Category: Stories
Explicit version containing masturbation, chastity themes at 06-90X Tongue-Tied Penance at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman.
PREVIOUSLY: Penny emerged from total isolation to a crashing overload of sensation to find herself, physically naked and emotionally-wrecked, in Channah’s protective, affectionate embrace. Comforted by her, overwhelmed by the need and longing she had felt to be saved by Channah, and the reality of being saved by her, she accepts Channah’s kiss. NOW:
Penny melted into Channah’s kiss, something starting as a sigh becoming a moan of passion, her passion dissolving all conscious thought in her, her body twitching unbidden and unintended. Channah’s tongue tickled her lips, caressed her teeth, and flirted with Penny’s. Penny reciprocated, automatically, wanting to feel more of her Domina, and suddenly she felt Channah’s hand around her chin and cheeks, pushing her face away and holding her still.
Surprised, she whispered: “Please—don’t stop,” her eyes swimming back into focus and finding Channah’s, inquiring.
“I won’t,” Channah shook her head decisively, squeezing Penny’s cheeks with the hand that was holding them. Penny didn’t lift a finger to disentangle herself. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t even imagine it. “But you need to.”
“I–?” Penny didn’t even know what she was talking about.
“I like to tongue-dance, but reciprocating is a pleasure I associate with men. Are you a man?”
Penny stared at her, pinkening, before admitting in an embarrassed squeak: “No, Domina.”
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Oh, yess,” Penny gushed, practically swooning at the thought. “Please!”
“Then you need to keep your tongue passive when we kiss. It’s not to move more than minimally necessary, and it should stay on the floor of your mouth, out of my way, at all times. Anything else will be considered resistance and obstructionism. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Domina, ofph coursze,” Penny nodded, practicing and sensing what it felt life for her tongue to remain supine in her mouth. “But why?”
“Wait, remind me… do I need a reason?” she asked, curiously.
Penny reddened. “No, of course not, Domina.”
“That’s right! Do you know, my metalsmith and I invented restraint devices long, long ago? We did!” She sniggered with pleasure at the recollection, taking her hand off Penny’s jaw and moving it straight down the front of Penny’s body, tickling her and eliciting a whining sound she seemed to take delight in. “It looks like something’s pinching you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Domina.”
“Maybe I should talk to her about designing a restraint for your tongue. The trick would be, designing one that keeps your tongue under control without interfering with speech or eating. You won’t be of nearly as much use to me if you can’t speak,” she mused, her finger on her chin again, pretending to consider it seriously. “Perhaps a tongue stud with a little chain, connecting it to a post in the floor of your mouth?”
Penny was scared. “What are you talking about, Domina? I don’t understand! I don’t want to do anything wrong, Domina, I promise. I want to be your good girl.”
Relenting, she smiled fondly. “I know you do, dear. Then obey me. If I really needed your tongue to stay inside your mouth, you would be in tongue-restraint, to keep it away from females of any species—human, demonic, or otherwise—by even a quarter-inch. I’m just commanding you to be passive when we kiss because I like it! I like reminding both of us I’m your Domina, and you’re my jariya. Do you have a problem with me exercising my prerogatives to humiliate, belittle, or otherwise put you down for no reason other than my own pleasure?” she asked challengingly.
Penny shrank back slightly, eyes wide, and shook her head, disconcerted as always by the part of her that liked the way she treated her. “No, Domina. Not at all, Miss.”
“Oh, that’s good,” she snickered. “ ‘Not at all, Miss.’ I like that answer. Then keep every part of you, however… small…” she smiled wickedly, tickling Penny again. “Out of my mouth. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Domina. I’ll be good,” Penny promised, opening her mouth and leaning up towards Channah.
Channah leered at her, bringing her hand back up to take hold of Penny’s jaw and shove it back down, considering Penny.
“Ahm sahy,” Penny apologized, keeping her mouth open and her tongue down.
“You look ridiculous! No—hold it open, I like it when you make a fool of yourself for me.” She laughed, both at Penny’s obedience, and how crestfallen she looked. She moved her hand back to Penny’s body again, enjoying Penny’s desperate squirming. “Does it hurt?” she asked archly, both of them knowing exactly what she meant.
“Yeshmaahm,” Penny nodded earnestly, making her laugh even harder.
“Good. Suffer for me, my little pretty.” And like a bird of prey diving to rip some hapless little fish from a stream, or some harmless little varmint from a field of grass, she dove her head back down again, sealing their mouths together and slithering her tongue back into Penny’s mouth again, relishing Penny’s moans of combined lust and discomfort, while her hand continued to play gently with Penny as her tongue ravished Penny’s mouth.
