admin – Page 9 – The Remainderman (Frank Speech)

06-106 Squeezing Penny ‘til She Pops (abridged version)

2025-06-042025-06-04 admin

*1866 06-106 WTF is THAT, stepmother, and what does it want?!*

*1868 06-106 Why is Mr. Wiggles looking at me that way?*

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, chastity, watersports, corporalpunishment, urination, and prostatestimulation themes at 06-106[X] Squeezing Penny ‘til She Pops at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY: Channah and Penny are locked in an intense shared experience higher than treble singers in a helium balloon on Channah’s sex magick, Channah desperate for an intimacy she never imagined existed and Penny shattered body and soul by her brilliant ruthless exploitation of her unparalleled knowledge of the human male. NOW:

“You should be ashamed of your infantile loss of control!” Channah scolded her fiercely, looking down and laughing. “You’re leaking everywhere, sweetie. If you were a man, you’d be too interested in me to worry about your bladder. But because you’re really a girl, you’re still soft as pudding…” then, with a laugh, she blurted: “I love that! That’s what you are, isn’t it, Pleaser? You’re my very own little Puddin’, aren’t you darling?”

“No! You’re doing things to me—things I can’t—I don’t even understand!” she blubbered pitifully, shaking her head, trying to make sense of it. Less rationally, wanting to deny it. “No, that can’t be…”

“But it is,” Channah insisted, “and we’ve got the evidence to prove it, don’t we, girlie? Shall I make you admit it? You pee when there’s pressure on your bladder just like any other girl.”

Because it was clear by now Penny would—Penny only could, helplessly—submit unconditionally to anything her erastes did to her, she didn’t need to bother with holding Penny’s ankles or wrists any more. But she wanted Penny to know how deeply submissive she was, so she gathered her eromenos’s wrists back into her right hand and yanked them down and behind Penny’s head, allowing Channah to rest her weight on her own hand and use it for leverage while pinning Penny’s below it. With her left hand, she started smearing her hand over Penny’s tummy and breasts, then brought her hand to Penny’s mouth.

“Please no!” Penny tried to murmur with her lips together.

Channah just laughed harder, watching Penny’s eyes dart to their audience before she looked back at Channah with horror, shaking her head violently.

“Open right now, Puddin’, or it will go badly for you,” Channah ordered her roughly. And with a particularly loud wail, Penny surrendered again, another long swath of whatever dignity she still had roughly torn away like a layer of clothing, helplessly accepting another indignity, opening her mouth as she cried and accepted Channah’s fingers. Channah used her right hand behind Penny’s neck, holding her wrists, to lift her up partially and maneuver her onto the slippery oil-covered stone beside them; using her left hand to pull Penny’s hair, and then again to slide over her skin. Looking up at her coven members, she instructed them: “This little girl’s already made a mess of herself—and me. Just pour oil on her. I want her slipperier than a greased pig with her cuffs paired for the swing.”

Penny opened her mouth and started to complain, or plead, or something. With a sneer, Channah immediately shoved her freshly lacquered fingers into Penny’s mouth again. And that was that for Penny’s little protest, or whatever it would have been. Channah talked instead, as she cruelly moved her hips again and again, as hard as she could, the girl looking pitifully uncomfortable beneath her. “You look rough, honey,” she pretended to pout. “Is baby sore?” She nodded, laughing when Penny nodded agreement around her hand. She removed it and slapped Penny’s cheek. “Too bad. Little babies who ruin their masters’ clothing are going to be uncomfortable. Because they deserve it. See? Your disgraceful display is only more evidence you’ve been a girl all along.”

“NOO, Master!” Penny bawled uselessly. Looking back down at Penny, Channah smiled wolfishly at the scared, uncertain, lost expression struggling for real estate on Penny’s panting, overstimulated, passion-tortured face and kept moving over the smaller girl, giggling as Penny’s oily shoulders and back started slipping over the stone surface. She laughed aloud watching as Rivqah cooed and verbally humiliated Penny while she sputtered and spat, trying to keep the stream of oil Rivqah was dribbling all over her face, out of her mouth.

Channah had known her knees would suffer on the stones without kneepads, but she felt herself becoming irritated and cranky anyway, taking it out on Penny by working harder than before, holding her wrists in a vicelike grip so as the rest of her body slid, her wrists slipped beneath her neck to an uncomfortable position, and by being careless with Penny’s sensitive new curves, alternating—one hand in her mouth, the next percussed on her curves, with a bit of hard pinching for added effect. “You’ve got nice, classic lines Penny. With those curves, you’re going to make a lot of men very happy. And I do mean a lot,” she cackled as Penny practically flinched. “So you’d better get used to that funny, intense feeling inside you. Learn to enjoy it, if you can. And figure out some way to get that girl-bladder under control, or you’re going to find yourself over the knees of a lot of frustrated clients being disciplined for disrespecting them!” She shook her head, marveling as Penny continued to struggle to control herself.

Suddenly she frowned. “Whatever happened to your panties? And Esmeray’s panties? We could use those—to—unh! Absorb all this!” She looked up and chuckled when she saw Miryam wryly kicking off her boots and removing her silk stockings, even as Rivqah kept pouring oil on Penny—as directly toward her mouth and nostrils as possible—and then flicking the oily stream above Penny’s head to lubricate the stones ahead of her.

At the same time, Judah and Fang took Penny’s wrists from Channah and attached each one to a delicate ankle, using two carabiners that already dangled chains. This freed both of Channah’s hands to explore Penny’s new girl body, even as she continued to tease and torment the girl by turns with pinches, slaps, tickles, light trailing brushes, and deep tissue massage. And, of course, force-feeding her until Miryam casually dropped her stockings on Penny’s tummy and tucked them down between her legs.

Channah used her control over Penny’s insides to squeeze her hard, even as Channah’s fingers seized and squeezed her victim on the outside, giggling as Miryam’s stockings prevented a fountain from spraying in every direction around Channah’s tightly-clasped fingers. She used every bit of force she could to wring Penny’s insides, exulting while Penny’s orchestra of sounds and noises took on a choked, gurgling quality expressing the potent cocktail of feelings and experiences she was being compelled to imbibe by turns. Her pitch soared and fell as the pressure intensified and peaked, and their audience laughed and applauded.

Literature Section “06-106[X] Squeezing Penny ‘til She Pops”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 106 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1059 words::Explicit 1186 words—Accompanying Images: 1866-1869—Published 2025-06-04—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-105 Channah Thoroughly Ravishes Penance (abridged version)

2025-06-032025-06-03 admin

*1860 06-105 It’s Kool-Aid for your brain…*

*1863 06-105 I think she’s ready for us, Mistress*

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, chastity, watersports, urination, and prostatestimulation themes at 06-105[X] Channah Thoroughly Ravishes Penance at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY: Channah and Penny have just had the magical experience of a lifetime, turning Penny into a futa as their privacy shield fell. Uncharacteristically experiencing a devastating top drop after falling from the dizzying heights to which they had risen, Channah has jump-started them both again with her magic and is ruthlessly overcoming shy Penny’s reservations and thoughts of resistance at the prospect of being royally and humiliatingly romanced in front of an audience. NOW:

Whether from trust in and a desire to please her Master, the intensity of the connection surging between them, the magical fountain pouring into her, or simply the raw force of Channah’s shoulders on her ankles and hands gripping her wrists, after a final little flutter of resistance manifested in an aimless, anxious wiggling of her extremities, Penny calmed down and stopped struggling, making her legs relax as much as she could so Channah didn’t have to strain quite as much. Penny meekly accepted being virtually folded in half, whining and panting and moaning into Channah’s lips as she was able to relax her muscles to accommodate Channah’s insistent demands on her and comply with Channah’s pleasure.

