Chapter 17
Nadia tossed and turned beneath her sheets, her body slick with sweat, her breathing erratic. The darkness of her bedroom felt oppressive, suffocating, but nothing compared to the torment within her own body.
Three months.
It had been three months since Evelyn had installed the latex extension into her chastity belt, and it had unraveled her piece by piece. The extension was subtle, almost delicate in design, yet it was cruel beyond words. A whisper of stimulation, a presence that never truly left her mind. Never enough to satisfy, never enough to ignore. A slow, inescapable madness pressing against her every waking moment.
The Rings of Eternal Longing compounded her suffering. As if the belt alone wasn’t enough, they magnified her torment, ensuring that even the faintest thoughts of relief sent electric waves of unfulfilled desire through her. It was unbearable, yet she endured, because she had no other choice.
She rolled onto her side, then onto her back, then curled her knees up, trying anything, anything to find a position that didn’t send waves of frustration and longing tearing through her body. But there was none. The belt had reshaped her nights into endless battles, each minute stretching into an eternity of quiet, hopeless suffering.
With a groan, she kicked the sheets away and sat up abruptly. Her breath came in quick, shallow pants, her body humming with an ache she couldn’t resolve. It was like fire in her veins, an insatiable hunger clawing at her insides. The cruelest part was how deeply her body had begun to crave it, how much she would give just for a moment of relief.
She needed to cool down.
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she pushed herself up and stumbled toward the bathroom. The cold tiles beneath her bare soles were a sharp contrast against her flushed skin, grounding her for the briefest of moments. She turned on the shower, stepping under the icy stream, gasping as the chill shocked her body into some semblance of clarity.
For a few minutes, she simply stood there, letting the cold water wash over her, dulling the constant ache. But as soon as she stepped out and dried herself, the torment returned. It never left.
Nadia wrapped herself in a robe and made her way to the kitchen, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. Her hands shook slightly as she prepared tea, the act mechanical, something to occupy her mind. Anything to distract herself from the belt’s suffocating grip.
She settled onto the couch, tea in hand, and exhaled slowly. But no amount of warmth from the cup could thaw the icy dread curling in her stomach.
Elise.
For the first time that night, the belt was no longer the worst thing on her mind.
Nine months. Nine months since Elise had been sealed away in the transparent coffin beneath Abyss’s stage. Nadia had seen her many times - her slow, agonizing struggles, the way the latex prison forced her to move, to writhe in a silent dance of torment. She had seen her desperation, the ghost of Elise’s former arrogance reduced to weak, involuntary shifts beneath the glass.
She should have felt relief. She should have felt safe.
But she wasn’t.
Elise’s words haunted her, clung to her like a whispered curse.
Good girl. See, I promised you, you will face the coffin. I want you there, Nadia. More than anything.
Nadia’s grip tightened around the teacup. That had been before. Before Elise had been tricked, before she had lost. Before she had spent months suffocating under layers of rubber, with no voice, no control, no escape. That Elise had sworn vengeance, had promised to drag Nadia into the same fate.
But had that changed? Alexandru had hinted at that; that they still wanted her entombed.
Would Elise, after enduring the coffin herself, still want to push Nadia into it? Would she still hold onto that same thirst for retribution?
No. No, she must have changed. How could she not? How could she endure nine months of that kind of hell and still want to inflict it on someone else? No, she must have realized how cruel she had been, how unnecessary this vendetta was. She must see reason now. She had to. Nadia had spared her. She had chosen to show mercy, and mercy meant something, didn’t it?
And yet, what if it didn’t?
What if Elise didn’t see it as mercy at all? What if she saw it as humiliation? As control? As a leash still held firmly in Nadia’s hands? What if every second Elise spent writhing in the coffin only deepened her hatred?
Nadia swallowed hard, her throat dry.
She had seen Elise, bald, slick with sweat, squirming against the latex, her face twisted in silent resignation and desperation. She had seen the slow, weak shifts of her limbs, the subtle spasms of exhaustion. It had been horrifying. Humiliating. Elise, once untouchable, reduced to something pitiful, something less than human.
