Chapter 4
The Abyss Annual Gala had been whispered about for weeks. The club’s most loyal patrons had received elegant black envelopes with embossed crimson seals, an invitation to an event promising to be as grand as it was treacherous. The gala was not merely a party; it was a showcase of Abyss’s finest theatrics, its most dazzling displays, and its most devious challenges. For Elise and Alexandru, it was the perfect stage to cement their status in the club’s elite circle. For Nadia, still languishing in her upgraded Rubber Suit of Permanence, it was another ordeal to endure. And for Evelyn, it was a chance to watch her pawns dance.
The evening began with a parade of masked guests descending the grand staircase into Abyss’s transformed ballroom. The crimson glow was subdued tonight, replaced by shimmering chandeliers and gilded decor. The air buzzed with anticipation as guests mingled, their conversations punctuated by laughter and the clinking of glasses. Everyone knew that the gala’s beauty was a veneer, and beneath it lay the sharp edge of Abyss’s true nature.
Elise entered on Alexandru’s arm, the picture of poise and elegance. She wore a floor-length satin gown in deep emerald green, its high slit revealing her toned leg. The material hugged her figure like a second skin, shimmering under the lights. Alexandru matched her in a sleek black suit with subtle satin accents, his demeanor as confident as ever. As they moved through the crowd, they were met with nods of recognition and murmurs of admiration.
"This," Elise whispered to Alexandru, "is the night we solidify our place. No more rivals. We are VIPs now. No more challenges. Just us."
Alexandru smiled, his eyes scanning the room. "Let’s hope Evelyn agrees."
Nadia arrived later, escorted by two attendants. Her glossy black latex suit, now even more conspicuous with its gloves, socks, and high neck, made her the center of attention wherever she went. She was fully encased, hooded, only her red lips and eyes were visible. She avoided Elise’s gaze, focusing instead on blending into the crowd. But blending in wasn’t an option for her tonight.
Around the ballroom, other familiar faces reappeared among the guests. Camelia, who had once danced both triumphantly and in defeat, stood near the bar in an elegant silver latex gown with matching long opera gloves, her eyes scanning the room with curiosity. Nearby, Sabine, ever bold and confident, engaged a small crowd with tales of her past challenges. Even Emma lingered at the edges, visibly uncomfortable but unable to resist the draw of Abyss’s allure. The returning guests shared knowing glances, and smiles, each carrying the weight of their own history within the club.
Evelyn appeared at the top of the staircase, her presence commanding silence. She wore a gown of crimson latex, its train flowing like liquid fire. Her mask, a delicate piece adorned with intricate gold filigree, covered half her face, leaving her sharp smile visible. She descended slowly, each step deliberate, as the crowd turned their attention to her.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Evelyn began, her voice smooth and rich, "welcome to the Abyss Annual Gala. Tonight, we celebrate the spirit of this club - resilience, elegance, and the thrill of challenge. But, as you all know, no evening in Abyss is complete without a little… risk."
The crowd murmured in agreement, excitement rippling through the room. Evelyn’s eyes scanned the guests, lingering briefly on Elise, then on Nadia, before she continued.
"Tonight, we will honor our traditions with a series of performances and games. Each will test the mettle of our participants and remind us why Abyss is unmatched in its artistry." She paused, letting the anticipation build. "And for our grand finale, we will have a challenge unlike any before. Three years of chastity are on the table for one young lady, who dared to ask for the Inner Sanctum."
Gasps and whispers filled the room as Evelyn gestured toward a velvet-draped stage at the far end of the ballroom. "But first, let us enjoy the evening."
The night unfolded in a series of dazzling displays. Performers twirled and danced, their latex-clad forms shimmering under the chandeliers. A roulette table drew cheers and groans as guests spun the wheel, some winning extravagant prizes, others leaving with penalties that ranged from playful to severe. The crowd’s energy was electric, a heady mix of glamour and danger.
The ballerina Camelia and Emma were drawn into a lighthearted game of blackjack, overseen by one of Evelyn’s attendants, a young pale lady with a vampiric smile. While the stakes were lower than some of the evening’s more devious games, the tension between them was palpable as memories of past rivalries lingered. Sabine, on the other hand, took part in a daring game of roulette, her laughter carrying over the crowd as she narrowly avoided a penalty spin. The games reminded everyone that Abyss’s charm lay in its ability to weave the playful with the perilous.