Penny raised her arm towards Channah, not to be uppity, but automatically, wanting to touch her more, and she laughed into Penny’s mouth as she seized Penny’s wrist and slammed her arm back onto the mattress.
Rolling expertly on top of her jariya, she broke their kiss just long enough to raise her dress above her waist before sliding down to straddle Penny’s hips, cooing and sliding her other lips up and down over Penny’s chastity as her tongue got back to its ravishing.
Her tongue, much longer than Chas’s, and apparently more flexible, not only tickled her lips, caressed her teeth, and petted her tongue, it went wherever it wished, sliding between her jaws and her cheeks, and when she felt particularly devilish, ramming down into the back of Penny’s throat with eye-watering, gag-inducing force. Channah obviously relished every second of Penny’s suffering, her eyes dancing as Penny choked and gasped, struggling for breath and baffled by the confusing messages on the back of her throat telling her body to swallow and to reject the invader.
She broke their conversation for a moment to ask: “Can you feel the way I feel about you?”
“Oh, yes,” Penny groaned helplessly. “Your skin is so slippery and smooth. Ow it hurts…” she protested, not talking about Channah any more.
“I love it! And I love you, my passive little bitch,” Channah growled, continuing to slide up and down, up and down, pressing harder for her own sense of closeness, before smashing her face back down on Penny’s, using her tongue to drive so deep down her throat that pure reflex made Penny try to escape, while Channah used the mattress beneath her and Channah’s mouth above her to trap her and hold her in place, leaving her little mouse with nowhere to flee.
Literature Section “06-90[X] Tongue-Tied Penance”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 90 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1081 words::Explicit 1144 words—Accompanying Images: 1803-1805—Published 2025-05-12—©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.
Literature Section “06-89 Mothers’ Day (Southern Style)”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—21 words—Accompanying Images: 1739, 1741-1742, 1744-1750, 1754-1762, 1764-1773, 1791-1798, 1740, 1743, 1763—Published 2025-05-11 to 05-17—©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.
PREVIOUSLY: Penny is isolated without being able to sense anything about space, time, the world, or even her own body. She is so isolated she wonders if she even existed or if her memories are the imaginations of a momentary consciousness flickering in nothingness. NOW:
The first moment was overwhelming.
As everything returned, she felt completely overloaded by light, sound, smell, taste, feeling, gravity, movement, her frantic heartbeat, her panicked breath.
Data crashed in, fired like musket balls and flung at her like buckets of scalding water, crushing her from all directions at once, as if her entire existence was being obliterated by fire. There was so much of it that when the assault began it meant everything and nothing at once.
She had been searching for a whisper or a flutter of distant candlelight, any tiny thing to break the nothingness. And instead, she had been hit by thunderous screaming and a burst of direct sunlight straight in her eyes.
It all happened so fast, after the utter stillness of before. But it took a moment for her brain and body to accelerate and re-synchronize with the raging torrent of water and the speeding avalanche of life. She experienced that glacial moment as forever, and it would stick with her always, even as she struggled to remember already, what the utter stillness and absence that had preceded it had really been like.
Then her body and mind started processing data again, remembering they had once done so normally and routinely, and falling back into their well-worn tracks to move forward.
She felt the sharp tug at her bottom and then the gentle, warm hand between her legs removing it and casting it away, as the last of the wicked plug left her behind, ending her total violation and occupation, even as it allowed her to start trying to process what she had been through, in a way she hadn’t been able to reach when she was… gone.
Next, seconds and minutes later, she started making sense of everything else.
The smell of frankincense, myrrh, opium, and the very very essential and musky scent of one unique woman, maybe even something too deep for conscious awareness, embraced Penny with the certain knowledge of where she was, fundamentally and totally: Domina! She was with, held close and tight by, her Domina.
That was the essence, the meaning, of everything. Of being back: She was safe, back in the arms of her Domina.
She moued in joy and relief and safety and love.
From that core of certainty, her awareness felt secure enough to widen back to something like normality.
She was lying on her back on a soft, warm bed, cradled in her Domina’s warm, gentle arms. The air was hot and moist—hell insistently reminding her where they were, even before the low, distant roar of a thousand worried voices and the clanking, booming jangle of the band faintly sounding at the very threshold of perception, told her she had not moved too far. Persuading her she had not been away for too long, no matter that it felt like a lifetime, the wall between before and after that… whatever it had been, so massive and high she could not even see back over it to gauge how different her place was now.