Helplessly, with Channah romantically ravaging her, with Channah’s demon tongue snaking deeply into Penny’s delicate mouth, with Channah’s energy surging through Penny’s chakras, and with Channah’s shoulders pinning Penny’s legs back at such an extreme angle she could almost suck her own toes, Penny started to cry out, her cheeks fiercely red with the shame of her willing, indeed cooperative and increasingly ardent, degradation before so many people.

“Beg more,” Channah slurred around their lips. “Show them all what a shameless little hussy you are.” And when Penny turned even redder instead of speaking: “Confess your desires NOW!”

Sobbing, Penny begged, as wantonly and desperately as she could, absolutely in earnest because her silence had been the modesty of not wanting to reveal her truth, rather than a reflection of any inner calmness or perspective. Because she had none: By now, Channah was her whole world again, and pleasing Channah her whole and sincere purpose.

“Take me Master!” she pleaded, nearly crazed with the abandon, as much as arousal, of throwing all her own sensibilities and modesty to the winds in order to submit to her Domina and fulfill her Domina’s desires under such conditions. Responding to Channah the way she commanded and demanded required her total surrender to her Domina, to her fate, to her shame, to her extremely public degradation because it allowed no half-measures. There was nothing, not one shred of personal dignity or self-respect, that she could maintain and obey her Domina as she had to do and as she longed to do. Her personality and feelings were being shredded into confetti by her Domina’s desires and the resulting conflicts tearing her apart. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me Master!” She wailed hysterically, her voice muffled and interrupted as Channah kept kissing her and she kept kissing back. “Ah! Ah! You’re—omigod, what you’re doing to me! It hurts! Why am I so eager, Master?”

“Because you’re a girl. And I found the sweet girl spot inside you. I—knew it was there! I knew it! I could tell!” she bellowed triumphantly. “Some girls, a very few, are born that way,” Channah lied easily, enjoying scrambling her head as hard as she was her insides, “and now that I’ve finally found it, it’s brought your true self to the surface!” She growled roughly, resting her forearms on her futa’s ankles to hold them down so she could use her fingernails to tickle her futa’s extremely sensitive and ticklish soles, watching Penny’s breathing turning into a desperate gasping sound, her head moving from side to side whenever Channah’s lips permitted as if she were searching for more oxygen. Seeing Penny’s state, Channah allowed herself to use her tongue to gag her until she almost passed out from lack of air, just because she felt like seeing if she could.

Channah reveled in her total power and command over her wiggling, wriggling, wailing, mindless futa love doll to which she had reduced a previously normal and clever boy. But she knew there was more to it than that, the way she was feeling higher and higher and almost crazy with lust. She was dimly aware she needed to stop feeding her own lust before she tore the girl limb from limb but she was loving the effect her magic was having on the girl, too much to stop feeding their connection just yet. “It hurts a girl the first time, silly ninny,” Channah laughed, “surely even you know that much? And a girl born like you, inside-out, I’m sorry, sweetie,” Channah laughed, “It’s gonna hurt a little bit every time.” And Channah shivered with pleasure at the thought.

“I can’t stand it omigod ogod ogod I feel like I’m going to explode but I’m not even enjoying this! Ohh… oh, no… It hur-ur-ur-ur-ur-ur-urts! What’s happening to me?!?!” she wailed and cried and shook her head and rolled her eyes and practically melted down into a puddle right in front of Channah’s devouring eyes, her warm, soft, passive, obedient body and over-the-top passion of agony and ecstasy all rolled up and intertwined together, bringing Channah to another emotional and physical peak.

The succubus threw her head back and howled like a wolf with glee, briefly meeting Miryam’s and Rivqah’s amazed, aroused, envious eyes. Inspired, she barked: “Oil. Gallons!” tipping her head towards the smooth black stone past the edge of the mattress above Penny’s head, before she turned her attention back to her victim, nipping her bottom lip and tugging on it before smothering her in more kisses and stuffing her mouth again with demon tongue. The Demon Queen relished the exquisite, delightful way her prey thrashed and bawled with painful confusion and panted and whined with passion all at once. Penny was utterly overwhelmed, unable to process all the conflicting, confusing, clanging sensations that were wracking her body. “My body! I hate it but I want it whatever you’re—I maybe—! What’s happening to me, Domina?! The things you do to me Master! And now I’m….” she wept. “I think I’m losing control! I’m so ashamed!”

“You should be!” Channah scolded her fiercely, looking down and laughing.

Literature Section “06-105[X] Channah Thoroughly Ravishes Penance”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 105 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 979 words::Explicit 1078 words—Accompanying Images: 1860-1865—Published 2025-06-03—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-104 Triggering Chastity (abridged version)

2025-06-022025-06-02 admin

*1856 06-104 Coven observing Channah and Penny through shield*

Explicit version containing phallic, oralsex, analingus, and penetration themes at 06-104 Triggering Chastity at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY: Chas is shackled by her ankles with her wrists shackled behind her, blindfolded, and gagged, with her ears plugged. Esmeray is shackled by the ankles overlooking the sea of devils and demons, restrained from falling down into the chasm they inhabit, only by a waist-high guard rail; while Hong holds her gently from behind, holding hands with her arms around Esmeray. They are surprised by a new arrival. NOW:

“Your Grace!” Hong gushed, releasing Esmeray, turning, and curtsying in a single fluid motion, matching the position already assumed by her four jawari.

Esmeray, distracted by the physically stunning succubus in front of her and with no real good alternatives, settled for squatting where she stood, holding the top rail to keep her balance and help her pull back up to a standing position. Having grown up in Ottoman Constantinople, unlike many Europeans, Esmeray had met plenty of black women in her life. But none like this one. She was well over six feet tall, voluptuous, and musclebound from head to toe with beautiful midnight-black skin, long thick braided hair, an intelligent, resolute face, and a determined expression that would deter anyone but a fool from wasting her time with nonsense. She wore a light brown dress with white and dark brown geometric patterns Esmeray had never seen before, heavy brown almost masculine boots—perhaps because no boots made for normal women would have fit on her feet—and carried a large, heavy-looking canvas bag as if it were filled with air.

When she spoke, it was with a charming, musical accent almost at odds with her deep alto voice: “Hong, always a pleasure.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Hong blushed, pleased.

“These are yours?” she asked, gesturing to her jawari.

“Yes, Your Grace. Th—”

“And who is this?” she gestured towards the shackled woman.

“Hanim Esmeray Azlynn,” Hong answered immediately, startling Esmeray with her knowledge of Esmeray’s second name. “Her Majesty’s Qahramanah.”

“Ah,” the woman nodded significantly, with the faintest hint of a smile. “That makes more sense, then.” Turning to Esmeray, she continued: “The Queen told us you were wild. Well,” she shrugged, with just enough of a hint of embarrassment to soften the statement, “I think ‘crazy’ may have been the actual language. But I admit I didn’t expect to find a Qahramanah chained up. That’s fairly atypical.”

“It’s her first day, Your Grace,” Hong explained smoothly, a fact for which the embarrassed Esmeray was glad on this one occasion. “And she was faced with a… challenging situation. It did not seem to be punishment, only correction,” Hong clarified.

“You look calm enough,” the woman opined, looking her up and down. “Are you going to give me any trouble, or are you ready to be unchained? We have a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it.”

Esmeray expected the last thing she would be inclined to do with a woman of this one’s stature, is make trouble. And in the unlikely event she did, it would be carefully-planned, from behind, and heavily-armed. Not shackled to a ledge. “I’m recovered Your Grace,” she followed Hong’s lead. “Thank you.”

“You can release her,” she addressed Hong again. “Is this one—” she gestured at the naked young jariya shackled, bound, blindfolded, earplugged, and bent over the rail beside Esmeray “The English jariya called Chastity?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good. You—” she tossed a jar of olive oil to one of Hong’s girls. “Prepare her.”