Across the room, another familiar guest, Claudia, Elise’s former opponent in the folklore quiz, found herself drawn to one of the solo gambling challenges - an alluring mix of luck and risk that promised VIP access, free drinks for the night, and a substantial cash prize. The game was deceptively simple: a large wheel of fortune, its surface divided into alternating gold and black sections, spun at the press of a button. If the wheel landed on gold, the player walked away with riches and prestige for the evening. If it landed on black, a forfeit was enacted. Claudia, emboldened by the excitement of the gala, stepped forward and gave it a good twirl with a confident smirk.
The wheel spun in a mesmerizing blur, the lights of Abyss reflecting off its metallic surface. The crowd leaned in, eyes following its rapid rotations. It began to slow, clicking past promising gold sections - then, with a final, fateful lurch, the arrow settled firmly on a deep black tile. Gasps rippled through the audience, followed by murmurs of intrigue. The Abyss lady at the wheel clapped her hands in excitement as she read the forfeit aloud, her voice carrying over the hushed room: "Forfeit: Complete Head Shave."
Claudia’s confidence shattered in an instant. Her breath hitched, and she took a reflexive step back. "No - wait, this has to be a mistake," she stammered. Laughter bubbled up from the crowd, some guests exchanging knowing glances, others whispering eagerly. The attendant merely gestured toward a sleek black chair positioned under a spotlight. The realization sank in: there was no backing out. Abyss’s rules were absolute, and she had spun the wheel willingly.
The stage crew wasted no time. Claudia, still reeling, was guided firmly into the chair. The hum of electric clippers filled the air, sending a fresh wave of shivers down her spine. She gritted her teeth as the first locks of her dark hair tumbled down her shoulders. A sharp intake of breath from the crowd punctuated each stroke of the clippers, and murmurs of excitement passed between onlookers.
Just as she thought she had braced herself, she felt the cool metal glide over her forehead. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized they weren’t stopping at her hairline. "Wait - no, not my eyebrows - " she gasped, voice rising in panic. The crowd’s amusement intensified. "Oh no, she thought it was just a haircut!" a woman teased. Another chuckled, "She’s going to really appreciate a nice, snug latex hood now!"
Her pulse pounded as she watched the last remnants of her brows disappear in the mirror before her. She looked utterly alien - bare, exposed. And yet, there was no reprieve. The clippers moved lower still, their vibration sending tremors through her as the delicate lashes that framed her expressive eyes were stripped away. The loss of them stung far more than she had expected, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to let the humiliation overwhelm her.
By the time the clippers were silenced, the crowd erupted into scattered applause. Claudia sat frozen, struggling to process what had just happened. A mirror was handed to her, and she hesitated before looking. When she did, a shudder ran through her. The smooth, pale reflection staring back at her was unrecognizable. No framing hair, no shielding brows, no comforting lashes - just a stark, unfamiliar face laid completely bare to the world.
Elise was overheard making a snarky comment, "At least now, nobody will complain about hair in their soup, waitress!" 3
Evelyn, ever the orchestrator, watched from a distance, her eyes flicking between her chosen players. She approached Elise and Alexandru during a lull in the evening, her smile as sharp as the club’s needle heels.
"Enjoying yourselves? Did you ever find a hair in your soup, my dear?" she asked, her tone polite but laced with something deeper.
"Enjoying it immensely, but no, we don’t dine in the place where she works. But if it would be my decision, all service staff, waitress or kitchen, would be fully rubberized just for hygienic reasons - you know, like your attendants here," Elise replied, her smile unwavering. After a pause she added. "You’ve outdone yourself, Evelyn."
Evelyn’s gaze shifted to Alexandru. "And you? Is tonight living up to your expectations?"
He nodded, raising his glass. "Exceeding them."
Evelyn’s smile widened. "Good. Because the night is far from over."