She felt her Domina’s cheek against her forehead; Channah’s reassuring arms and breasts cradling her neck and shoulders; Channah’s silky smooth dress against her bare flesh; Channah’s legs wrapped protectively around her bare ones; Channah’s boots resting on Penny’s bare feet and ankles, possessing her in a profoundly comforting way.
She was safe in the arms of her Domina, and to Penny, in that moment, they were nothing but loving and assuring and inspiring and protecting her, like a mother and wife and nurse all wrapped up together as one. Then her brain sighed, putting all the comparisons together:
Duh. Like an angel.
No. Not just like one. Whatever had happened to her, however she had fallen, Channah was an angel, and no one had ever felt that truth more strongly than Penny did in that moment. Penny’s heart leapt as she realized she, literally, had a guardian angel! Penny felt the full and wonderful import of that now, a feeling of peace like she had never known before.
“Domina!” Penny sobbed, immediately crying, finding her arms and using them to roll slightly to her right. With her left arm (her right arm trapped between them), she hugged her angel with desperate joy. She wanted to wrap all her limbs around her Domina, but after what she had been through, the fact Channah was controlling her and constraining her—and Penny could feel her mastery—was the most reassuring and wonderful feeling in the world.
Limitations of any kind were real; they were the certainty confirming she was not alone and nowhere. She could remember their absence from her banishment, more keenly than she could remember anything specific about what the banishment itself had felt like. But that—that horrible interruption in her existence—was the last thing she wanted to think about now.
She broked down and wept, chest heaving, wracked with sobs, in Channah’s arms as her Domina wrapped and swathed her reassuringly, comforting her with her warmth, and her protective envelopment, and her throaty murmurs of reassurance: “It’s okay, baby. It’s all right. You’re back here with me, darling. That’s all that matters. My sweet girl.” She kissed the top of Penny’s head, sliding against Penny’s hair and the sense of softness from her lips even touching Penny’s skull. She had one arm under Penny’s head and shoulders, and Penny burrowed her face into the crook between Channah’s breast and arm, staining her beautiful brocade with Penny’s salty tears, Channah not caring in the least about clothing no matter how precious, when her little girl needed to be comforted and welcomed back. And Channah’s voice and manner and words and gestures and even excited heartbeat, everything about her, confirmed that, how true her compassion was. “My little honey bear. Oh… ohhh, my little darling. There, there. You’re safe. You’re safe in my arms, sugar.”
One hand held Penny’s shoulder firmly, while the other patted and stroked Penny’s back and side. Meanwhile, Channah’s booted feet wrapped themselves around Penny’s naked ones, her upper heel hooking around Penny’s ankles and gently pulling them on top of her other leg. Penny leaned in harder to her, face buried completely in Channah’s breast, wrapped in and enraptured by the sweet, distinctive perfume of her amazing body, the totality of her presence, the bliss of being in complete communion with her.
Channah’s dominance over Penny, in every category that might be compared—spiritual and physical, emotional and rational, sensory and force of personality—was total.
And Penny knew it, deeply, profoundly, and intensely, in that moment.
Physically, as an angel, Channah was unnaturally strong and magnetically attractive, while Penny was, ultimately, only human; something paler and less than the stuff of heaven itself.
Mentally and emotionally, in addition to whatever undoubted angelic or demonic superpowers of hypnosis and seduction Channah had, she had hundreds of human lifespans’ worth of experience and practice, versus Penny’s worldly body and single life that were only just getting underway in earnest.
And Channah was in her own element, one she had centuries of familiarity with; while Penny was just returning from a place more distant than she could have conceived of before, a place that made Fang’s heteraslakos in the Hell of Lust, seem as familiar and nostalgic and homey as the half-remembered, more-imagined gentle Buckinghamshire countryside where the person Penny had once been, innocent little Pen, lived with his parents before their deaths. Before Cambridgeshire and the manipulative demons, before Venice and his cold aunt, there where he had been whole, a child cared for as a child actually should be cared for, with the parents every child should have. After what she had just been through, in the preceding moments, and even in the past days of her hazing, lying here in sweet Channah’s arms truly felt like the soft, pastel imagamemories of early childhood.
Situationally, of course, they were in Channah’s world—literally, an entire world owned and ruled by her—whereas Penny was not merely lost, not merely out of her bailiwick, she was outside of the very world she had grown up in.
Channah had brought Penny here, surrounded her by what Channah wanted surrounding her, even dressed her—when she had still been dressed, and in a way, now that she was completely vulnerable and naked—exactly as Channah wanted her to be. This place, that Channah seemed to know well—to thrive in—that was somehow very important to the succubae, could not have been more alien, or less comfortable, let alone natural or connected, to Penny. It jarred with her soul like a sword being scraped blade-edge-down against a stone. In sum, Channah had Penny exactly where she wanted her and how she wanted her.