“Immediately, Your Grace,” she answered, quickly and unceremoniously moving to the helplessly-bound girl as they all watched—who wouldn’t have?—Hongan raise the bottle and artfully hold it a foot or so over Chastity’s back, so that when she began to pour, it came down directly on her coccyx with a force they all could immediately imagine, would feel like a stream of water to Chas, who jerked in surprise, and then tugged, reflexively and quite uselessly, from side to side as if trying to escape both the stream and her bonds. The oil then followed gravity downhill, causing Chas to shiver, before dripping from the lowest point of her to the floor.

The woman laughed harshly. “Good. Hong, you have trained your bitches well.”

“Thank you, Duchess Kadidia,” she answered, using the opportunity to communicate the woman’s name and rank to Esmeray.

“Commendable artistry. Thank you for reminding me of its benefits. I was very—in an overly goal-oriented mood. There’s not much time, but there’s enough for pleasure.” Hongan blushed and curtsied cutely before Kadidia. “Girls, while your Qahramanah releases Esmeray, I want the four of you to overstimulate our bad girl so she doesn’t feel neglected. Use your four tongues and all forty of your fingers to lead her into distraction.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” they answered as one. Hongjiao and Honghua dropped to their knees on either side of Hongan while Hongzhi, her greater original distance from Chas making her like the runt of a litter, spread her legs to stand on either side of the other girls and leaned forward over them.

Kadidia frowned as if making an artistic evaluation, trying not to laugh. “Hmm… there’s not a lot of room there, is there? You two on the sides can each keep one arm behind your sister.”

“Yws msh Kdd,” they murmured. Hongan had ducked down, running her hands lightly along Chas’s calves and feet. Hongjiao and Hongua dipped their hands in the oil before snaking them around her hips to play with her. And Hongzhi used her hands to smear oil all over Chas’s back and shoulders.

Hong hissed with interest while Esmeray swallowed, looking down with all the judgment of a nun. “It is pretty,” Kadidia concurred, setting her bag down, squatting beside it, and removing two brown leather harnesses from it. Rooting deeper in her bag, she produced a small but elaborately-decorated wooden box, which Hong recognized as the last of her Domina’s wedding gifts to Channah. Standing up, Kadidia opened the box, which contained two objects: One a pair of golden tongs, the other both ordinary and extraordinary at once. Ordinary, if suggestive, enough in unmistakable shape. Extraordinary in its composition, which neither of the curious women really recognized or understood: a deep, perfect black that absorbed light around it so perfectly no surface was even discernable. Yet surely it must have one?

Using the tongs carefully but confidently to grip the base of the rounded tube, she set the box aside and asked Hong: “Who’s the one standing?”

“Hongzhi, Your Grace.”

“Hongzhi, please get the bottle of olive oil.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You other girls—as much as I’d enjoy seeing olive oil splashed over you—” they laughed coyly up at her, awaiting her command. “I need two of you to lean forward, using the railing as leverage, and take hold of Chastity’s shoulders. In just a moment her legs are going to give out, and I don’t want the weight of her body to wrench her shoulders.” The girls nervously nodded, doing as they were bidden. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“As soon as she falls, the four of you are to release her and lay her on her back with her hands above her head… there,” Duchess Kadidia pointed to a spot on the platform near where they had left Channah and Penance, but was now hidden by a thick, unnatural blackish-gray cloud of swirling smoke surrounded by ten succubae and one incubus.

Hong gasped, amazed she hadn’t felt anything as the coven members arrived, and realizing just how charged with passion, agony, and energy the air around them had become to mask the disruptions their arrivals must have caused.

Kadidia was cautioning them: “Once this begins, do not talk to me except in extreme emergency. Stay close to us, but do not cause any distractions. I will need to concentrate on Chastity.” Stepping forward and holding the object close to Chastity, she nodded at Hongzhi: “Pour more oil. Don’t be stingy, that’s right. And now the tripper,” she indicated the daggerlike blade with her free hand. When it was coated, the thick oil giving it a surface to shine and reflect the light of the torches as long as it clung to it, she lined it up and pushed it forward, its touch causing Chastity, to stiffen in surprise before slumping, dead weight, as Kadidia had warned she would.

Literature Section “06-104[X] Triggering Chastity”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 104 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1330 words::Explicit 1415 words—Accompanying Images: 1856-1859—Published 2025-06-01—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-103 Consent Violations (abridged version)

2025-05-302025-05-30 admin

*1852 06-103 I love you! f you love me, you’ll be a good little white rabbit*

*1854 06-103 You DO want to be my good little white rabbit, don’t you? Un-huh, yes, ma’am*

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, chastity themes at 06-103X Consent Violations at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY: Channah and Penny have just had the experience of a lifetime, more than either of them could ever have imagined, touched with magical forces neither of them fully comprehends. Penny is still lost in a daze. Channah is consumed with a desire for more and cannot bring herself to let it end. NOW:

Always grateful for her existence—once as an angel, now as a succubus—Channah loved herself, and her life, without suffering from either humility or disappointment. And the combined flavors in her mouth—first, of the top drop, almost hangover-like in its intensity following the burning out of every single one of her nerves; and second, the crestfallen woe of being separated from Penny, were as unacceptable as they were unfamiliar. Refusing to accept the intolerable situation, she did something she could not recall ever having done before, simply because she had never felt the need to: She capitalized on her nature by using her powers to feed her own heat, feeling the low, struggling flame within her ripple dangerously before bursting into a full raging inferno. Penny groggily began moving her head back and forth, her human body so much more shredded than Channah’s by the forces that had ripped through them, she needed more time and heat to come back.

Frantic for Penny’s consciousness to come back to her, and irrationally irritated with Penny for not responding faster than her species was capable of, Channah saw the girl’s soft, sticky little pastry curled between her legs, as delicious and unthreatening as a snail cooked in butter, and decided on a wicked plan to interest her and punish Penny for—whatever it was she wanted to punish for. Promptly, considering it only from the lens of her own desire without even considering any negatives or what Penny would feel beyond what Channah wanted her to feel, Channah converted her intentions into action, snatching up Penny’s cage from where she had tossed it aside and locking it again.

Then Channah resumed her undulating motion, rolling her hips against Penny’s. Her supernatural energy pulsed through both of them like an electrical current, even as Penny’s twister pulsed and squeezed, animated by Channah’s will to resume what it had been doing before, enveloping them in a pulsing rhythm more intense than nature could have achieved unaided.

Channah groaned before Penny was even back present with her, aroused to a fury by Penny’s tight little booty, and her peaceful feminine features.

Penny’s peaceful feminine features…

Something about the phrase tugged at Channah’s mind until she gasped in amazement, incredulous at how long it had taken her to get past her own shell shock to register the obvious.

And just as Penny shook her head, blinking rapidly and focusing on Channah with a dreamy, loving, seductive smile that made Channah’s heart jump in her chest, Channah proclaimed, as genuinely as any pathetic human punter:

“Penny! I knew it! I’m so happy! You’re beautiful!!! I’m so happy! You did it! And you’re MINE!!!” She picked up Penny’s hands and laid them gently on her girl’s firm round breasts, urging her to feel them and marvel, praising Penny’s beauty and femineity, doing everything she could to help Penny assent to what had just happened to her. Penny had to accept it, her new body and appearance, at a minimum—she must! And ideally she would see the beauty and opportunity in it, which would turn Channah on even more, and would certainly improve Penny’s life and disposition from this point forward.

Penny gasped, looked shocked, and then turned fiercely, brightly, practically a luminescent red, her hands moving gently and automatically over her own breasts and nipples, hyperventilating again and squeaking: “I turned into a girl!”

Channah wolf-whistled, aroused by her own magic but even more, she knew, by Penny’s distinctive, innocent speech and way of speaking, even as she embarrassed Penny and the Coven members laughed and applauded, understanding the importance of Penny’s acceptance and doing all they could to encourage it. At the same time, they distracted Penny and drew her attention to them and caused her to squeak again, covering her new breasts with her hands. At the same moment, both to control and distract Penny, and to satisfy her own soul if she had one, Channah rose up onto her feet, using her weight as leverage to kiss her girl forcefully again.