The air inside Abyss pulsed with low music and shifting light, warm gold and shadowed crimson rolling across the velvet-lined stage. The crowd pressed in, masked faces glowing under ambient chandeliers. It was well past midnight, the hour where boundaries blurred and ceremonies took on the shape of myth. Evelyn stepped forward, her blood-red gown shimmering with serpentine gleam, and raised her gloved hand for silence.
"For our next event," she began, her voice laced with delight, "we present a contest in its purest Abyss tradition, not of strength or speed, but of will, identity, and control. A contest of presence, of story, of legacy."
The crowd murmured in anticipation.
Evelyn's eyes swept the audience. "Elise. Nadia. Step forward."
There was a brief pause. The crowd shifted, parted. Elise, regal and self-assured, descended from the lounge stairs with Alexandru at her side. Her emerald satin dress shimmered in the lights, an image of decadence incarnate. Nadia followed more slowly, latex clinging to her frame, her body fully enclosed, only her eyes and mouth visible behind the black mask, her gait more hesitant, every step a reminder of the five grueling months she’d spent in her rubber confinement. She had not yet even passed the halfway mark.
"Ladies," Evelyn said, arms outstretched, "tonight’s challenge is simple. No beams, no needles, no balance games. Just presence. Truth. One of you will leave this stage with a prize. Elise, should you win, Nadia’s rubberization is extended by one more month. If Nadia wins…" she turned to the latex-clad figure, " - you may shed a month."
Applause swelled.
Evelyn turned again. "But not by vote. By voice. The audience shall decide. This is a battle of poise, not pain. Of composure, not choreography. Let us begin."
The spotlight dimmed, and soft amber footlights illuminated the three women as they took their places in high-backed velvet chairs at center stage. The contrast between Elise and Nadia could not have been higher; one in elegance and satin, the other in black latex, boots, gloves and catsuit, hooded; only Nadia’s eyes were visible under the rubber that covered even her face.
"Elise," Evelyn began, smile curling, "you remain engaged to Alexandru. And as per the club’s terms, Nadia’s chastity is bound to your discretion indefinitely, should the engagement persist, and we hear rumors that your wedding may be coming up soon. The key remains under Abyss care, but you decide whether it is ever used."
Elise’s voice was smooth and confident. "Correct."
"And you’ve been generous, in your way. Have you ever offered Nadia release?"
Elise tilted her head. "I’ve offered her chances. Games. Duels. Fair challenges."
"And why has she never been granted even one climax in over a year?" Evelyn asked, turning her attention to Nadia. Nadia closed her eyes for a beat. "Because the challenges have been too hard. Or unfair!"
The crowd stirred.
"Unfair? You even asked rubberization of me, even challenged me to the rubber coffin. Unfair? Girl, you are just not good enough. Or you secretly admit that you deserve nothing else than chastity and… rubber." Elise countered.
"You mean Elise only allows you orgasms if you beat her?" Evelyn mused.
"She sets the terms," Nadia said, her voice fragile now. "She sets them in a way she knows I’ll fall short."
Elise laughed softly. "I give you chances. You just never rise to them."
Evelyn nodded, pleased by the tension blooming. "And yet you endure. Over three years now in chastity. Your latex tally had already been reset before, restarting your rubber year."
"Three years and seven months in chastity already," Nadia corrected quietly.
"Of course, how hard to deal with that, my dear," Evelyn replied with fake sympathy. "Precision matters." The crowd laughed.
"Nadia," Evelyn continued, "what does the rubber feel like now?"
Nadia hesitated, eyes flickering to the audience. "It's hot. I can’t endure the rubber! It’s so much, for so long. And inside Abyss, I have to wear the full hood as well. It is so sweaty. I drip, it’s everywhere. On my legs, my arms, my back, in my boots. At home, I wake up sweating. Every step reminds me I’m not free."
A pause.
"And you want to be free?" Evelyn’s tone was teasing now.
"Even for a month, please," Nadia whispered.
Elise interjected with a smirk. "The audience will decide that tonight. Grant you relief or extend your suffering." Nadia’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. The crowd shifted again, watching.
Evelyn leaned forward. "So, Nadia. You’ve submitted yourself under Elise’s rubberization rules, wear the latex like a second skin. You’ve submitted to her forfeits, her choreography of denial. And yet, here you are. What would you say you’ve learned?"