Channah was even fully-dressed, assertively to match her personality, whereas Penny wore nothing, as naked and vulnerable as a newborn baby in her mother’s arms. Well, Penny wore nothing that could protect her or strengthen her or help her; she had only Channah for. that. The only thing on her body was her master’s tiny cage, binding her and marking her as Channah’s virginal property. And there was the only thing, the terrible thing inside her, which her mind could not even bring itself to think about but she felt as a great unsettled discomfort, reminding her of her vulnerability: Channah literally held her and controlled her, inside and out. As she had definitively demonstrated by sending Penny away from everything with an embarrassing and uncomfortable, but ultimately simple, plug.
Channah and Penny were so connected, so completely bonded to one another, that they seemed to feel it rising, not merely simultaneously, but together, as one:
Even as Penny’s heart leapt with the urge to kiss her Domina, she felt the hand that had been soothing her back brush lovingly across her ribs to take her chin, and gently, gently lift her face to Channah’s, giving Penny’s abashed eyes time to gather their courage and rise, until…
Their eyes locked, their hearts and breaths synchronized, and while Penny’s mouth opened in wordless, silent, passive amazement and awe, Channah spoke and acted assertively, for both of them, as seemed only right and natural from now on, whispering: “Oh, my rhythm. My basis. My love.”
Then, turning her head as she leaned forward, Channah crushed her lips against Penny’s and pressed her tongue inside Penny’s receptive mouth, just enough to make it clear she could and did rule even that place.
Literature Section “06-89 Channah & Penny 4ever I”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 89 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1754 words—Accompanying Images: 1799-1802—Published 2025-05-11—©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.
An Old Southern Tradition (05-11)
1754 06-89 Honoring and respecting Mothers is an Old Southern Tradition worth keeping!
This photo essay is as close to real as my work gets. The Old South was FUUUUUUCKED UP. Happy Mother’s Day!
Images 1740, 1743, and 1763 are fully-consistent with DA’s published guidelines and with US law, but because I don’t trust DA’s algorithms and don’t want to be kicked off again, they will be posted on May 12th and 14th at 06-89 Mother’s Day (Southern Style) at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman.
Literature Section “06-89 Mothers’ Day (Southern Style)”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—21 words—Accompanying Images: 1739, 1741-1742, 1744-1750, 1754-1762, 1764-1773, 1791-1798, 1740, 1743, 1763—Published 2025-05-11 to 05-17—©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.
1751 06-87 Perverse Magics Underground
PREVIOUSLY: Chastity has been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, disoriented, choked, and hogtied with her wrists tied behind her back to the center of a spreader bar binding her ankles, being carried towards the edge of the platform. She has no idea who is manhandling her, or what they mean to do with her, knowing that being thrown to her death by precipitation or devouring are both very real possibilities. NOW:
The people carrying Chastity stopped, and for a moment Chastity could not sense activity of any kind. Then they began backing up slowly. At first, Chastity felt relieved, since it meant they had moved farther back from the ledge. But then it panicked her when it occurred to her they had literally backed up, instead of turning around and walking in the opposite direction—implying they were going to move forward again. What was happening?
Suddenly they lurched forward, accelerating to a speed two or three times faster than their previous pace.
Chastity screamed, realizing she was going to die, as they accelerated towards the edge, waiting for them to release her and send her tumbling and flying.
It was another stupid, silent, utterly useless scream, as useless as all of her struggles and suffering had been; and she keenly felt how little difference she made—or possibly could make—to the world as helpless as she was now.
And then the moment came as they stopped abruptly, letting the momentum of her suspended body carry her forward, and Chas felt a sharp pang of sadness and pity that consumed her as she fell.
More straight down than forward, on top of what felt like a pile of people.
Everyone was still for a moment, and then there was a scramble of movement all around her until she felt herself being dragged forward, pulled across the stones and across a metal bar until one of them straddled her back and pushed down on the back of her head. At first she was afraid they were trying to slam her head into the stone, or perhaps into something filthy, but then her stomach flipflopped as she realized what they had already done. What she had been shown, but been slow to appreciate: her head had been forced below the level of the deck, and possibly her shoulders. Definitely, there was nothing supporting her shoulders.
Her head and shoulders were dangling over the edge!
In her mind’s eye she imagined what she would see if she could: a dizzying drop down the sheer edge of the platform to the writhing desert below. Stupidly, she caught herself screaming—or trying to scream—once more, a scream that turned into a helpless sob as she became aware how useless it was, how useless she was, how little agency she had.
