Ballet Shoes of Torment. As they have an extreme heel, they will elevate you onto your toes, forcing you to dance on the balls of your feet and the tips of your toes. The soles are translucent, allowing all to see the delicate needles beneath. Luckily, for our dancer, there are no needles under her toes or the balls of her feet, but they perfectly follow along the delicate arch of the foot. They will remain dormant as long as your performance is flawless. But any hesitation, any falter… and they will remind you of the price of imperfection. And to match your delicious auburn hair, you will be dressed as a flame."
Camelia’s eyes widened as she took in the shoes, the translucent soles revealing the fine, sharp needles underneath. A flicker of doubt crossed her face, but there was no way back now. The attendants led her behind the curtain and three songs later, they opened up, revealing the set-piece for the evening.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I present the Flickering Flame."
Camelia stood atop a small white pedestal, only half a foot in diameter, but four feet high, dressed in a yellow catsuit. With her long flowing red hair, she did indeed resemble a flame emerging from a white candle. With some unease she shuffled forth and back, managing her high-heeled shoes upon the small platform. She was secured in a harness.
"Camelia will be our dancing flame, waving and swaying to the rhythm of the music. If she flickers, her boots will reprimand her. And if she falls, we don’t want her to break her ankles. So we have our safety harness to catch her. It is slack now, but will let her dangle freely with her feet off the ground should she slip. The catch is however, that the leather crotch piece of the harness is lined with needles. A saddle worthy of riding into the Abyss! Do I need to emphasize that Camelia’s catsuit’s crotch zipper is held wide open underneath?"
The crowd cheered and then hushed as the music began - a haunting, slow melody that promised to test Camelia’s every move. She started swaying like a flame in a soft wind, her body moving gracefully despite the unnatural position of her feet. The boots forced her to balance delicately, her movements precise and careful.
Evelyn leaned forward from her perch, her eyes fixated on Camelia’s translucent soles, drinking in the sight of her at-risk arches. Every step revealed the needles poised beneath, waiting for the slightest mistake. The visual was mesmerizing, like a lava lamp, the anticipation of pain hanging thick in the air.
As the music quickened, Camelia struggled to keep up. Her sways more erratic, balance wavered, and in that brief moment, the needles jabbed into the soft flesh of her soles. She gasped, a sharp cry escaping her lips, but she pressed on, determined not to falter again. The flame had started to flicker.
Evelyn’s smile deepened, her gaze never leaving the sight of the needles pressing into Camelia’s feet. Each misstep brought another jab, the translucent soles revealing the tiny needles extending and retracting with mechanical precision into her arched soles.
The music went on for several more minutes, a spectacle of beauty and pain, and Camelia’s strength began to falter. The pain grew unbearable, each misstep sending sharp shocks through her body. Finally, with a misstep, another jab and she slipped off the platform. A guttural scream escaped her mouth, her face fixed in shock as her full weight connected the crotch needles to her holiest. She swayed spasming in her harness the sudden lack of pressure under her heels triggering the shoes’s mechanism fully. The needles extended to their maximum, moving into the place of maximum pain. Camelia shrieked in agony, unable to reach the floor, the sharp points embedding themselves deeply into the arches of her soles. Desperation overtook her as she flailed helplessly in mid air. Evelyn drank in her emotions, her aura, her presence growing by each second of screaming.
After a minute, she was slowly lowered to the floor, where her body went prone, her weight taken off of the crotch. Her hands shot to her crotch first, then to her boots, but the locking mechanism held fast.
The crowd watched in stunned silence, a mixture of fascination and horror playing across their faces. Evelyn, however, reveled in the sight. Camelia’s cries were a symphony to her ears, each note a testament to her triumph. She had waited long to hear this melody.
Camelia thrashed on the stage, her hands scrabbling at the boots, tears streaming down her face. "Please, take them off!" she screamed, her voice brittle with pain.
Evelyn stepped forward, her expression calm, almost serene. "This is the price of imperfection, Camelia," she said softly. "You’ve danced beautifully, but every performance must end."
As the attendants moved to release Camelia from the cursed shoes, and offered soothing balms. Evelyn returned to her perch, the satisfied gleam in her eyes betraying her inner pleasure. The crowd erupted into applause, the intense spectacle seared into their minds.
Camelia was helped offstage, her body still trembling, the echoes of her screams still reverberating through the club. Evelyn watched her go, her mind already turning to the next weekend, the next challenge, the next symphony of pain.
Tonight had been a success - a masterful blend of grace, torment, and spectacle. Tonight had been a minor victory, she orchestrated perfectly the fall into deep pain of the woman she desired third most to see in needles. The other two of course being busy to get their insides raked and hopefully never be able to withstand that for three hours. She would replay this scene in her mind later in bed when she would be very happy not be wearing a Cap of Despair herself. Tonight had been a distraction from the challenge she actually feared. Her own pair of the Stilettos of the Languished Arches were waiting in her chamber.
The spies were quiet, as they always were, but the reports they brought her were rich with detail. Ana was spiraling. The reports showed increased physical agitation. Restlessness. Extended shower times. Weekly visits to Abyss where she did not speak - only watched. Only lingered.
Evelyn ran a gloved finger along the rim of her wine glass. She looked years younger, barely 40 anymore. In Abyss she wore a Venetian mask to hide the drastic change. Ana was languishing, and so was Alina, three years into her five year forfeit. Two woman starved of their sexual energy, brimming with need, drained by her. While the unfortunate guests who were drained by Evelyn and by Abyss itself, were in sexual frustration or even pain, they would not suffer other ill effects. There would be hollow eyes from lost sleep, tossing and turning with a leaking pussy and fingers not being able to slide underneath metal underwear. There would be screams in the basement, in the Needle Frame. Screams on the stage, with needles attacking unprotected soles. But no blood would be drawn, they still had enough energy for a normal life, but the sexual energy belonged to Abyss. To her. Nothing tasted better for her than the intense but unfulfilled need for an orgasm in long-term chastity. Served with a side dish of needle-induced pain. This was the sweetest food for her, the sweetest energy.
And Alina supplied a nice and steady base energy, which would continue to flow for two more years. She never stopped guests who were escalating the forfeits themselves.
And Nadia. She was delicate, her energy and desperation tasted so good. She was not used to denial before. Having her orgasms taken away by Abyss was pure sustenance. If Elise and Alexandru stayed together she would supply energy for a life time. Evelyn had designed this trajectory like a sculptor carving a statue from trembling flesh.
But Ana was always too careful. Too proud. So Evelyn had baited the trap with mercy. A soft challenge. A victory that felt earned. And a reward that tasted like paradise.
But longing would do what cruelty could not.
And longing was now Ana’s master.