Wouldn’t she want revenge?
Nadia curled inward, pressing the warm teacup against her chest, hoping to drive out the cold creeping into her bones. No. She has to understand. I gave her a way out. I saved her. She wouldn’t still -
But the memory of Elise’s words after Camelia had been sealed away returned to her. The "fairy tale" night, some eleven months ago, where Elise had taunted her endlessly.
The pinnacle of rubber bondage, an installation that embodies true enclosure. You would be displayed, admired, debated. A masterpiece of suffering. I want you inside that coffin, sinking you into the slippery hot folds of it. I’ll promise you, you’ll face it.
I want you there, Nadia. More than anything.
She remembered these words very well.
And later, presenting her with the social media challenge, telling her exactly how she would maneuver her into the coffin. Good girl. See, I promised you, you will face the coffin. Words, heavy like stones.
She shuddered violently. No, no, it’s different now. It’s been months. She must have changed. She must.
Nadia took a shaky breath. What if Elise still wanted to use the social media threat? What if she still dangled it over her head? What if she had gone insane in that monstrous sarcophagus by now? What if -
No. No, if it came to that, she would accept the exposure. Wouldn’t she? It would be humiliating, yes. But it would be better than the coffin.
Wouldn’t it?
Her thoughts looped, tangled, twisted. Elise must forgive her. She must. But what if she didn’t? What if the only way to be rid of this was to prove herself? To gamble? To challenge Elise before she could challenge her?
No. No, that was absurd. She had control. She could just walk away. She could say no.
But she had said "no" before, and Abyss had a way of taking choices away.
Her stomach twisted painfully. Would she resist? Would she panic? Or would she be tricked, led willingly into the very fate she had spent years avoiding?
She thought about the coffin again. The way it seemed to breathe when Elise moved. The tightness of the latex, the slow, helpless ripples of motion. The way patrons would stop and watch, their whispers brushing over the glass as Elise was forced to shift in her vacuum-sealed latex restraints. That could be me, her mind whispered. That could be my body, displayed and unchanging, locked away from the world.
She set down her tea, hands trembling. There had to be another way. Could she start revealing pieces of her past herself? Could she still take control of her own story before Elise was freed and did it for her? She imagined small, careful admissions - perhaps mentioning to a friend how she had once been involved in unusual games, letting the truth seep out slowly. Maybe, over time, she could control the narrative. Maybe, if she controlled how it was told, the eventual exposure wouldn’t destroy her.
But how could she explain her enforced chastity? The desperate, humiliating games she had played for just a single orgasm, for twelve orgasms over a year, and the others… how many of the bets she had lost already? She had even asked for the black rubber coffin for a month to gamble for a single orgasm. How could she ever make that sound like something normal?
Nadia squeezed her eyes shut. Would she be forced to play again? Would she have to risk everything just to avoid the fate she had spared Elise from and to get a signed waiver? Before Elise took the video, she knew already, she'd take the exposure willingly if she wouldn't need to gamble for a year. She would take her dear chances, if it would be for a month, or even three. But Elise would never be happy with that. Months, she had said. But how many? Six? Would she still risk it? Yes. A full year as well? Maybe? Forever? Oh god!
Oh god! Elise was in there for twelve months; for sure she would not be satisfied with anything less than that. She had demanded permanent bondage and Evelyn left the choice to her. Would she demand a challenge for her to retire into that hellish box?
She would not survive a year in there. She was not as tough and strong willed as Elise. A year? Then let her expose her. She had always thought that, but that was before the video. That video. Her full name, licking Elise’s feet. If that was leaked, even to her parents back in the village, she’d be destroyed, losing all respect. Not the fancy city girl who made it, but a chaste rubber pet. Twelve months and even beyond was definitely on the table. Permanent retirement? Wasn’t that better than never being able to show her face again? She would want that the Earth swallowed her whole, never to be seen again - but taking it literally? Abyss would invent a plausible story why she was no longer available.