For a moment, Channah could see, Penny’s mind wanted to resist the swirling storm of natural and supernatural (and perhaps even unnatural) emotion around her and within her. The Penny she had always been, wanted to cover herself, no matter the feelings roaring and raging through her, her eyes rolling around wildly in their sockets like those of a panicked horse, taking in the sights around her. Miryam, Rivqah, Judah, Fang, and the other eight members of the Coven watched them with hungry, desiring, rapacious eyes and the tense posture of predators aroused by the sight of their alpha feeding on desirable prey, hopeful despite themselves and imagining taking their own turns. Esmeray and Hong watched too, with their five blindfolded, bound jawari kneeling before them, Hong coolly appraising and evaluating with, Penny might imagine, just a hint of contempt in her eyes; and Esmeray fierce and attentive, eyes darting everywhere, with the attitude of a parrot whose feathers have been ruffled reclaiming her dignity, half as unsighted to Channah and Penny in this moment as the blinded jawari before her.

With an incoherent noise of anxiety and alarm, Penny started to flail; but determined to make this moment last, and recover her equilibrium by fucking Penny again, Channah shook her head commandingly and murmured “hunh-unh!”, all with her mouth pressed against Penny’s. Grabbing her girl’s hands, Channah pulled them up and set them to hold the back of Penny’s ankles, helping Channah pull on her own legs. Channah shivered with delight at the way the sensations she was delivering overwhelmed her little girl, her eyes bulging. Channah felt happy in her current, odd mood, even knowing her own magic was affecting her and, she realized (a much more serious risk, in her mind) trusting Penny—or herself with Penny—to let her guard down enough to allow herself to be affected by magic.

Literature Section “06-103[X] Consent Violations”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 103 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 993 words::Explicit 1247 words—Accompanying Images: 1852-1855—Published 2025-05-30—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-102 The Lust and Misery of the Damned

2025-05-30 admin

*1848 06-102 My girls are trained to obey*

*1850 06-102 Doubloons! Doubloons! (traditional Mardi Gras plea for gifts)*

PREVIOUSLY: Esmeray is shackled by the ankles overlooking the sea of devils and demons, restrained from falling down into the chasm they inhabit, only by a waist-high guard rail. Hong is knowingly pushing the touch-shy Esmeray’s boundaries by holding her hands and pressing up against her back. NOW:

“Can you abide… more?” Hong whispered, a beat before shuffling even closer, slowly guiding—too gently to call it ‘pushing’—Esmeray’s hands forward and in front of her, and resting her head against the side of Esmeray’s, with her chin on Esmeray’s shoulder. A bit taller, as she was a bit older, the two women fit well where they were, Hong on the platform and Esmeray on the bar her ankles were shackled to.

Hong settled softly into the embrace. If she had wanted to clasp her own hands around the front of Esmeray, they were close enough to one another to do so; but she accepted Esmeray’s hands, holding hers almost like mittens, accepting the limitations Esmeray put on her.

“Are you matching my breathing?!” Esmeray asked suddenly, stiffening again.

But Hong laughed, softly and unthreateningly. “Very good! I am. It’s a relaxation technique.” And before Esmeray could go down that avenue any further, she began to explain: “The damned, you probably know from your human religion—do you have one?”

“I’m… familiar with Islam. Less so with Christianity.”

“The damned are in hell to suffer. Their suffering is constant, unending, and unrelieved here. Each of the demon races of hell are especially attuned to one human weakness, and expert in exploiting it. For the succubae…”

“Lust,” Esmeray said, her voice as stiff and wooden as her posture.

“Yes. And when I say ‘succubae,’ you understand the term may also usually include incubi. She gently moved her arms more tightly around Esmeray. “If women bother you—try to ignore me,” she whispered softly. “This means nothing to me, and I will be content if I can help it mean nothing to you. Concentrate on breathing, slowly and regularly.”

Esmeray wanted to tell her it already meant nothing to her, but although she had learned to lie—with great facility—to survive, it still wasn’t in her nature to prefer it, or even adopt it unconsciously or unnecessarily. It was a tool, not a rush. And she teetered on the edge of too many precipices she couldn’t quite bring herself to look over, to seek mendacity in the things she could allow herself to experience. So she said nothing, but instead, dubiously tried to breathe more slowly, fighting and overriding her own irritation at a suggestion that felt patronizing to her, but perhaps was not.

“Yes. The damned brought here by the direct intervention of the succubae—consorting within dreams, or in person; penetrating the succubus if male, being penetrated by it if female—often enough or intensely enough to be husked, are the red devils. They are enslaved for all eternity to the succubae who seduced them. If the succubus—or incubus, or if they were seduced by more than one succubae, any one of the succubae who seduced them—is in hell, they sense them and are drawn inexorably towards them. The crowd here are probably all Fang’s, although they can get confused… their minds are not… reasonable the way ours are. More instinctual and stupid. Can you guess why?”

“Because they’re brainless morons, driven by their stupid dicks like all men,” Esmeray guessed.

Hong giggled. “Essentially correct—they chose to surrender their reason and their souls to lust in life, and so they remain here, bereft of the former and enslaved to the latter.”

“And when their master is on Earth?”

“Lost. Although they tend to stay where they are, or if they have the instinct to remember it, to collect where their slaver was last located in hell. Doubtless legions of Channah’s conquests are shuffling and slavering their way towards us from every corner of hell right now.” Hong, having a mean streak of her own, giggled again at the thought. “When Channah returns here with her girls after her honeymoon, many of the devils who were within a week’s walk will have finally joined Fang’s in attendance here.”

“And the soldiers? And you? Are you… dead?” Esmeray asked, her voice barely even rising in discomfort and willfully trying to ignore it as Hong repositioned her feet, so now her legs were pressing against Esmeray’s.

“In order—yes, the soldiers, my ladies’ maid (who you met at the brothel door), and the other denizens of hell who retain their human form here, are dead and damned. But unlike their red counterparts, they were not husked in life. They were either damned by their own lust for, or fornication with, other Earth creatures; or they sinned in life at the behest, seduction, or command of succubae.”

“You’re talking about operatives.” It was a flat statement, not a question.

Hong laughed softly. “I think so. Does that bother you?”

“I was born bad,” Esmeray whispered. “I knew where I was headed before the succubae took me in.”

“Although the succubae are a bit cagey about it, they do consistently claim we have free will as long as we are alive.”

“And I’ve always exercised mine to be evil,” Esmeray growled. “But that doesn’t mean I want to dwell on it.”

“Right you are,” Hong conceded, moving along. “But no, the qahramanat, the jawari, and the mamalik—everyone with an operative’s job, is an operative. A living soul, trained to serve the succubae on Earth, since unlike the succubae, none of their dead servants can leave hell. I, and all my little boy-girls, are alive.”

“You serve her on Earth… but you’re in hell?”

“Like you. Visiting. For this.” And Esmeray knew she meant the hetaraslakos, and… whatever it was that was going on here. Before she could ask, Esmeray explained: “Hell is a place of banishment and suffering. Those are the only reasons it exists. I don’t know if there’s… science, or magic, or simply the corrupted or complete absence of Dao—what you would call God—behind it. The succubae are very cagey about it all. But the way I can understand it, is that each hell exists to torture; and thus torture is the essence of each hell, its sustaining force—it’s fuel. In this, the Hell of Lust, punishing the lusty for their lust gives this place, and its masters the succubae, their purpose, and therefore their power. Every measure of a succubus is taken and given by the amount of misery they can twist from lust.”

Esmeray gasped with understanding. “And somehow… this place intensifies what we do here, and what we do here… tortures the damned!”

“Yesss!” Hong nodded, pleased with her student. “Here, we enjoy everything they want most, the things their entire existence has been reduced to by their worldly surrender to lust, but can never, never, ever have again.”

