Tag: adventuresofradicalprovocateurs

1608 06-67 Hong laps up the girls’ helpless need to please her^
1609 06-67 The Hongettes crawl after their goddess^
1610 06-67 Esmeray Pissing On and Pissing Off Devils^

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls she is taking through the Hell of Lust on a flying chariot ride to reach their honeymoon destination.  At the foreboding Chang’an Castle, Penny and Chas are about to be introduced to their qahramanah, or jawari-trainer.  NOW:

At Fong’s description of how desperately eager her jawari were, the three women laughed together, a slight edge of contempt tinging the sounds.  “Then let’s proceed.  We’ll make introductions, open the gifts, and then celebrate.”

“Yes, Domina.”  And then, snapping down at the jawari on their knees around her:  “Up!  You’re released for now.  Get up!”

Hetaraslakos

The girls scrambled to their feet around her, thanking her formally, her own four jawari assembling behind her while Fang wrangled Chas and Penny back into the awkward half-bent positions she had forced them to assume before, and began striding toward the door on the outside edge of the little courtyard.  Hong watched with an amused, admiring smirk, nodding approvingly as if she had learned something useful.

“It’s your Castle, dear Fang.  Please, lead us on,” Channah suggested.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”  She marched the girls past the Queen, continuing to use her hands to keep them bent at awkward angles for walking, making Chas open the door to the building on the other side of the courtyard.  This revealed another wide hall running straight through to the far side of the building.  But in the middle of this building, the hall widened even further to make room around a broad stone staircase leading down, with four parallel sets of handrails seeming to beckon them further into hell.

Fang led them down, both girls seriously afraid of falling and desperately using the handrails, while the succubae and the qahramanah laughed at their anxiety and desperate efforts.  “That’s definitely something my fawning little playthings are going to learn to practice,” Hong Qahramanah promised.

After descending a story or two into the soil, there was a simple passage, adorned only with occasional torches, close enough so they were never in complete blackness, but far enough that at times, the passage and the people moving through it were silhouettes and broad outlines.  Ahead of them was a stairway back up, constructed exactly like the one they had just descended.  And as they approached it, they became conscious of a low noise, at first something like the wind or the way leaves rustled across pavement in the wind.  But as they reached the bottom of the staircase and proceeded upwards, it got louder, becoming more like whispering that quickly started to rise, clarifying itself into the sound of a thousand agitated voices, shouting and screaming the same meaningless gibberish that was not quite an actual language, as the wretches back at the satanikoklus had barked out. 

“Pay attention on these stairs!”  Fang snapped.  “Remember I’m behind you.  If you can’t stay standing, fall forward into the stairs.   If you make me lose my balance, you’ll be regretting it for centuries.” 

“I suppose I could do without them for a few hundred years so you could exact your revenge,” Channah mused unhelpfully, emphasizing the time scale succubae reasoned in.  “Are you girls feeling humbled and cooperative for meeting your new qahramanah?”

“Yes, Domina!” the girls assured her in voices strained by their efforts to stay focused on the stairs.  Fortunately for them, stumbling up was easier—or at least felt easier and safer—than coming down had been.  For some reason, the throaty, evil sound of Hong Qahramanah’s laugh behind them, a human’s, an almost-stranger’s, and that of a singularly contemptuous bitch, stung even more than the amusement of their dominae.

As constrained as they were, they could hardly see more than three or four stairs in front of them at a time.  But it felt, and was then impossible to deny, that this stairway was significantly longer than the stairway that had taken them down to the gallery.  The voices kept growing louder and more distinct as they rose, finally cresting as they emerged from the top of the stairway, finding themselves on one of the elevated octagonal stone platforms they had seen from the chariot, dominating the killing grounds outside the castle walls.  These were the hetaraslakos, which both girls, having studied Greek, had realized at some point, meant Companion’s Pit.  Or Courtesan’s Pit.  And here, the thunderous sound of the screaming voices left no doubt they were surrounded by a crowd larger than an army.  From their volume, their number might have included every single one of the thousands of milling, restless damned they had seen filling the randomly-walking walls of the crumbling town around the castle during their descent.