Her colleagues wouldn’t understand either. Abyss had influence; in some companies, partaking in the games in this community would excel careers, but she wasn’t sure if her company would be one of them. She knew Abyss would catch all worldly sorrows from its contestants, except the public humiliation forfeits of course. If she needed a new job after her exposure, Abyss would provide. It always did.
Her colleagues had accepted her latex suits, even fancied it later. But her belt? Her rings? Her nightly bondage? Her desperate pleas for games? That video of her licking Elise’s soles? Her friends outside Abyss would look at her with pity, or worse, disgust. Would it really soften the blow? She was very self conscious, a public forfeit of this magnitude would make her consider to try her luck against a retirement forfeit. Wasn’t that better than never being able to show her face again, never to visit her village again? If she risked retirement, she’d be spared the humiliation, and without oily heels she had seen that the statue challenge is winnable. She did win it easily in the past, before Elise cheated her with the oil. But in a duel, Elise still would have won even if Evelyn did drip the oil into Elise’s heels. She could win again, very realistically, if she managed to conquer her fear over the rubber coffin.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the rain outside. She had given Elise a way out, had saved her from eternal bondage. But had that been a mistake? Had she only delayed the inevitable?
The image of Elise, her hairless head slick with sweat, the latex rippling over her motionless body, flashed in her mind. The way the patrons had laughed about her transformation. Called her a human slug. An exhibit.
That can’t be me.
But what if Elise wanted it to be? What if Elise had planned for it to be? Of course she had, she said it many times. Would her mercy save her from Elise’s wrath?
She screamed in her mind, I gave her mercy. She can not, can not, can not, can not, demand the rubber coffin from me. She can not. Her mind spiraled, she felt dizzy. Her breath came faster, shallow, uncontrolled. She gripped the couch, as if steadying herself against an invisible force dragging her downward. She felt sick. Could Elise make her an exhibit, too? Would she make sure she was the one bald, sweating, displayed beneath the glass? Maybe for her lifetime?
No. No, she had to stop thinking about it. Had to push the thoughts away. But they looped, over and over, pressing into her mind like the constant, pulsing ache of the belt.
She can not! She must have learned empathy. She must! But she knew, deep down, that Elise was not like her. It was entirely possible.
The rubber coffin had loomed over her almost a year now, a ghostly presence in her nightmares. And now, despite all she had done to avoid it…
It could still be waiting for her.
The lounge of Abyss pulsed with its usual blend of menace and seduction, soft violet light shimmered across the velvet furnishings, and every conversation was coated in a low thrum of background music and secrets. Camelia sat tucked into a dark leather alcove near the back, her long legs crossed tightly under the table, the faintest twitch betraying the tension rippling beneath her poised exterior.
She was dressed in her off-stage attire, a sleek black dress with sleeves that kissed the elbows, her hair left free and swept to one side. There was no stage lighting here, no music to mask the ache in her joints or the residual trauma lingering in her soles. She had managed to slip away after rehearsals, and the moment she sat, she'd signaled for a drink with shaking fingers.
Nadia approached her table, the latex of her suit creaking faintly as she moved. The black catsuit hugged every inch of her body like melted rubber, up to her neck, with her gloved hands carefully wrapped around a glass. Her expression softened as she saw Camelia.
"Mind if I sit?" Nadia asked, already sensing something fragile behind Camelia's carefully still form.
Camelia glanced up, and in that moment, recognition sparked in her tired eyes. She gestured gently to the seat across from her. "Nadia! Please. I love to have you here by me."
As Nadia settled in, Camelia studied her briefly, then gave a faint, appreciative smile. "You're still famous… Even without the full-enclosure suit."
Nadia blinked, surprised. "Me? I mean, I'm barely out of the shadows."