“We’re whores,” Esmeray concluded bitterly. “Dancing-girl whores. I think I may be dead and damned, whether you are or not.”

Hong laughed gaily. “Please! We’re qahramanat—madames, circus lion-tamers, dominatrices, whatever you want to call us. We may be part of the entertainment, but we’re not the ones putting out. The jawari are the whores. Remember, the purpose of whores—pornoi—is to serve men’s lust. On Earth, that is physical, and women can do it despite their indifference. In Hell, it is spiritual: the devils—all, or virtually all, male at the castles of huskers like Channah and Fang—are reacting not to our female bodies, but to the amount of lust—that’s their desire, not their satisfaction—that we can wring out of our poor little boybitches. We magnify the devils’ agony by magnifying the lust they can sense but never slake.”

“I understand,” Esmeray sounded surprised. “But it still doesn’t explain why Channah chose me as one of these—” she struggled and accepted the least-objectionable of Hong’s analogies “—lion-tamers. Unless her real purpose is to humiliate us.”

“I didn’t mean to bury the lead. The damned exist here to be tortured. The only thing they are capable of in hell, is suffering. They are more than their suffering, but suffering is the only action they can take here. They respond to lust, and they respond to cruelty. That’s why I’m good at my work: I like sex, and I like torturing helpless little bitchboys who are stupid enough to let me know they crave me. The jawari of the succubae, mmm…” Esmeray could feel her smile, imagine her closing her eyes as she reveled in her thoughts. “They’re raised for this. Like veal calves, or hothouse flowers. Their lust, and their agony—physical but especially mental—interact to magnify the suffering of the devils, and thus the amount of power they send back. Our purpose is not to sate the lust of our jawari, but to magnify, thwart, twist, and whip it into a frenzy of suffering beyond all reason.”

“And so the devils react to me…”

“Ohh, girl… I’m still working that out. I’m not sure even the succubae understand it fully yet. I suspect you’re an experiment. But I think it’s the utter contempt, loathing, and hatred you feel for men, and our boys, especially when they become aroused. I can feel it… I’m sure the devils do, too. And you hate the devils directly, too, because you hate their lust. It may be your hatred for your jawari and the devils, combined with their lust for you, that is setting the damned on fire.” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “If Channah brought you here to punish you, I assure you it is only because somehow by punishing you, she punishes the devils and extracts more power from them.”

At that very moment, Hong’s jawari chorused as one: “Your Grace!”

And when Esmeray looked back over her shoulder, she saw the largest and strongest woman she had ever seen or even heard of.

Literature Section “06-102 The Lust and Misery of the Damned”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 102 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1623 words—Accompanying Images: 1848-1851—Published 2025-05-29 [slipped to 12:44am 05-30]—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-101 Consummated and Consumed (abridged version)

2025-05-27 admin

*1844 06-101 Channah claims Penny as she has never done before*

*1846 06-101 Pray all you like, Penny dear… it’s adorable*

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, orgasm, and prostateorgasm themes at 06-101X Consummated and Consumed (unabridged version) at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

INCLUDE PART IN PREVIEW FOR CONTEXT: Channah is on top of Penny. She couldn’t tell what Penny was babbling on about, and she didn’t care—doubting he knew, either. She was doing what she needed to do, for her. NOW:

Nor did anything that came out of Penny’s mouth thereafter, help to clarify anything except her surprise: Penny’s speech was rapidly degenerating and sputtering into an incoherent, pathetic, inarticulate, jumbled mess of words and half-words and sounds that cycled between bafflement and submission and made no sense beyond that, conveying only one message, again and again and again: how lost and confused she was in submission to Channah as Channah scrambled forward, asserting herself, her attentions to the weaker girl given a cyclical rhythm by Channah’s not-so-gentle efforts to protect Penny from chafing, repeating the sequence, Penny’s speech degenerating further and further, her wail rising to a higher and higher pitch, the unexpected intensity of exactly what Channah was doing, the very special place she had found and focused on preventing Penny from any traditional enjoyment, until—at the very second Channah reached her goal—

Penny made a screaming howl of mixed joy, surprise, and plaintive frustration, even as the privacy shield around them dissolved, immersing them back into hell. The sights and smells were intense; the sound, overwhelming. Of course, Penny did not know, but their solitude had begun to end when Channah started pouring oil on her, Channah’s coven bringing them swimming back into the visibility of everyone on the platform. And even more importantly for the succubae’s purposes, at that same moment, the passion, intimacy, and degradation coming off them in waves like heat from asphalt in summer had begun forcing itself into the perception of the damned below. By the time Channah had taken the next step, the chaos below had exploded into a maelstrom of sound and movement such as none of the ancient succubae on the platform could remember, staggering and shaking all of them to the core.

And in the moment Penny and Channah were done, together:

Pandemonium extremis maximus.

A madness like nothing any of them, human or demon, could have ever imagined. Like nothing any of the succubae had even dared hope for. The howls of the damned below topped out, interrupted by jagged screams of wildly oscillating pitch abruptly ending in popping and tearing noises, like popcorn popping and flesh being ripped away by raptors’ teeth, all at once.

At first, Penny—and almost, almost Channah, as experienced and powerful as she was—were oblivious, lost in the moment and the intensity between them, their eyes locked, Channah’s burning with the power, hunger, and savage joy of the taker; Penny’s wide with the wonder and acceptance and dizzy peace of the giver. Their shared sensations, and the pandemonium wave, were both so uniquely intense their bodies and minds had nothing to compare them to, and so at first they blended into a single sensation, changing in flavor but not intensity as it flooded them both.

Channah began to come back into some kind of focus first, whispering incredulous curses so vile and dark they could not be expressed in any human language, and therefore could not be spoken at all—only roared in a savage animal sound older and rawer than words, more dragon than human, as her hips slowed and her eyes closed, overwhelmed with the combination of afterglow and power refraction. The waves tearing through her had the strength of a black hole’s gravity to spaghettify any sun or lesser celestial body within their reach. A moment later Penny’s mind was able to begin its own return from its own bliss into something less pure and much more violent, savagely and intensely joyous, flowing through Channah and then Penny, a total connection that neither of them had experienced ever before, or could imagine experiencing ever again.

“The… Power!…” Channah gasped, stunned, sagging forward as Channah became something close to dead weight and Penny something close to unresistant and rubbery, the two of them so overwhelmed and full of pure light, water, fire, earth, and air rushing into them like all the energy and mass of the universe collapsing into a single black hole, they could do nothing—not act, not feel, not think, not even be aware. Only by giving every ounce of themselves to it, they could just barely hold on and ride it out, surviving it with all the agency of an unconscious person carried racing through whitewater rapids.

Channah began returning to something like conscious, some kind of reasonable awareness, staring down on her girl’s closed eyes and open mouth, her heart pining in a way Channah was not familiar with; and she felt… lonely and devastated, human feelings she neither liked nor wanted. She could tell her girl was still twenty thousand, forty thousand, and more leagues beneath the sea away from her. Channah wanted to be with her now. She ached for the connection they had shared when they went under the waves together, something she had never experienced before and wished she never had experienced, if the knowledge of what she was missing was going to make her this unhappy now. Her heart, or whatever organ or part of her was capable of such neediness, insisted on—demanded to—have it back. She had to bring Penny back to her, surrounding her, enveloping and connecting with her and making her more than she could ever hope to be on her own.

With a cry, almost subconsciously, a pure reflex by her body insistent to reconnect rather than a conscious thought, Channah resumed her assault, wanting—needing—to be back where she had been a few moments before. Her sense of incompleteness was total.

And she saw, instantly, the path for a succubus to achieve the connection she required.