“I think your mad qahramanah may have gathered all the damned here already,” Fang observed.

“She’s a self-starter,” Channah agreed, as they paused at the top of the stairs, and even the girls could twist their heads well enough to see who they were talking about.

The Radioactive Witch

At the extreme edge of the platform in front of them, a headful of long, wild, lustrous black hair marked and concealed most of the top half of a woman almost as voluptuous as the succubae themselves, with a prominent ass jutting back at them from under the fringe of her hair, draped in expensive, embroidered, colorful fabric.  The toes of her black boots were literally over the edge of the platform, with her back arched and her hips thrust forward, meaning the dimensions and shape of her buttocks were even more impressive than they appeared at the moment.  She was waving a radically curved Persian shamshir, waggling her hips from side to side, and screaming insults, but whatever exact sounds she was making were drowned out by the absolute furor erupting from the crowd immediately below her, sounding like bleating sheep finding their will to resist at the last minute in the slaughterhouse. 

“What is she—” Penny choked off her question before finishing, remembering who she was being held by.

Channah seemed to think she knew—she was laughing with sheer joy; and perhaps it was the sound of that that caught the woman’s attention, because she looked back over her shoulder, making them all afraid for a second she would lose her balance, before she stepped back, shaking herself and moving her shoulder in a gesture even Penny, blushing, understood. 

While she was facing away, performing that most private of gestures with glaring publicity, Chas and Penny tried to calm their own faces from the shocking sight of hers.  Her hands, cheeks, forehead, even the bridge of her nose were marked with scars from old cuts, and brutal ones.  Something tugged at Penny’s memory, conspiring with the spiked wine to try and surface, but was dragged back underwater before Penny could quite catch sight of it.  The woman was about Hong’s age, maybe a couple of years younger, and for a second…

Literature Section “06-67 Dance of the Qahramanat II”—Part 67 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1105 words—Accompanying Images:  1608-1610—Published 2025-04-19—©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.

1605 06-66 Hong ❤️ Fang colon A real and mannered love^
1606 06-66 Penny and Chas anxious to please superior woman^
1607 06-66 Lesser girls instinctively know they belong at the Uberfrau’s feet^

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls she is taking through the Hell of Lust on a flying chariot ride to reach their honeymoon destination.  At the foreboding Chang’an Castle, their Dominae confront Penny and Chas with four young women whose beauty challenges their own… and then with every girl’s worst nightmare:  the mean girl who has it all, over them all.  NOW:

One Alpha Bitch to Rule Them All

The young lady standing with utter confidence in the courtyard, looking idly around it as if bored and waiting for something interesting to happen, was achingly beautiful. 

So striking, so self-assured, so symmetrical, and so gorgeous, she made the four beauties who had preceded her look like plain wallflowers, and made Penny and Chas feel the same way.  She positively glowed with health, and apparently she felt dominant enough to pause a beat before even acknowledging the two succubae.

Like every other woman in the courtyard and harem—every other human woman—Penny and Chas knew. 

Instantly, deeply, before their conscious minds had had time to process it, their subconscious and their bodies knew. 

That she was The One.

The Queen Bee.

The alpha female.

And, of course, she knew it, too.  How could she not?

Her poise was absolute.

Even the ruthlessly-drilled, relentlessly-trained guards couldn’t keep their eyes front.  Inevitably, their gaze were drawn to her, and they could only hope their ruler and their liege lady didn’t notice.

But obviously, they did.  They noticed all the affected humans around them, and chortled deep in their throats, too entertained by what they were watching to have any interest in bringing it to a premature end.

“I can hardly wait,” Channah murmured mysteriously in anticipation.