Camelia shook her head gently. "Come on… the chastity wall. Yours is the only display that doesn't tick down. Everyone notices that. And the duel. Your forfeits. You’re… iconic, in a way."
Nadia winced slightly but didn’t look away. "Doesn’t feel iconic. Just… exhausting."
Camelia nodded. "Yes. That part, I understand."
For a moment, they sat in silence, just the clink of ice in their glasses and the subtle swish of latex filling the space. "You are quite famous, too. The resident ballerina. But you look like you’ve been through something," Nadia said softly.
Camelia gave a brittle laugh. "We are some kind of unlucky celebrities in Abyss, you mean? But my ordeal, on stage - you saw it. Everyone did."
Nadia nodded slowly, her voice gentle. "You screamed. That moment… I don’t think anyone in the room breathed. It was awful."
Camelia exhaled slowly. "The toe nodules. They’re new. Evelyn had them engineered for me. They sit beneath the toe stems - not the pads. So delicate. Too delicate. They activated when I faltered. All eight. And they didn’t retract."
Nadia’s expression darkened. "That’s… monstrous."
"I tripped because two girls heckled me from the front row. They mocked my pain, called my heels fake. I tried to hold my rhythm. I did. But… I missed the mark. And the needles struck. It was like hot wires driven into the base of my toes. I couldn't unclench. The heels locked me in. I was sobbing on stage, Nadia."
Nadia reached across the table, her gloved hand resting lightly atop Camelia’s. Camelia smiled and relaxed at the gesture. "You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone. And you shouldn’t have to face it again without someone at your side."
Camelia swallowed. "It wasn’t even punishment. Evelyn said… It was art. She said my toes should learn to curl around the nodules, to avoid the pain, not to be unnerved by the audience’s taunts. She’s having me wear the full needle suit tonight."
Nadia went still. "Tonight?"
Camelia nodded once. "The catsuit with spike layers in the arms, thighs, stomach, lower back. They won’t trigger unless I miss a movement. And the heels…"
"The same ones?" Nadia asked.
"Yes. She said they were engineered for me alone. That she insisted on their creation, the most painful heels ever designed for Abyss. She wants me to dance with them, always. To learn to love the threat, and master them eventually."
Nadia’s heart twisted. She could almost feel the phantom press of needles beneath her own toes just from the way Camelia spoke. There was nothing performative in her words, only dread and grit.
"Camelia," Nadia said gently, squeezing her hand, "I saw what happened. And it wasn’t your weakness. It was their cruelty. Deliberate and vicious. You didn’t deserve that."
Camelia gave a weak smile. "I suppose that’s what Abyss does. It makes us beautiful through fear."
"No," Nadia said firmly. "You’re beautiful in spite of it. Not because of it. And when you step on that stage tonight, just know someone out here sees you. Not the pain. Not the spectacle. You."
Camelia blinked, caught off guard. Her lips parted, then closed again, unsure how to receive such tenderness. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Nadia leaned back, sipping her drink. "We both wear too much rubber. But we don’t have to carry the weight alone." Camelia looked down at her lap, where her hands gripped the hem of her dress. Then, with quiet courage, she nodded.
Tonight, she would dance. And maybe, just maybe, not just for Evelyn’s cruel vision, but for herself. And for the friend who would be watching.
"I need to get ready for the stage. Tonight I owe the latex catsuit lined with needle nodules for my previous fall. I will dance flawlessly tonight; just for your applause, Nadia," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Meanwhile, Evelyn sat in her dimly lit office, the ever-present hum of Abyss vibrating through the walls. Tonight wasn’t about the revelry outside; it was about control, patience, and setting the right pieces in motion. She swirled a glass of dark wine in her hand, her mind analyzing her three projects: Nadia, Camelia, and Elise.