While the person on her back held her head down, other hands loosened one of her ankles.
Chastity didn’t move. She didn’t start kicking or do anything that might be interpreted as resistance. She was too scared. And of course that was the point. After leaving her alone for long enough to convince them—and Chas—that she wasn’t going to give them any trouble, they undid her other ankle and waited again.
Finally, carefully, the person on her back stood up over her, letting go of her head, and there was a third pause, before Chas felt her wrists being pulled upwards by whatever they were tied to—the middle of the bar that had been used to separate her ankles. As best she could tell, there were hands on both ends of it, using them to pull her arms up painfully behind her back while bare feet and sharp nails kicked her sides.
In despair, Chastity struggled to her knees, then her feet, and was shoved forward until her pelvis hit a horizontal iron bar at what she knew to be the very edge.
Shaking with fear, heart racing, terrified of losing her balance or knocked over, either on purpose or by accident, she stood still like a good girl while they pulled her ankles apart and secured them in place.
Last, without releasing them from the spreader bar, they pushed upward on her wrists, pushing further and further up until Chas’s only choices were to disclocate her shoulders or bend forward. She wept with frustration and confusion as they kept raising and pushing her arms, up and up—and apparently, securing them to something overhead, high enough that Chas’s arm muscles remained stressed to a point of significant pain.
And there they left her, alone, tortured in place without requiring any effort, or even attention, from her torturers.
They could leave her here forever, and she could do nothing to escape or even to alleviate her suffering.
Refusing to scream again uselessly, Chastity imagined herself screaming, the grating, terrible sound reverberating through every part of her head, her body, her soul.
Literature Section “06-87 The Agony of Chastity II”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 87 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—750 words—Accompanying Images: 1751-1752—Published 2025-05-09—©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.
1732 06-86 Esmeray’s Torment
PREVIOUSLY: Channah extended her arm straight out towards the tangled knot of clothed qahramanat and naked jawari, snapping her fingers decisively in command. “Don’t you dare let the truth-speaker go. Keep her here, in the hetaraslakos. Do not break the ritual. Bind her if you can, but I want her conscious and don’t you dare let her interrupt us again! Then mount them both on the rails!” “You biiiiiiitch!” Esmeray screeched, and “Yes, Domina,” Hong solemnly swore, and “Yes, My Liege!” the four naked girls imitated Fang. NOW:
Hong commanded one of her girls in Mandarin, who ran to the other side of the platform while Hong and her other three Hongettes struggled to wrestle the howling, flailing, fuming Esmeray over onto her belly so they could get her under control.
“Get your filthy paws off me you gorillas!” Hong’s eyes narrowed at the insult, taking it at first as racist, taking advantage of an opportunity to seize Esmeray’s arm in the first step of a wushu hold. “Don’t touch me with your naked filth! I promise god I will destroy the—the filth—AAUGH!” the last sound was more one of frustration at her inability to find words damning enough to express what she was feeling, than any reaction to the physical stresses being placed upon her.
Hong executed her arm-lock, twisting Esmeray’s arm upwards behind her back and eliciting a sharp scream of pain.
“BIIIITTCHH!” Esmeray screamed, which Hong understood, and then baffled her: “Keep your naked monkeys off me!”
Hong was taken aback. She was straddling the crazy gwáinòuh’s hips now, with her left knee on one side and her right boot on the other, rolling Esmeray’s bent arm away from its natural position and placing extreme stress on it, while her submissives—theoretically trained in the martial arts, but obviously not as seriously as Hong—were wrestling as ineffectively as Hong was fighting. Honghua and Hongjiao were using every ounce of their arm strength to fight Esmeray’s powerful leg muscles, while Hongan was at imminent risk of learning how much stronger jaw muscles were than fingers, if she kept trying to hold Esmeray’s head still by gripping her chin.
Was Esmeray stupid? Hong wondered. Jawari were one thing. Jawari could be little air-headed ninnies (and Hong often thought her girls were) as long as they were attractive enough and sporting enough. And apparently, according to the screaming devils below, it was quite possible for qahramanat to arouse them while being completely out of their minds. But a qahramanah could not be stupid—and she had not seemed stupid to Hong, at first.
Then, as Hongzhi hurried back into view, carrying her irons, which Hong had commanded her to fetch, it all clicked into place: This woman, who hardly paid attention to a submission hold, and kept talking about naked monkey parts, shuddered and stilled the moment she set eyes on the irons. Her language wasn’t about race.