Literature Section “06-101[X] Consummated and Consumed”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 101 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 936 words::Explicit 1026 words—Accompanying Images: 1844-1847—Published 2025-05-27—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-100 Edging Esmeray

2025-05-252025-05-25 admin

*1840 06-100 Hong’s empathy, Esmeray’s truth*

*1842 06-100 What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger*

PREVIOUSLY: At Channah’s command, Hong has shackled Esmeray by the ankles overlooking the sea of devils and demons. Now she stands close behind her, challenging Esmeray to take her hand, wanting something from Esmeray. NOW:

Esmeray slowly put her hand into Hong’s, felt the dry warmth of her hand, and then, as a test, rolled her fingers around Hong’s fingertips, her palm wrapping around Hong’s knuckles.

Neither woman moved, not their hand, not their eyes, Hong encouragingly, Esmeray suspiciously, until Hong nodded reassuringly again, showing Esmeray her right hand and then shifting behind Esmeray until the younger woman could look over her other shoulder and see it. Steeling herself to patience, she took hold of it, the same as the other. A stupid test.

Perhaps sensing that anything that could be construed as smartassery by Esmeray, would be construed that way, Hong was very careful, simply making a soothing, approving noise, before explaining: “I’m going to step closer behind you if that’s all right.”

“Why? What do you want from me?” Esmeray demanded sharply, and Hong stopped, considering her answer.

“Two things. My Domina has commanded me to train you for something that I would have thought you were totally unsuited for.”

Esmeray snorted, shaking her head wryly and even managing a hint of amusement. “Oh, you noticed, did you?”

“I thrive by serving my Domina successfully. To do that, I have to understand you better—your feelings, your motives, your limits, and, yes, your clear but strange potential. Then…” she considered “I felt it too, as strongly as you, the reaction when we met. Very fierce and competitive. On the surface, we have been given the same job, even the same title. Obviously it is a test. Obviously it is a competition. And if it is a competition, I mean to win, as surely as you do. But…” Hong shrugged. “Competing with me, at least on my terms, in the way I understand… I think this is impossible for you.”

“You noticed,” Esmeray repeated, unable to keep the insecurity out of her voice entirely.

“Here my thoughts follow two paths. The first is that if we cannot compete directly with one another, we could become allies. Not friends. But allies. Every member of the Coven has, or will have, a qahramanah. So we each have at least 12 rivals, and very little chance to get to know any of the 11 others. You are obviously a lone wolf, and if you will forgive me,” she tittered carefully, “A crazy one.”

Yes, Esmeray conceded, thinking how mad her situation was, and that she felt quite sane by comparison. She was only mad by the standards of people who were privileged to live sane lives. But she responded: “Who’s crazier, the madwoman or her tormentor?” Almost, she let loose of Hong’s hands—almost, she threw them away.

Seeming to sense it, Hong squeezed back very gently and compellingly. “I don’t want to be your tormentor. It doesn’t benefit me at all, or give me any pleasure, because you don’t know how to enjoy being tormented by others.”

“No one enjoys being tormented.”

“You are wrong. Some people live in torment. Even if not of their own making, then they accept them, or simply cannot escape them. Some—maybe you, maybe your memories—even torment themselves. All my little boys-who-are-girls live in that dark palace. All jawari—even yours—are chosen for this potential, and raised to fulfill it. If you can understand this, you can master them better, faster, and more effectively. The fact you do not know this yet is more proof, if you are willing to see it, that I have a lot to teach you. But the job I have been given—we both have been given, me to teach, you to learn—Do you at least understand this is your job, to learn from me, whether you want to or not?”

“Yes,” Esmeray spat.

Hong huffed, whether from concern, arousal, frustration, or success, Esmeray wasn’t quite sure. Hong chose her words with even more care than usual, balancing loyalty to her Dominas with candor to her putative future ally. “This job I have been given—at first, it almost feels the job I was given is intended to provoke you.”

Esmeray relaxed slightly, ever so slightly, but it was there, and Hong sensed it, nodding with satisfaction behind her back. “You speak truly. I think we are enemies, but—”

“Unfair!” Hong protested, smiling at the long, lustrous, wild hair in front of her. It was beautiful hair. “You think everyone is an enemy.”

“Everyone is!”

“You, too, speak truly.” And, Hong thought, you seem to enjoy this sparring as much as I do, in your own tormented way.

“But I also understand the advantages of alliances. The necessity for them. In a world of enemies, allies are valuable. And your second path?”

“I ask myself: What is our real job?”

“To entertain our masters by clashing with one another, like harem gladiators?” Esmeray guessed dryly.

Hong laughed merrily. “Ooh la la, so cynical. I adore it. Again, you are probably right. And I think we can give them a good show. Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But… there is more. And I think, if I’m right, we are meant to teach one another. Our Masters’ minds work that way, layers hidden under layers, wheels working within wheels. But for me to explain it, you need to understand what this place is for, and what a qahramanah’s real job is.”

Hong bent her head, a slight sign of deference, and asked again, thrilling Esmeray with the unaccustomed sound of her own name: “Please, Esmeray. I ask again, can you bear to have me step closer to you?”

And after a beat, Esmeray nodded sharply, steeling herself and trying not to be obvious about it.

She felt Hong’s proximity before Hong actually touched her back. It was an electricity, a low buzz from her buttocks up through the arch of her back to her shoulders, sensing Hong’s field of energy before, with a gentle, accepting sigh, the perfectly-formed woman made contact with Esmeray’s scarred back. The deepest pressure was of her breasts against Esmeray’s shoulders; followed by her pelvis against Esmeray’s haunches. Esmeray kept reminding herself that, although deep, the touch was and had been soft, slow, and consensual. And although she couldn’t see Hong, she still held the woman’s hands, perhaps simply to prove to one or both of them that she could; or perhaps to reassure herself the hands were accounted for and therefore, not up to any mischief. Of course, Hong could bite her, her crazy brain reminded her unhelpfully—but she refused to think about that now, shaking her head to herself to dismiss the idea so she could learn whatever it was Hong was up to.

As if to prove she had no such intention, Hong asked softly: “Is this tolerable?”

“Yes,” Esmeray answered, almost but not quite entirely able to keep the edge of irritation out of her voice. So she forced herself to repeat herself, not wanting to actually feel Hong’s flesh—she couldn’t think about it, so she focused on trying to learn what Hong meant to teach her, telling herself this would be worthwhile, and that simply earning Hong’s trust would be worthwhile, ignoring all her contrary urges and feelings—the ravenous, dark ones—as best she could.

Then Hong pushed it by whispering: “Can you abide… more?”

Literature Section “06-100 Edging Esmeray”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 100 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1212 words—Accompanying Images: 1840-1843—Published 2025-05-25—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-99 Channah Knows How to Stretch a Penny (abridged version)

2025-05-25 admin

*1836 06-99 Penny cannot believe the words coming out of her own mouth*

*1838 06-99 Penny waits desperately for Domina’s decision*

Explicit version containing penis, size, analpenetration, orgasm, piledriver, and masturbation themes at 06-99X Channah Knows How to Stretch a Penny at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY: Penny, lying open below her Domina, begs Channah to take her. NOW:

“Wow, girl,” Channah snickered, impressed with her girl’s begging, pulling a jar from her pocket, removing the stopper, and dripping olive oil all over herself. With every single drop that landed on her, Penny jerked and writhed and moaned with the need to release bottled-up energy. “I’m impressed with you! I sensed there was a raw, live-wire slut inside you, buried beneath all the layers of propriety and manners and civilization…. There were times when even I doubted my instincts about you, you buried yourself so deeply, but I shouldn’t have. I knew it! Didn’t I? And now you’re my whore. My slut. My wanton, wanton girl.” And then she snapped: “Aren’t you?!”