Nadia was on the verge of breaking. That much was clear. The latex extension inside her belt had done exactly what Evelyn had intended: created a slow, methodical erosion of self-control. Unlike the previous challenges, this wasn’t about immediate suffering but an insidious, creeping torment that rooted itself in every moment of her existence. At first, Nadia had raged in silence, trying to ignore the constant, slick movement that tormented her with every step. But time had worn her down. Evelyn had observed her carefully - how she moved, how her breath hitched at the subtlest motions, how she had begun to sit unnaturally still when she thought no one was looking. It was telling. Nadia wasn’t the same woman who had once burned with defiance. She was tired. She was desperate. And soon, she would be pliable.
Still, Evelyn had to be patient. The game wasn’t ready to be played just yet. Nadia would have to reach a point where she would willingly offer something significant just for the possibility of relief. That was where true power play: not in forcing submission, but in letting the desperate submit themselves. The moment she came asking - no, begging - for a challenge again to earn a reprieve, Evelyn would be ready. Of course, the negotiations would start at a much higher forfeit than Nadia would be willingly offer. The latex extension in her belt would ensure she’d accept higher stakes eventually.
Camelia, on the other hand, was a different project altogether. Unlike Nadia, she was still climbing, growing in competence under pressure and confidence rather than losing it. That was exactly what Evelyn needed. The young ballerina had been reluctant at first, terrified of the needle heels, of the idea that she might actually puncture her soles. But a month of success had changed her. The toe nodules, she had experienced once. Oh, god, that was so good, so tasty, all the energy. Evelyn still pleasured herself many a night to the memories of Camelia as the Flickering Candle, swinging and screaming in the needle harness. When she failed the ballet dance and the toe nodules had her screeching and flailing wildly on stage, clawing away at the locked heels, that memory had been added to Evelyn’s repertoire of favorites, too.
Camelia quickly learned, her downfall on the stage had been a singular event. She was a professional dancer after all, she built her moves effectively and trained daily. She now carried herself with a quiet assurance, a belief that she could take anything Evelyn threw at her and win. A belief that had only briefly been shattered by guests not supporting but taunting her. It was intoxicating to watch. The careful balance of fear and confidence was essential. She needed her ballerina courageous and daunting. Let her believe she was untouchable, and when the right stakes were introduced, she would leap willingly into the abyss.
That was the true art of manipulation. Camelia’s salary had doubled since she joined Abyss. It was a fortune compared to her dwindling income as a struggling ballerina. Evelyn had given her not just financial stability, but a lifestyle she was growing comfortable with. And that, Evelyn mused, was the perfect leash. It wouldn’t be long before Camelia stopped thinking about the world outside Abyss and started seeing it as her true home. But there was always the possibility of defiance, of hesitation when it came time to truly risk everything. That’s where the threat of financial ruin came into play. She hoped that Camelia used her increased salary to boost her lifestyle. If so, there would be no going back to another job than this, binding her tightly to her contract in Abyss and therefore to the stage. However, her informants did not have anything on that; Camelia still stayed in her modest apartment, no flashy car or expensive vacations either. Evelyn would give her another raise after her next dance, to lure her in; she needed this to happen. Because if Camelia resisted the ultimate challenge, Evelyn could easily remind her that Abyss was not a charity, that her employment was tied to her willingness to perform. And perform, she would. The only question left was when to push the stakes higher.
And then there was Elise. The unknown variable. A little over nine months had passed since her entombment inside the transparent rubber coffin, and no one could say for certain what state she was in. Even Evelyn, with all her calculated precision, couldn’t be sure. The sensory deprivation, the heat, the endless sensation of latex pressing against her every inch - it had to have changed her. But how? Would she emerge as a shattered woman, completely broken, a hollow husk, her mind departed? Or would she be desperate, willing to claw her way back into power at any cost? That was the dangerous part. Evelyn needed to know whether Elise could still be used, whether she could still fight, or if she was now nothing more than a broken, hollow shell of her former self.