“Please no. Please, no!” voice plunging from a scream to a frightened moan, resistance evaporating, practically limp in their arms, moving only her head to shake it, Esmeray pleaded. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll be good. See? See? You can hurt me it’s okay but please don’t please don’t use—use those. PLEASE!”
And as Hong put the pieces together, she shuddered, as if she had taken a sudden chill. Hong was not shy, or delicate, or squeamish, or easily intimidated, or scared, or timid, or submissive—she had been a best-in-class alpha as long as she could remember. Even her parents’ stories of her childhood portrayed her that way. She had faced, and faced down, monsters and threats aplenty in her own life. But the things she had seen, the women who hadn’t been as strong as her—like her own sister…. In an instant, Hong knew the essence of Esmeray’s story, and without surrendering her hold or her control, she eased back on the stress to end the deliberate pain.
She shook her head at Hongzhi to pause, considering. Esmeray was acting as if she had finally figured out what Hong and her girls had known since the moment they’d first engaged: clearly, Hong was the only decently-trained fighter among them; a match for Esmeray’s size and heavier than her jawari, who were deliberately chosen for being petite, among other stereotypically-female features the succubae considered predictive of success in the tasks they would be assigned. But…
“I’m sorry. My Domina’s orders were clear.” She nodded at Hongzhi to come closer: “To restrain you.”
“She said if—if!” Esmeray wailed. Hong was surprised she had had the presence of mind to register Channah’s words so accurately. “She said she wanted me conscious and you daren’t let me interrupt her again, I know! But she said to bind me if!”
“If I can,” Hong finished the sentence, adding reasonably: “And I can.”
“No! That’s not true!”
“You doubt my ability to restrain you?” she inquired, momentarily applying more pressure.
“No, no I don’t, I—oh, please don’t!” And when Hongzhi reached toward her neck with the collar, she began thrashing and resisting again. “Nonononononononono…..” the protest trailing off into a howl like a wolf, and then into crying.
Hong sighed. She couldn’t take pleasure in forcing herself on a genuinely unwilling and terrified victim. She wasn’t a soldier. And if the woman kept making noise, she’d have to gag her.
“Hongzhi, stop.” And when Esmeray quieted down, Hong offered: “I suppose if you’re quiet and still, it is less likely to ‘interrupt’ my Domina than if you’re thrashing and wailing. Therefore it may be difficult to bind you without interrupting Her more than necessary.”
“Oh, yes,” Esmeray agreed, sighing with relief. “Yes, please.”
Hong stared at her shoulder blades for a moment and decided, reluctantly: “Very well. If you cooperate completely, I will keep my hold on you, not bind you. But one single spot of resistance—”
“I understand. I’ll be good Ms. Hong, I promise, I’ll be good.” She liked that all right, smiling despite herself.
“Good. Let’s see if you can get to your feet without your left hand.” Hong stayed still a moment longer, emphasizing her control over the woman, then warned her girls: “Keep a close eye on her—be ready to shackle her if we need to.”
“Yes, Qahramanah,” her girls nodded, as Hong stood, carefully, maintaining her hold as Esmeray struggled to her feet.
“Jongzhi, rest your shackles across my shoulders in case I need them. I will walk her over to the display rails. Please bring her jariya.”
As they started up the stairs, Hong asked: “Are you afraid of heights?”
“No… not particularly. Why?”
“Because some people become upset near the edge. If that happens to you, I will have to chain you in completely, and gag you.” As they approached it, Esmeray’s angle of view became steeper and steeper; and she was able to see devils who were closer and closer. As soon as one of them spotted her, the volume of the devils rose again with excitement, and they surged forward like red cattle, packing tighter together than before, even as their agitation increased.
Esmeray started breathing faster as the reality of where they were headed sank in more strongly. But to her credit, she did not slow or even flinch. She allowed herself to be walked to the very edge, where a series of rectangles, like half-height gates with a hinge on the left side of each connecting it to a support post, and a latch on the right side allowing it to be secured to the next post over, served as a low guard rail.
“Continue right up to the rail. She ordered you to be displayed,” Hong explained pointedly, but not unkindly. “I have to bind you to the rail.”
“No—”
“Look at it!” Hong explained. “It’s for your own safety. But I can do your ankles only and give you the key so you’ll know you can get out.” And then softly: “That’s the best I can do.”
Esmeray hesitated, then nodded, a tiny nod of reluctant assent, as she stepped onto the bottom rail, pressing the tops of her thighs against the upper rail, her face set in stone as Hong knelt and secured her ankles.
Literature Section “06-86 Esmeray’s Torment; Hong’s Mercy”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 86 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1300 words—Accompanying Images: 1732-1735—Published 2025-05-08—©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.