Nadia’s voice trembled. "That even the strongest body breaks under denial. Under heat. That submission isn’t always about pleasure."
"And Elise," Evelyn purred, turning to her, "what have you learned?"
Elise’s eyes gleamed like polished glass. She let the silence stretch for a moment, her gaze fixed on Nadia with a predator's stillness. Then, with a slow exhale that could have been mistaken for pleasure, she finally spoke.
"That Nadia breaks beautifully," she said, her voice a quiet dagger of satisfaction. "But not in a way that shatters. No. She breaks like silk under pressure - folding, yielding, reshaping itself around her denial."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Elise continued, her tone now more indulgent. "She begs so nicely. Not aloud. But in body language…. it pleads louder than words ever could. I’ve watched her wear that suit like a penance, watched her hips shift under the belt against it just slightly every time she thinks no one is watching. That’s not resistance. That’s erosion. And I’ve learned that there's an art to shaping that kind of longing."
She turned to Evelyn now, regal in posture. "She breaks, and I learn more about control. About restraint. About permanence. Every day she wakes up and puts that suit on, I’m reminded how beautiful long games can be."
The crowd was utterly still. And Evelyn, delighted, simply nodded once, her eyes glittering with admiration. A shiver moved through the room. The tension onstage was electric.
"One final question," Evelyn said, rising slowly. "Do either of you want to offer anything to sway the audience? A final remark?"
Elise shook her head, her confidence unshakable.
Nadia stood, trembling slightly. "Just… I’ve worn this suit for almost five months. I’ve worn that belt for over three years. And I’ve never complained. I haven’t begged. But I’d trade anything for one month of breathing again. One month out. Please. Please?"
Silence.
Evelyn smiled. "Then we shall see if that plea moves hearts."
She turned to the audience. "Abyss… decide."
Applause. Roars. First for Elise - loud, affirming, sharp. Then for Nadia, emotional, swelling, but not enough. Evelyn raised her hand. "Elise has won."
Nadia’s shoulders fell. Her latex creaked with the motion, heavy and suffocating. Her gaze fell to the floor. Evelyn leaned in, lips to mic. "Another month for you, Nadia. The suit stays on."
Nadia trembled.
"And just think, almost six done, six to go," Elise said quietly, standing to leave, added with a sadistic smile, "and now, it’s only seven more to go."
The stage lights dimmed, and Nadia remained seated as the room applauded Elise’s departure. Her heart pounded, her mouth dry. Five months in rubber had been agony. The thought of not getting a well deserved break from it and now another month in latex… broke something loose in her chest.
Elise didn’t look back.
And Evelyn? Evelyn was already smiling, waiting for the next event - Ana.
Nadia closed her eyes. She started sobbing.
Endurance had become her only prayer.
The high hall of the Abyss adorned in velvets and mirrors, light catching on the sharpened contours of masks and glasses. The Abyss Gala - part performance, part judgment, part feast - was humming with tension for the final act of the night when Evelyn took the central stage
She stood tall in black, sleek and controlled, her hands clasped behind her back as she gazed across the crowd. Her voice cut through the music like a wire. "Tonight, for our final show, we raise the stakes. Tonight, we honor challenge - the lifeblood of the Abyss. One of ours has dared to challenge not for a prize, but for the right to name the prize."
The room quieted. Glasses lowered. Heads turned.
"Ana," Evelyn said, sweeping one hand toward her, "has asked for a chance to rewrite the terms of entry into the Sanctum. And I have agreed - on the condition of a duel against myself. Abyss shall know that I myself are not above donning needle heels myself."
Ana stepped into the light, wearing deep red, fitted and simple. Her face was unreadable, but her hands were clenched. Her heart raced
Evelyn continued: "The duel is a dance. The pre-dance to her actual challenge. To define the terms of the upcoming challenge. Three songs. No rehearsal. No safety. The winner decides the terms of Ana’s future Sanctum trial. If Ana wins, she sets the terms of her next challenge: she may pursue her pleasure on her own terms: a night in the Sanctum, no chastity before and after if she wins, and eight hours in the needle frame if she loses. But if I win the pre-dance…"
She smiled slowly, letting the moment stretch. "Then Ana will submit to three years of total chastity and abstinence. She can have another attempt to visit the Sanctum after two years served. If she loses her Sanctum trial after these two years, she will complete the third year regardless after spending twenty-four hours in the needle frame, with the feared finger and toe pads active - but if she wins she will be granted one night in the Sanctum and then completes her third year in chastity."