If Elise was too broken, she would be useless for a duel. And Evelyn needed a duel. She needed a final act, a grand performance to cement the legend of Abyss. If Nadia was unraveling, she would eventually be baited into risking everything, but it had to be against someone formidable. Camelia was the most likely opponent - her confidence was being cultivated to a peak, and when the moment was right, she would walk into the fire believing she could come out unscathed. But Elise? Evelyn needed to find out whether she could still be a player.
She leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. The possibilities were endless, but she had to move with precision. Too much pressure, and Camelia might flee. Too little, and Nadia might find a way to stabilize herself before she was fully ready to gamble. Elise had to be tested after she was freed. Would she be grateful to Abyss, to Evelyn, for giving her purpose again? Or would she be looking for revenge? Evelyn’s instincts told her the latter. Elise had been cunning before her entombment, and there was no reason to believe she would have lost that. A woman like Elise didn’t break; she transformed.
Smiling to herself, Evelyn took another sip of her wine. It was only a matter of time now. All the pieces were in motion, all the players moving toward their inevitable fates. The transparent rubber coffin beneath the stage would not remain empty for long. The only question was, who would be the one to fill it forever?
Evelyn lounged in her private balcony overlooking the main dance floor of Abyss, a glass of deep crimson wine in her hand. Below her, the spectacle of the night unfolded - sensual, electric, and filled with unspoken tension. The air pulsed with music, the lights shifting in waves of color that washed over the dancing bodies. But Evelyn’s eyes were trained on two women in particular.
Camelia commanded the stage, an image of fierce elegance wrapped in gleaming latex, her form accentuated by the tight embrace of the needle-laced catsuit she wore. Every movement was sharp, calculated, effortless. She had learned to master her en pointe needle heels with terrifying precision. Even in the harshest footwear Abyss had to offer, she looked untouchable, powerful. She had not stumbled since the time the toe nodules had reminded her to pay attention to the rhythm instead of the guests. The audience adored her, showering her with praise and awe. She was everything Evelyn had wanted her to become - confident, graceful, and dangerously unaware of how she was being guided toward something far greater.
Across the floor, Nadia stood among the spectators, dressed in a minimalistic latex dress that clung to her curves, a far cry from her previous, all-encompassing rubber torment. But even now, the belt remained locked around her waist, a silent testament to her defeat. Marked as being in submission by her belt, she was not allowed any other material than latex inside Abyss.
Evelyn observed Nadia from a place at the bar: she looked poised, controlled - but Evelyn could see the struggle beneath the surface. The tension in her movements, the way she shifted her legs ever so slightly, betraying the constant war against her own body’s torment. The latex extension within the belt was working exactly as intended. A never-ending whisper of stimulation that she could neither control nor escape.
She walked back to her private velvet chair close to the stage and focussed her attention back on Camelia. The ballerina had adapted remarkably well, better than Evelyn had expected. She danced with pride, ignorant of how deeply
Abyss had already sunk its hooks into her. The needle-equipped ballet heels were a triumph, reinforcing her belief that she was enduring something few others could. They were more harmless than what Camelia had been told - the needles would never draw blood, as that would be against the rules of Abyss. The full suit had been a test, and Camelia had passed, accepting its occasional pricks and jolts as proof of her strength rather than the warning they truly were.
Evelyn sipped her drink, considering the next steps. Camelia was close to the tipping point, but not quite there yet. The thought of taking away her income, of cornering her into a high-stakes duel, was deliciously tempting. But she needed a worthy opponent. A desperate one.
Nadia.
The woman was already teetering on the edge. The chastity belt was breaking her, just as Evelyn had planned. The added latex extension had done its job well, turning frustration into obsession. At some point, Nadia would snap. And when she did, she would take any gamble Evelyn put in front of her. If the prize was freedom, and the risk was the coffin, she would take it. She had observed that Nadia and Camelia were developing a sympathy for each other. She would need to start a plan on how to intertwine them in a web of intrigue, just as she had pitted Cosmina against Yelena.