“Yes, yes, I’m—I’m your t- your, I mean, Jezebel!,” Penny started bawling, her cheeks on fire, shamed and humiliated beyond all measure and reason, abasing herself and professing her disgraceful deepest desires as she had never done before. And the worst part of all of it was being afraid, as the words came out of her mouth, that they might all be true. “I’m a—I’m such a hussy,” she sobbed. “Why why why I don’t know! I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m such a nymphomaniac. But I need you.” She looked and sounded shocked again: “But-but I think it actually may be—I’m feeling a funny kind of way—Oh, Domina! I—I think I really do! I need you, Master! I need to feel you warming me up inside, right to my heart! Please Domina, make me complete! Oh, please, please pleeeeeease…!”

Channah, meanwhile, was rubbing the olive oil into her skin, enjoying the feeling. “Where—where do you want me to touch you?” she demanded, panting almost as heavily as her slave.

“Where—where you did before,” Penny squeaked, hardly able to stand the sound of the words coming from her own mouth. “Anywhere, Domina, anywhere you want, you know best!” And she started moving her own hands lower.

“Hunh-unh!” Channah snapped, dropping an oily hand to slap Penny’s to one side. “You had your chance, Ms. Modesty. No more! No hands! You made your decision—keep your hands on your nipples, girlie!”

“I’m sorry, Domina, I was stupid! Please, please let me change my mind, Domina! Oh lord, please—I need—Please?! You’ve got to—”

“ ‘Got’ to? Are you trying to tell me what to do, bitch?” Channah asked dangerously, raising her open palm as if she were going to slap Penny hard. Penny moued, and her knees jerked as if she were fighting every instinct she had to keep them apart, but hold them apart she did, cringing while she did so.

“No—no of course not, I’m sorry, Domina,”

“No, ma’am, I thought not.” Channah shook her head, smirking commandingly, her voice at once much quieter than Penny’s, and much more authoritative. “Good girl. Try again. Do you command?”

“No, Domina, I—” and she realized she knew the answer already. Channah had already told her. “I beg, that’s all I can do, Domina! I beg of you, please take charge of me! I want it more than anything. More than anything I’ve ever wanted!” And in that moment, she was so deep in subspace, under Channah’s spell, that she believed it well enough to be true. Penny whimpered and cried brokenly. “Do what—what Roger did to you, Domina.” She realized, with shock, that it was absolutely true, mortified to consider what it looked like, what it sounded like, and that for some reason she still wanted to be treated the same way. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Mistress. I want to be your baby-doll.”

Backing the rest of the way back so Penny’s feet weren’t under her knees anymore, and shaking out the rest of the bottle carelessly all over Penny, Channah shook her head. “No. Not today… today I want it to be so personal.”

“Personal?” Penny gasped. Not understanding yet.

Channah laughed, a low, guttural sound. “I’ll show you.”

Channah took hold of Penny. “Please do! Please show me! Oh please do!” Penny hyperventilated, as Channah dropped to her knees.

Penny flipflopped instinctively, panic piling back into her eyes as the reality of what was about to happen hit home, and wailed in a combination of need and fear. “Oh please be gentle with me, Domina!”

Penny’s squeal rose to a full-fledged wail as she felt Channah touch her. “Oh my goodness—PLEASE!!!!!”

Channah wasn’t sure what Penny wanted at this point and she doubted Penny had any idea, either. But in any event, it was way past the time Penny might have had any say in the matter. She was Channah’s totally passive receptive girl now, her entire existence defined by, even given by, Channah; her whole identity shrunk to the obedient, desperate, aching flesh being touched by Channah, even as she flooded Penny with another blast of the magical-sexual lightning that was the unique gift of the succubae.

Literature Section “06-99[X] Channah Knows How to Stretch a Penny”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 99 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 827 words::Explicit 1183 words—Accompanying Images: 1835-1838—Published 2025-05-24—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-98 Esmeray on Edge

2025-05-232025-05-23 admin

*1833 06-98 Toe to Toe, Challenger to Champion*

PREVIOUSLY: Hong, with minor assistance from her jawari, has wrestled Esmeray into submission and chained her by her ankles to the rail facing out over the desert. NOW:

Esmeray eyed the mass of devils and demons defiantly, as if she was considering taking them all on. And perhaps she was. Slowly, she brought her breathing and her emotions back under control, regretting the loss of it. She hated herself for being—whatever she was. Emotional. Instinctive. Crazy—call it what you like, she hated it. She hated at herself.

She had known today was going to be difficult and that Channah would try to make her lose it. Channah always did that; a part of Esmeray hated her. But that was getting her nowhere—stop, stop Stop STOP!

She told herself—ordered herself—to breathe, to stay focused on her work, and to ignore the potential threats around her. Either Channah was going to put her in harm’s way, or she was going to protect her; and there was little enough Esmeray could do either way to improve or worsen her lot.

Like everyone in Channah’s orbit, she was the Succubus Queen’s tool and plaything. She had been for a decade—ever since Channah had rescued her from worse—and she loathed herself for it. Not that Esmeray was… entirely ungrateful. She reminded herself, as she frequently did, that she was fortunate; and that Channah had treated her better than anyone ever did before. It was as much as—more than!—a person could ask. She knew she should be more grateful, or at the very least, more philosophical, about it.

And yet, it still rankled. Esmeray longed to be free, free of all obligations and duties to her master. Free of all masters. Free of the world’s bondage! At times, she thought back longingly to her days on the streets of Constantinople, the earliest times she could remember.

Didn’t she? Of course, she did. There were lengths of darkness she could not account for, but there was no sense in thinking on them because there was nothing to learn about them. She had tried.

It was always the good times that beckoned to her anyway. Today, and on other days when she was forced by circumstances to the unhappy task of reflecting.

She hissed and spat at the devils, pleased they could not reach her, twice as pleased to get a rise out of them. She always could! They were predictable—fuck! Like her. No. No! She was not predictable. Everybody told her so!

It was just the demons. They were predictable that way, goading them a reliable gambit to break the cycle of her unwanted thoughts, trying not to think of—her position. The chains—

Back then, she told herself, she slept where she liked, ate what she liked, and kept herself to herself. Mostly. Always, she slept anywhere she could find, ate anything she could scavenge, and avoided the city watch as assiduously as she tried to avoid the other monsters the city watch was meant to guard people against. But not always with success. She shuddered, remembering there had been some bad times—days, nights, when they caught her and things had been beyond her control awhile, things happening of which she would be no part, and her only objective had been to escape and recover, restore order, restore equilibrium.

Like now.

Street children had only their wits to keep them a step ahead of horror; and like most street children, she had tripped and fallen into the clutches of evil men—always men—once or twice.

But it was the freedom she had usually enjoyed, that she missed now. She had been a brilliant child-thief. And when she started to come into her powers… well, unfortunately, a child struggling to comprehend their power attracted attention long before it started paying dividends.

Back then, perhaps… sometimes… maybe she had just been young and stupid. But there had been such a hope that things would get better someday, somehow. A wish that had at once been fulfilled when Channah took her in, and been slowly dashed to pieces ever since, as Esmeray, growing older and wiser, realized there was no way out for her from where she was right now, under Channah’s thumb. Nowhere for her to go to get away. But maybe, back then, before she met Channah—well, before she was caught by—

MAYBE BACK THEN, she thought forcefully to herself, she could have found somewhere, a place, if she’d had the chance.

As it was, she did not, and she would not. Not ever.

She was Channah’s, body and soul. Channah was a powerful matron and matriarch—which was generally to the good. She worked for the strongest person she had ever encountered, someone whose reach was global, whose time was infinite. It was a good thing to work for the Queen. Something filled with perks. The best she could hope for—

“Esmeray! Madwoman!” The voice tried again, more insistently. She straightened, shook her head to clear it, and looked back over her left shoulder to see Hong regarding her urgently. “Are you yourself again?”

She blinked, then nodded. “I’m fine.”