“Your girls went to water the moment she appeared,” Fang reported gleefully, knowing she was embarrassing them, and enjoying it.  Fang momentarily dropped her hands to the girls’ buttocks, gripping them and pressing her middle fingers hard to emphasize her dominance before returning them to their position of control on the girls’ necks and hair.

As the überbitch tossed her hair, turned toward, and approached them, Channah agreed proudly:  “They’re most responsive,” before admitting seriously:  “You are amazing, Fang.  It’s another reason I want them to spend time with you.  So she can spend time with you.  Teach her.”

Fang turned her head to meet Channah’s eyes and opined seriously:  “That girl is not simply a ‘wild’ horse.  She is a crazy horse.  She cannot be trained.  Only used, and taught what she wants to learn.  But of course, Your Majesty, I will do what I can.”

“She does respond well to… challenges.”

Fang smiled.  “Which brings us back to… I can hardly wait.”

The young woman curtsied, deeply and precisely, as her four attendants dropped to their knees behind her and lowered their heads to the stone, holding their gifts out before them without allowing them to touch the ground.   Her attendants were about the same age as Chas and Penny; their superior—clearly, in every way—perhaps five or ten years older.

“Dominae,” the young woman greeted them, startling the girls, who had only been taught to use the greeting as Channah’s wives to her, and those she appointed in her stead.

As if to clarify things, Fang bent forward slightly, murmuring “My hearth,” as the woman stepped forward and kissed her on the lips, the two lingering to touch tongues.

Stepping back and sparing a first glance for Penny and Chas, the same look you would give a pair of ants interfering with a picnic by crawling across your blanket, the girl shook her head slightly in disbelief.  “I don’t have to train these two, do I, Domina?”

Fang laughed appreciatively.  “No, dear one.  We’re going to introduce them to their qahramanah.  The one you are to coach.  She is waiting for us in one of the heteraslakos.”  Pulling the girls’ heads in tight to her shoulders to alert them she was speaking to them, Fang clarified:  “But like all jawari, you girls are to address all qahramanat properly and respectfully on the rare occasions you are allowed to meet them, by dropping to your knees and kissing their boots, holding the position until they instruct you how they want you to behave.  It is an element of your training.  You will find it makes you more respectful toward all of your superiors.”  And with that, she let go of them. 

After a second’s hesitant uncertainty, with the glance they shared so often before acting, both girls dropped to their knees and planted their lips on the toes of each of her perfect boots.  With their world reduced to her boots and the stone she was standing on, they noticed a gold anklet around her left boot with four pendants hanging from it, each one a delicate crystal hexagonal prism set in gold.  “You are always to greet her as Hong Qahrahmanah, and your own qahramanah as Hanim Qahramanah.  In front of others, you may never use abbreviations, never skip the honorific.  Your relationship with your qahramanah is all about protocol, protocol, protocol.  Do you understand, girls?”

“Yes, Domina,” they murmured, trying to speak without lifting their lips from the perfectly-polished, highly-reflective surfaces of the cherry red boots.  And then:  “We are pleased to meet you, Hong Qahramanah.”

Hong ignored them, speaking to Fang instead:  “I myself have never had the honor of meeting another qahrahmanah before.”  She didn’t sound like she considered the prospect an honor.  She sounded like she considered the idea as boring as the idea of training Penny and Chas.

“This one is special,” Channah interrupted.  “Unlike you and the other four, training girls is not her… natural inclination.”

Fang snorted, apparently finding something about that amusing.

“But she has special skills necessary to train my little housegifts.” Changing the pitch of her voice, she addressed the girls:  “You girls are honored to be among the first generation of jawari to be favored with the benefit of a qahramanah to train you.  Yours is only the sixth to be appointed.  Hong was the first.  And her little jawari—what are they called?”

“I made them take new names to remind them, and everyone they know, that they are mine now,” Hong reported, as casually as one might mention finding a misplaced spoon.  Although the girls could not see anything other than her boots, vague movements reflected in them, and the black stone floor, they could sense as she twisted a bit, gesturing back over her shoulder:  “Honghua, Hongjiao, Hongzhi, and Hongan.  Show respect, bitches.”