1727 06-85 In the Realm of the Senses
PREVIOUSLY: Penny has been completely deprived of all sensation—vision, hearing, smell, taste, and feeling; even their auxiliary aspects like balance and orientation and the awareness of her own heartbeat and breath. Outside her isolation, the world moves forward, with Esmeray trying to murder Chastity for defying her and disrupting Channah’s spell. Trying to recover, Channah has just put Chastity’s earplugs back in, cutting him off again. NOW:
Fang crouched over the effectively-mummified Penny, with her hands steady on Penny’s ajna, the third eye in her head, and muladhara, the basic center of trust in her root—or as close to them as her hands could be. Channah and one of Hong’s girls knelt on the restrained Chastity. Hong and her other three jawari struggled to restrain the still-livid, almost-rabid Esmeray. Like Penny and Chastity, when she could keep her skirts down, Hong almost appeared to be fully-dressed, if sweaty and disheveled with a whore’s slightly smudged makeup. Unlike them in one respect, the plunging neckline of her cheongsam had already been ripped open, revealing the inner edges of her breasts in a manner that would have been most fetching if it weren’t for the exigencies of the moment. Hong’s girls were disheveled, and naked, from head to toe, even their cages discarded on the other side of the platform with nothing to interrupt their shiny sweaty perfect cinnamon skin except the marks Hong had made on them with her fingernails and her stiletto heels. All of them had been forced to interrupt their own ritual to come running to the aid of their overlords in separating the murderous Esmeray from the rebellious Chastity, while the band played on, in accordance with its standing orders, to doggedly play until they were told to stop no matter what they saw or heard or felt, no matter what happened to them.
“Those fucking little bitches! And of all the times for this!” Channah spat, furious, astonished, and amused all at once, and shaking her head ruefully. Yet for all that, she couldn’t help but reveal the genuine, sharp concern beneath: “How is she?!”
Fang, like Chas and all the others, would have known who she meant, even if she hadn’t been caring for her. “She’s fine,” Fang assured her Queen soothingly, still snickering herself, meeting her Master’s eyes insistently to convey her seriousness and certainty despite the irresistible lightness of her mood. “Everything is fine, My Liege. I promise!”
“Then why are we both laughing?” Channah threw up her hands in exasperation as she stood, flicking her head at Hong’s girl and watching from the corner of her eye as the girl hopped to her feet and darted to help her sisters, her little noodle flopping irrelevantly.
“Because it’s funny!” Fang laughed merrily like bells pealing on a sweet summer day.
“It fucking is. It really fucking is! Isn’t it?”
“IT IS NOT FUNNY YOU INFERNAL WHORES!” Esmeray screamed and spit. Only unlike Channah, Esmeray was so out of her mind there wasn’t anything figurative about the spitting. “Bintāni al-haram!”
Hong and her girls gasped, mortally terrified to be so close to the woman, even in her vicinity, their eyes fearfully sidling to those of Channah and Fang for their reactions, to see if the five of them should dive down the stairs back to the protection of the castle in pursuit of minimum safe distance, or if they should continue to hold the defiant madwoman down.
Channah and Fang looked at one another in a shock that rapidly dissolved into even harder laughter, trying and failing to appear stern and judgmental, slowly shaking their heads in wonder, their eyes alight with gaiety, sharing an intimacy that was rare and profound because they found themselves in such a rare situation it was fresh, taking them back to their own youth. Esmeray, an even more rare specimen than Penny: A human, throwing the truth of what they were in their faces in an almost naïve attempt at disrespect, instead of hiding and burying that truth, which every human who knew or imagined the ancient succubae dreaded in their heart in the dark of night.
Without looking away from Fang quite yet, Channah extended her arm straight out towards the tangled knot of clothed qaharamanat and naked jawari, snapping her fingers decisively in command. “Don’t you dare let the truth-speaker go. Keep her here, in the hetaraslakos. Do not break the ritual. Bind her if you can, but I want her conscious and don’t you dare let her interrupt us again! Then mount them both on the rails!”
“You biiiiiiitch!” Esmeray screeched, and “Yes, Domina,” Hong solemnly swore, and “Yes, My Liege!” the four naked girls imitated Fang. And that was the last Channah paid them any mind, the sound of them fading as Esmeray’s speech devolved into a profane mishmash of bastardized Turkish and Arabic that almost complemented the discordant, insistent music of the band. Below and all around them, incredibly, the roar of the damned had grown even louder than before, louder than either Channah or Fang could remember hearing.