Something—disbelief, scorn, a decision of some kind that Esmeray’s assertion was incorrect—crossed her face momentarily. But after an initial sting, Esmeray’s more rational mind sensed whatever Hong was experiencing wasn’t meant for her. Hong was as focused on herself, as she was formidable. Not unlike Channah: Neither of them wasted time thinking about others, except for how she could manipulate them, and what they might be able to do for her. Despite her desire to dislike the snotty bitch, Esmeray instead felt something between relief to be dealing with a predictable, and therefore potentially helpful, person with no particular desire to mess up Esmeray’s life; and a desire to interact with Hong precisely because she couldn’t stand interacting with most people.

And Esmeray thought she saw something like a grudging respect from Hong as well. “When I heard about you, I couldn’t understand why my Queen would have anything to do with one as… brittle as you. But I see now. Do you?”

“What?” Esmeray asked, startled by the frank and sincere question.

“Do you know why she brought you here, to this place, the heteraslakos?”

“To remind me she can do whatever she likes to me,” Esmeray answered, shrugging matter-of-factly.

Something played around Hong’s lips before settling on amusement, and she snorted. “Very probably. But beyond that.”

“She said I’m damaged enough that I have the capacity to do real damage,” Esmeray answered slowly, watching Hong’s expression intently for anything insincere or petty. All she found was a flash of understanding.

Hong stepped up behind Esmeray, returning her curious gaze: “Can you abide the touch—a gentle touch—of a woman?”

Esmeray stiffened, wanting to snap that she could survive anything but quelling the urge to do so, as Hong raised her hands slowly. Sensing she had still been too fast, Hong pulled them back a moment, shushing her gently, before resting one, and then the other, on Esmeray’s sleeve, not looking away from her for a second. And then she paused, doing nothing, saying nothing, as Esmeray held her body tight as a drum, before starting to understand. With a testy but determined hiss of breath, she began forcing herself to relax. Even with the other qahramanah touching her.

“Can you touch others?” Esmeray nodded questioningly, and Hong explained, removing her hands from Esmeray’s sleeve and holding out her left hand, a few inches from Esmeray’s. “Then touch me.”

Esmeray hesitated, considering her irritation, her instant desire not to do what somebody else wanted her to do, and the tension that had arisen in her the moment Hong called her name. Deliberately, rationally, she chose to play along anyway. The queen bee obviously wanted something from her; and Esmeray wanted to know why Channah had dragged her here, what kind of show she was supposed to be putting on, exactly. Everyone wanted to be powerful and valuable—or at the very least, to understand their value to others, not merely to capitalize upon it, but to be wary of the threat the other person’s desire might pose.

Literature Section “06-98 Esmeray on Edge”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 98 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1350 words—Accompanying Images: 1833-1835—Published 2025-05-23—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-97 Penny Begs for It Like the Slut She Is (abridged version)

2025-05-222025-05-22 admin

*1828 06-97 C’mon, whinny! That’s a good little horsey!*

*1830 06-97 Channah has Penny wrapped around something…*

Explicit version containing intercourse, penetration, penis, and vagina themes at 06-##X Title at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY: After using Penny, Channah has teased her mercilessly to a fever pitch. Now she’s ready to close the deal. NOW:

“Beg me for what I want, until you feel, no, until you know, with every fiber of your being, that it’s what you want, too. No matter how long it takes. And don’t you dare stop until I command you to!”

Penny groaned, turned to helpless jelly by her ruthless application of power and her unending hunger for Penny’s attention and obedience. Channah’s desire to rule Penny, absolutely and powerfully, persuaded and confirmed for Penny just how much Channah cared about her, and how much she mattered to Channah. Any lingering thoughts of looking for ways to resist or hold back, utterly collapsed into the ruins of Penny’s will, which now was only to do whatever it took to keep Channah happy.

From the moment she opened her mouth she was begging with utter sincerity and a raw, unadulterated need that touched Channah’s heart through all the layers of armor and insulation she used to protect it, amplified perhaps, but not allowed in the first place, by the four magical bonds they now shared: “Please, Domina. Please! I want to be your girl. Please take me, I beg of you! Please make me your girl.”

“How?” she demanded relentlessly, and Penny gave her another one of those enchanted, perfect moments unintentionally: She couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with her own hands, knowing she was supposed to remain passive for Channah and wanting to be a good girl, but restless with the unspent energy crackling and curling in the ether around them.

Penny, her hands fluttering uselessly, wailed: “Please, please—ohmigod,” Penny whimpered, a small, helpless, weak, ashamed sound before she forced herself to choke it out, trying so hard her voice came out in a scream: “Make me a woman, Domina! Please possess me, my Master, my Goddess, my Queen, my savior! Please take me, Domina! I beg of you! I was meant to be your base, I know it, and you to be my captain and commander, I know that now!”

She made a whining sound, and Channah seized the opportunity to interrupt her stream of self-abuse and command her further, rolling and grinding her boot into Penny’s stomach and solar plexus: “Play with yourself,” Channah commanded, nodding to her fluttering hands, watching Penny turn into a tomato again. “Your chest, ninny,” she laughed, knowing before Penny did what she would think because Penny was so desperately shy and so fundamentally uncomfortable with her own feelings, she had to be bullied every step of the way into showing them, or even allowing herself to admit and experience them.

Penny awkwardly placed her open hands on her chest, covering them like a modest woman caught without a bra on. “Plea—” she started again, before Channah interrupted her, throwing back her head and laughing harshly:

“No! Completely inadequate! Move your hands,” she barked down at her girl. And as Penny obeyed, she directed her every motion, coaching her until she became enthusiastic: “No—alternate, your full palm with a light tickling with your fingertips. Lighter… lighter!”

“I—I love you, Mistress!” Penny bleated. “Domina! Please! Use me however you want, I want it, I swear, Domina!”

And when she saw goosebumps popping up on Penny’s skin she nodded with satisfaction, waving Penny to keep her mouth shut to let her talk. “Take turns, using one hand to tickle yourself and the other to pinch your nipple…. Roll it between your forefinger and thumb. Go on! That’s good, baby. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Domina, I want to be, Master, I swear!” Penny promised. “I love you! Please make me yours, I beg you…” it came out as another scream: “NOW! Use me very badly, please, Domina I beg you,” Penny was fully sobbing now, drawing in her breath with surprise as she realized, while recovering her breath, that her hands on her chest might actually feel good. She met Channah’s eyes with a mortified, startled expression of having been caught out, blushing, but trying, not giving up. Tentatively at first, and then with slowly-growing authority, turning pink with embarrassment but managing just barely to keep going, she lightly ran her hands over her chest and nipples, forcing herself to sigh deeply as she tried to relax.

“And keep begging! More explicitly! I want details! Tell—me—exactly—what—you—want, bitch!” Channah commanded, calm but emphatic and authoritative, as she stepped off Penny’s chest and then slowly, tauntingly, both of them knowing what she was doing, shuffling backwards over Penny’s legs, raising her skirt so Penny, afraid and appalled, but helplessly aroused to be so submissive, locked her mesmerized, horrified, bulging, lovestruck eyes on the evolution occurring there without even erasing her womanhood. Channah paused, standing over Penny’s hips, trapping Penny’s feet under her knees. “Until I tell you to stop, footstool!” She dripped her contempt down on her girl, watching her slowly start to move her body, unconscious of what was happening, as she—the natural submissive inside her—started responding, more and more deeply, to Channah’s dominance. Her hips were moving. Her legs were still raised, helplessly and openly, like those of a chicken or turkey ready to be ripped apart and eaten by hungry diners around a dinner table. They slowly waved, obscenely, as her hips moved, her hands still working on her chest, her shoulders rolling and her head shaking as if she couldn’t even believe her own lack of dignity and morality. Her whole body was bobbing in time to her heart. She was panting and grunting as she worked herself into a frenzy for her increasingly cruel and mean-spirited master:

“Put your body inside mine!”

Literature Section “06-97[X] Penny Begs for It Like the Slut She Is”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 97 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 946 words::Explicit 1080 words—Accompanying Images: 1828-1832—Published 2025-05-21—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Author: admin