But was that enough? Evelyn tapped a manicured nail against the rim of her glass. There was a larger game to be played, one that would ensure her own security for years to come. Thinking back, years prior… Lena and Mina. The two had disappeared from the forefront, but they had never truly left Abyss. Their chastity caps bound them as tightly as any physical restraint. Mina, in particular, suffered greatly, and Lena had always been the protector. Would she risk entombment if it meant freeing Mina? The idea sent a thrill through Evelyn’s spine.
A four-way duel. Camelia, Nadia, Lena, Mina. The losers condemned to the coffin, sealed away in Abyss’s glass stage for the entertainment of all. Only the winners left with their freedom. The sheer spectacle of it would elevate her status beyond question, proving to the owners that she could orchestrate events of unprecedented scale.
She let the idea settle, savoring the possibilities. There were obstacles, of course. Camelia would have to be backed into a corner, made to believe that her only way out was through a gamble. Nadia was already primed, but Lena and Mina were trickier. They were calculating, suspicious. She would need to make them believe the game was fair. That the reward was real.
Evelyn smiled to herself. Fairness was such a beautiful illusion.
She reached for her phone, signaling for the assistants. It was time to plant the seeds.
Evelyn leaned back in her velvet chair, a slow, indulgent smile curling at the corners of her lips as she let her mind wander into forbidden fantasies. The idea was absurd, unrealistic even, but that only made it more enticing. Lena and Mina, two souls bound by their own torment, forever embraced in the transparent rubber coffin, together. A final, perfect sculpture of desperation and desire, locked in a prison of touch with no relief.
She imagined the way the latex would cling to them, pressing every curve, every tremor, making even the smallest movement an agonizing reminder of what they could never have. Their faces mere inches apart, breath fogging against
the inside of their glossy prison, eyes wide with an unspoken hunger that would never be sated. They would struggle at first, their bodies twisting against one another, trying to find some angle, some space, some form of contact that wasn’t purely torturous. But there would be none. She imagined having them installed in different poses after each shaving, every few weeks. Tribbing, embraced, one on top of the other. Only their noses touching, both sharing a breathing mouthpiece. Back to back, one under the other, their backs and asses touching. Next to each other, only holding one’s other’s hand. Tribbing, with a double ended dildo, tied so tight, they could squeeze, but not move more than millimeters. Yes. One can dream.
The chastity caps would remain, the cruel symbols of their unfulfilled need. The club would watch, guests leaning over the stage’s glass panel, reveling in the sight of their eternal frustration. The latex would creak with their every futile movement, whispering mockery as they writhed, pressing tighter each time they moved, reducing their struggles to slow, agonizing undulations. The rhythmic pulse of the Abyss’s music would become their only timekeeper, an eternal countdown with no release.
Evelyn traced the rim of her glass, eyes half-lidded as she imagined how long it would take before they simply stopped resisting. Before exhaustion made their bodies sluggish, before their wills broke and they realized there was nothing left but to exist like this, forever entwined yet perpetually unfulfilled. The perfect display of suffering turned art.
Of course, it was impractical. She knew that. It was nearly impossible to engineer such a scenario where both Lena and Mina would willingly walk into such a fate. But the thought of it, the sheer poetry of their torment, was delicious. If only she could find a way to make it real.
She sighed, shaking the fantasy from her mind for now. There were more pressing matters at hand. But perhaps, one day, she would find a way to make it happen. And when she did, it would be her masterpiece.
Nadia was finally unraveling.
Six months had passed since Evelyn had upgraded her chastity belt, replacing the sharp yet predictable needle pad with the cruel latex extension that pulsed and writhed against her most sensitive areas without ever granting her release. At first, she had believed it would be something she could endure, just another trial in Abyss’s endless cycle of torment and reward. But it was different. The denial was relentless, inescapable, and utterly mind-consuming. Every day was a battle against her own body, against the throbbing ache that refused to fade, against the maddening sensation of being brought to the brink over and over with no escape.