A sharp intake of breath passed through the crowd. Not sympathy - excitement. This drama was what they came for.
Backstage, the preparations unfolded in silence, ceremonial and weighted. The dressing room was dim, its atmosphere dense with tension and perfume. Two masked attendants moved around Evelyn with practiced ease, their gloved hands unbuckling her strappy heels and placing the Stilettos of the Languished Arches at her feet. Their towering needle-like spires were less fashion and more weapon. She didn’t even flinch. She had worn these again the night before in her own bedchamber in her own Circles of Hell. Ana would stand no chance. She’d drain her over three years of orgasmic starvation. The attendants fastened each strap with reverent precision, locking the heels into place. A final twist of a key sealed them tight. She nodded once. She was ready.
Ana’s side of the room was less composed. Her own masked attendants approached without hesitation, lifting the Heels meant for her. Ana sat as they were strapped on, her breaths shallow, anticipation biting into her gut. When she felt the inner spikes laying dormant in their nodules, she gasped - the points wouldn’t pierce skin, but they threatened it, grinding against pressure points like needles testing nerve. She winced but said nothing. Her body tensed as she was pulled to her feet, trying to balance as the heels instantly shifted her center of gravity. The attendants ensured the locks clicked closed, leaving no way out until the ceremony was done. Ana tied her hair back tightly, a trembling ritual of defiance. Her dress was a deep, matte red, shaped with sharp lines and an unforgiving fit, designed to hold nothing back.
The moment before the stage, they passed each other in the hallway, a flash of gaze and nothing more. Evelyn walked with unshakable grace, heels digging into the marble without a sound.
The music began.
Evelyn danced - measured, exact, her silhouette commanding. Ana followed with fiery motion, her red dress slicing through the air as she spun. The first song demanded speed and intensity. Ana gave both, burning through the rhythm like a fuse. But the faster she moved, the harder it became to keep in perfect sync. A half-beat too early - nothing visible to the crowd - but the heels knew. A dozen needle-fine spikes bit up into her soles. Ana’s eyes widened. Her body locked for a second. She fought through it.
The second song came - tango, fierce and tight. Ana rallied. She leaned into the proximity of Evelyn’s dance, used her presence to stabilize herself. For a moment, she matched Evelyn’s precision. The crowd held its breath. But the margin for error was razor-thin. Evelyn remained impeccable, her steps clicking crisply, no change in her expression. Ana, by contrast, was sweating now. The burn in her feet was rising. Another missed beat - more spikes kissed the delicate underside of her feet.
Then the final song began. It was slow, sensual, sinister. The rhythm teased, shifted subtly, demanded intuition. Evelyn adapted instantly, gliding like shadow. Ana hesitated - just once. The spikes activated again, surprised her. She faltered. Her leg gave way. She collapsed to one knee.
A hush fell across the room.
Ana tried to stand. The pain pulsed through her, sharp and hot. She could feel the spikes against her soles, impossible to stand up again. Her body screamed for stillness. Her pride forced her up again - but too late. Evelyn’s final steps brought the song to a close, smooth and effortless.
The applause broke like a wave, and the verdict was obvious.
Evelyn stepped to center stage, her voice rich with poise. "You've seen. You've felt. Decide." And the crowd did. Thunder for Evelyn. A scattering for Ana.
Evelyn approached her, and whispered low, her voice coiled with triumph: "Three years, little flame. And not one flicker of mercy." Louder, to the audience, she announced "Ana’s pussy will be sealed up and starved!"
The crowd erupted in cheers as Ana bowed her head. The duel was over. The sentence had begun. In two years she would find out whether it would be worth it, to feel the tongues again. Or to find herself in needles again. Abyss’ facsimiles of Heaven and Hell.
As the crowd began to disperse into smaller groups, the chatter was a blend of admiration for Evelyn’s and Elise’s victories and hushed sympathy for Ana’s and Nadia’s struggles. Patrons would find a new plague in the lounge.