The moment was so real and genuine, Fang felt comfortable breaking through the centuries and millennia of formal fealty that had calcified their once-passionate relationship, the bond they’d shared before they understood their new reality, even back before their Fall, to tell her what she needed to know: “It’s kind of your fault, Channah,” she laughed. “Stop, and experience!”
“But Penny—”
“I’m telling you, she’s fine,” Fang assured her master, understanding Channah’s concern. Every moment she was cut off from her own metabolism, Penny was at extreme risk: In life, her soul needed her body, inhabited her body; and her body incarnated her soul. With the connection interrupted by the Ajna-nerve wall, Penny’s mind could go mad—a typical mind would have already—and her body could die. They couldn’t do anything for her mind beside monitor it, because the wall was something they were doing to it already. The most powerful sorcerers debated whether a soul in this state even was alive, but agreed that at best it was on a knife’s edge. But what Fang could do—and was doing—was reassuring Penny’s body in her absence, persuading her Penny was alive, that she was alive, reminding her heart to beat, her lungs to breathe, every cell and organ of hers to continue going through the motions necessary for life. Indeed, the actions arguably constituting life.
That was what Channah had been doing when Esmeray lost her shit, throttling Chas and bowling Channah over in the process of her violent struggles with the thrashing, desperate, senseless Chastity. A particularly violent jackknife by Chas had thrown Esmeray full-on into Channah’s back, impossible to ignore, impossible even to weather, knocking her away from Penny and breaking her sacred contact.
Back in this moment, frowning curiously at Fang, Channah did make herself pause to experience this moment, this place, comprehensively—with her full complement of outer senses, and also with her third eye, taking herself out of her narrow focus…
And gasping.
“Yes!” Fang nodded excitedly. “Discordance… on a potentially astrological scale.”
“Yesss….!” Channah agreed, breathing faster, practically leaping to kneel beside Penny, opposite Fang, restoring her connection to Penny, and joining Fang’s consciousness and hands at Penny’s ajna and muladhara.
“Feel her, Channah!”
And then Fang saw something she never saw. Something that no one saw, not from the Queen of Lust: uncertainty. Almost fear. In this moment of connection, Channah whispered her confession, as she needed to: “I’m not ready! I don’t feel ready—”
“My liege, you’re ready,” Fang assured her, moving the hand on Penny’s muladhara to be on top of Channah’s so she could give her a reassuring squeeze. “She’s ready. Finally,” she widened her eyes for emphasis, reminding Channah how long she had been working towards this.
“But—we haven’t even shared solitude—”
“Then do it now,” Fang urged her. “Use the wall.”
“How can I know she’s ready, when I couldn’t even—”
Fang nodded with understanding. “The one thing you can’t do, in all of hell and Earth, because it’s beyond your comprehension.”
“But then—how did Chava—?” She shook her head uncomprehendingly.
“Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was Penny. Most likely, it was just an accident.”
“Our plan—it’s hubris. Madder than Esmeray! Pure good can never surrender to pure evil.”
“We know that.” Fang struggled to conceal her exasperation. Of course, it was the steadiest of all who didn’t, perhaps couldn’t, really internalize the doubts until the moment of crisis. “You know that already, My Liege. And that’s not what we’re doing. We’re just doing what can be done, the closest we can come. A makeshift bridge.”
“And if it doesn’t work—”
Fang laughed at Channah, to show her the absurdity of the last-second surfacing of doubts they had harbored from the very start. “You know this. Then we start again. Or if we can’t make it happen, we wait for it to happen again.” She shrugged and smiled, the immortal’s joke: “It will give us something to do. It will happen. Again, and again, and again. Every one of our enemies has found one—”
“And ultimately failed!” Indeed, it had been their very success in the attempt that had been their undoing in the world.
Which was why Channah had waited for so long before she even considered it. Perhaps it was the only reason the Succubae alone still roamed the Earth: because demons could not understand the good, and therefore struggled to use it instead of corrupting it. Fang honestly didn’t know what the correct course of action was. After so many millenia, she wasn’t even quite sure she cared. She was pretty sure the High Coven, maybe the whole Court, had agreed to go along out of some brand of inertial boredom or simple fatalism, rather than a careful analysis of their enemies’ mistakes and how to avoid them.
Fang shrugged, doing and deciding what she urged Channah: “It is a mystery. It will always be a mystery. You must know even better than me. Experience it and tell me—is this the best moment we are likely to have? Or not? Decide, don’t decide, roll the dice. Time and heaven don’t care. Only we do.”
Literature Section “06-85 Penny’s Astrological Discordance”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 85 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1653 words—Accompanying Images: 1727-1731—Published 2025-05-07—©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.