She had approached Evelyn countless times, desperate yet trying to appear composed, asking to enter a challenge - any challenge - that could grant her an orgasm. She had once begged only to have the extension removed and to return to the previous torment of needles. That, at least, had been static pain. Predictable. Manageable. This was something else entirely, something that made her feel like she was constantly being teased by a force that knew exactly how to push her to the edge and never let her fall. But Evelyn always denied her, smiling in that calculated way, reminding her that true rewards only came to those who earned them in Abyss’s grander games.
Each rejection chipped away at her self-control. Nadia felt her patience slipping, her composure cracking. At times, she barely recognized herself in the mirror - her eyes were always frantic, dark shades from lack of sleep, her lips always parted in some half-formed plea, her fingers trembling at the thought of another sleepless night filled with throbbing torment. Her hands clenched at her sides when she walked through Abyss, feeling the eyes of other guests on her, watching, whispering, knowing she was on the edge. She could barely focus on anything else. Conversations blurred. Music faded into the background. Every sensation was drowned beneath the cruel torment that Evelyn had ensured she could never ignore.
And now, standing among the assembled guests of Abyss, she had to endure another spectacle: the return of Elise.
A grand event had been staged for the occasion. Elise’s twelve months had come to an end, and the transparent latex coffin beneath the glass stage was set to open. The air in the club was thick with anticipation, guests whispering amongst themselves, wondering if she would be able to stand, if she would recognize her own name, if she would be anything more than a fragile remnant of who she had once been. Bets had been placed. Some speculated she would collapse the moment she was freed. Others wondered if she would scream, if she would rage, if she would be anything like the woman she had once been.
The lights dimmed, and the club fell into silence as Evelyn took the stage. With a theatrical gesture, she motioned toward the transparent coffin. Slowly, the machinery engaged, hissing as the airtight seal was released. The glossy surface of the latex peeled away from the occupant within, revealing Elise - unshelled, bald, browless, and utterly still.
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, as the breathing mouthpiece was removed, Elise inhaled sharply, her first unrestricted breath in a year. She coughed, spitting, gagging. She blinked rapidly, her expression vacant as she tried to process what was happening. She was still dressed in the thin, fully transparent latex suit, covering her from the soles of her feet to the crown of her bald head. Her fingers twitched, as if expecting the sensation of the coffin’s interior still clinging to her skin. Her body swayed slightly, unused to true freedom, to the feeling of air touching even through the glossy, skintight material instead of the suffocating embrace of her confinement. She collapsed immediately, dropping to the floor. The silent attendants brought her into a sitting position, holding her.
A figure emerged from the audience - Alexandru, her devoted boyfriend, stepping forward to receive her. "Elise," he whispered, kneeling beside her as she sagged against him. "You’re free now. You’re back."
She did not answer. Her breathing was shallow, her limbs limp, her gaze unfocused as if her mind had not yet caught up to reality. She didn’t even seem to recognize him. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. Alexandru’s hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her, but Elise did not react. He looked into her eyes, but they didn’t focus. Elise looked right through him. It was as if she was still trapped, her mind struggling to comprehend that the coffin had released her.
Nadia, watching from the crowd, shuddered. Elise had always been a competitor, a schemer, brilliant and sharp, someone full of fire and defiance. But now… now she looked empty. Hollow. A broken doll removed from its glass case, aware of nothing but the absence of the walls that had once enclosed her. Her hands trembled, lifting as if to touch her own face, only to pause halfway, uncertain. As if she wasn’t sure what she expected to feel.
Beside Nadia, Camelia wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to ward off a chill. "She looks… gone."
Nadia said nothing. She simply stared, barely able to process the growing horror inside her. Because if Elise could be broken so completely… what would become of her?
She imagined herself in that coffin, buried beneath the glass stage, wrapped in latex, the world watching, forgetting who she had been. She imagined herself emerging, as Elise had, lost and unmoored, with nothing left inside but a dull awareness that something had been taken from her forever.
And she realized that she was truly afraid - this, Elise’s, coffin was worse than even in her nightmares.