ANA
DANCE DUEL
CHASTITY
2 y, 11 m, 30 d, 23:48
Nadia had collapsed into one of the quieter corners of the club, her hands trembling as she clutched the table. She felt hollow. Six months - she had made it six grueling months through her tally in the light suit. Only weeks in the upgraded heavier suit. And now, thanks to her failure, one of these months had to be experienced again. She would effectively prolonging her sentence by a whole month. The thought made her stomach churn. She was already overwhelmed by the daily challenge of wearing the suit 16 hours a day, its heat and slick interior a constant reminder of her predicament. But what truly gnawed at her was the chastity belt locked beneath it, an unyielding barrier that amplified her unfulfilled desires.
"Another month in rubber," she muttered bitterly. "And now, if I slip up again…"
"You had just your timer reset to zero at the Masquerade Ball, right? What is one more, really?" Nadia growled.
"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like this."
The voices around her felt distant, like a cacophony she couldn’t tune out. She caught snippets of conversation - laughs, murmurs of admiration for Elise, and pitying glances cast her way. Each one felt like a dagger.
Camelia approached quietly, a drink in hand. "Nadia," she said softly, sliding into the seat across from her. "You held up well out there. Better than most would have. At least it’s not three years as for Ana."
Nadia’s laugh was bitter. "Held up? I’m in chastity for more than three years. And I lost. Another month gone. And now I’m stuck in this… this hell for even longer." She gestured to the suit, her voice trembling with frustration. "I thought maybe I could…" She trailed off, her words swallowed by the lump in her throat.
"Maybe you could get out of it for a while?" Camelia finished gently. She reached out, placing a comforting hand on Nadia’s rubberized arm. "You’re stronger than you think. Most people wouldn’t have lasted this long, let alone come back for another challenge. Most people would have lost their minds in that belt."
Nadia shook her head. "Strength? What good is strength when it changes nothing?"
Camelia hesitated, unsure how to respond, how to comfort. Finally, she said, "You’re still here. That counts for something."
Meanwhile, Elise and Alexandru celebrated on the other side of the room. Alexandru handed Elise a fresh glass of champagne, his eyes gleaming with pride. "You’ve proven yourself again," he said.
Elise smirked, spinning around once for him to admire her. "And to think, she actually thought she could beat me." "She’s resilient," Alexandru admitted. "But that’s her flaw. She doesn’t know when to give up."
Elise’s smirk deepened. "Not that she had a choice this time. And that’s why she’ll always stay exactly where she is. That’s where I want her. In chastity and in rubber, for as long as possible. She’s so desperate for scraps of freedom that she doesn’t realize how futile it all is."
Their conversation was interrupted by Evelyn’s arrival. She approached with her characteristic grace, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Elise. Alexandru. A word?"
They nodded, following her to a quieter corner of the club. Evelyn’s smile widened slightly as she addressed them. "You’ve done well tonight, Elise. Your performance was exemplary, as always."
"Thank you, Evelyn," Elise replied, her tone confident.
Evelyn’s eyes flickered to Alexandru. "And you must be proud. She’s quite the asset to Abyss."
"More than you know," Alexandru said, his tone light but full of meaning.
Evelyn’s smile sharpened. "I hope you’re both ready. The gala was just the beginning. Abyss has many more plans in motion, and I suspect you’ll find them… engaging."
Elise’s curiosity was piqued, but Evelyn offered no further details, leaving her words to hang tantalizingly in the air.
For Evelyn, time passed as well, the Seventh Circle still lingering, her progress in her own torturous heels slow as molasses. Still, no challenge to her final duel came. Evelyn continued her brutal training, but the burning panic in her chest had dulled into a lingering unease rather than outright terror. She had begun to consider the possibility - just the possibility - that Lena had either failed to master the Cursed Clarinet or had simply chosen not to invoke her right to challenge. But doubt lingered. What if she was biding her time? What if she was waiting for the perfect moment to strike? Evelyn could not afford complacency, so she kept dancing, kept enduring, determined to be prepared for a battle that, perhaps, hopefully, would never come. She was glad she had not yet offered her voluntary retirement into the Rubber Coffin, even though she was still considering it during nights when her dreams were filled with needles.
Nadia’s apartment felt like a prison that night. She peeled off the suit with trembling hands, her body slick with sweat. The cool air against her skin was a relief, but it couldn’t soothe the raw emotions coursing through her. She stared at herself in the mirror, her reflection a mixture of defiance and exhaustion.
Her phone buzzed, drawing her attention. It was a message from Evelyn.
"Rest well, Nadia. Your resilience tonight was noted. But remember, Abyss doesn’t reward failure. Your tally requirement is increased by a month, and the road ahead will demand even more of you. Sweet dreams."
Nadia clenched her jaw, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She wouldn’t let Abyss break her.
As the night deepened, Evelyn returned to her private quarters in Abyss. She poured herself a glass of wine and sat by the window, overlooking the emptying ballroom, her own pair of Stilettos of the Languished Arches beside her on the coffee table. Her mind buzzed with possibilities. Nadia’s defeat had been satisfying, as has been Ana’s, but her spirit… there was something unyielding about it. And that intrigued Evelyn more than she cared to admit.
"Perhaps," she murmured to herself, "it’s time to raise the stakes."
Ana tossed again beneath the sheets, the tangled mess of fabric clinging to her skin slick with sweat. The fan purred uselessly from the corner of the room. Her thighs pressed tight together, her breath shallow and irregular. It had been weeks since the gala, weeks since her defeat, and yet the ache remained as raw as the night Evelyn had whispered that verdict: three years. Three years. A sentence with no climax.
She rolled to her side, hands roaming the flat of her stomach, slipping upwards to her breasts. Her nipples were already hard, sensitive to the faintest brush of her fingers. She circled one, slowly at first, then pinched - but instead of relief, it deepened the burn, stirred the hunger in her lower belly. She knew some women learned orgasm from that alone. She was not one of them. She whimpered quietly, squeezing her eyes shut. This wasn’t pleasure. It was torment. Self inflicted, fanning the flames in her crotch. Her body begged for a release it was no longer allowed to have. Each little game she played with herself only made the denial crueler. Was the fire better than the lukewarm orgasms she enjoyed before? She couldn’t tell.
Ana curled her knees toward her chest, grinding her teeth. Her mind kept looping back to the deal. She’d come to Evelyn hungry for intensity, for meaning. She’d wanted to gamble again with something real. And now she had it. The cost was constant, the hunger never dulled. Unlike her first two years in chastity, this stretch came with no upward mobility, no secret transfers of credits, no quiet financial upgrades. Evelyn had made it clear: this time, no rewards, no career aid. Nothing.
This was pure.
Ana stared at the ceiling, the shadow of the ceiling fan blades spinning lazily across the plaster. The weight of it all pressed on her chest. Two years more, and then what? A challenge, yes. She’d get to try. Evelyn had promised that. But what if she failed again? What if the tongues remained a phantom she could never touch again, just a memory to torture her in sleepless hours like this one? She remembered the frame. Cold metal. Needles, sharp and unrelenting. Her body twisting under their rhythm, pain slicing through the haze of denied pleasure. That had been her previous chance - and she'd missed the tongues by a breath.
Now she'd have to risk twenty-four hours in that hell again when Evelyn’s game came up in two years time.
She clenched her fists under the sheets. This was no longer about curiosity or ambition. She was just surviving. Just enduring. And what terrified her more than anything was that there was no leverage left. She had already traded her chastity once for financial lifelines. Now that wasn’t an option. If trouble came - if she lost funding, lost momentum, if the firm grew cold toward her - what could she offer Evelyn then? What would be enough? If she ever needed to negotiate, she’d be out of options and Evelyn would take her for everything her body could offer.
Her stomach turned. She didn’t want to think about that. She couldn’t. The woman she’d once been - clever, calculating, always with a backup plan - had gambled all her capital on hunger. Coming from poverty, having had it all, now writhing in her luxury satin sheets with the metal locked around her hips once more. And now she was empty.
She lay there until morning light cut across the floor. Still unsatisfied. Still burning. And utterly alone with her choices. She moaned softly as she pinched her nipple again.