And immediately the four girls swarmed forward and began pressing their lips to her boots, so she was now surrounded by a ring of six subservient jawari.  The excitement and enthusiasm of her four girls were palpable and intense.  Either they were eagerly looking forward to something special, or they were simply the highest, happiest people in hell.

Channah and Fang congratulated her on their responsiveness.  Laughingly, Channah asked:  “You made them add ‘Hong’ to their names?”

“No, their old names were stupid and didn’t go with mine so I just gave them new ones.”

“Eminently practical,” Channah complemented her, and snickered.  “Are they ready?”

“Of course, Domina!  They are predictably—pathetically—eager.  Desperate, as men are.”

Literature Section “06-66 Dance of the Qahramanat I”—Part 66 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1143 words—Accompanying Images:  1605-1607—Published 2025-04-18—©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.

1602 06-65 Fang effortlessly bitch-walking the girls^
1603 06-65 Four Beauties to rival Chas and Penny^
1604 06-65 The Queen Bee Alpha Female Überfrau^

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls she is taking through the Hell of Lust on a flying chariot ride to reach their honeymoon destination.  At the foreboding Chang’an Castle, Penny and Chas are trapped, held by their Domina Channah while the mysterious and powerful Duchess Fang tests their compliance with her thumbs in the girls’ mouths, her long nails tickling the backs of their throats.  NOW:

“Mmm… your big pink dolphins make nice and compliant pond fish.  Your eager surprise visitor will be very pleased with their gentle dispositions.”  Fang spoke carefully, almost going out of her way to concentrate on Penny’s conflicted eyes as the faintest expression of satisfied pleasure, almost hidden successfully, flashed across her face.

Channah, who always seemed to know everything, gratifyingly stiffened a bit in surprise behind the girls.  “Visitor?  Who?”

As soon as the glint of amusement was gone from her face, Fang looked up at Channah, keeping her hands where they were.   “Your other wild horse.  I mean beside that one.”  She nodded her head toward Fury, who gave a snort of satisfaction.  “Not domesticated and neutered like these two.”  Her mouth twisted in a cruel smile, enjoying humiliating them in passing.  “Apparently, she was eager to observe their first dance.”

Channah, back to her usual self, snorted with satisfaction.  “Then I’m glad she missed it.  These two are so fun to play with, I couldn’t wait until we reached our paradise.  I gave the girls a little taste of what’s expected of them at your satanikoklus.”

“And how did they handle it, Your Majesty?”

“Like they were practically born to it.  Of course, Penny’s the shy one, but they were both most enthusiastic.”  The girls blushed at this description.

Fang smiled down at them, not entirely nicely, pulling her thumbs outward in their mouths, her sharp nails like fishhooks pulling up and out, distending their cheeks, as she laughed deep in her throat, eventually popping her thumbs out and lightly slapping each girl’s cheek.

“And do they know what pleases you, Your Majesty?  Although I gather from Penny’s sharp intake of breath, that she has some idea?”

“She knows exactly what I want,” Channah replied, both of them pleased at the way Penny squirmed.

“Then I suppose the only question is whether she loves you enough to give it to you,” Fang mused, looking contemplatively, almost judgmentally, at Penny’s burning, blushing face.

“That is about the size of it,” Channah sniggered.

Without letting go of Penny’s chin, or allowing her to break eye contact, Fang lowered her other hand to rest on Chas’s crotch, and then squeeze it.  Chas shuddered and cried out with surprise, but not resistance.

“It doesn’t feel like you’re asking very much.”

“I’m really not,” Channah chortled, seeming to have a lot more fun with this exchange than the reserved Fang.  “Might we impose on you, Fang dear, by continuing this conversation at your hetaraslakos?”

“Of course.  Your company there is always welcome.  Also, if I may, I had wedding gifts prepared for your girls.  Perhaps it would please you if I shared them now?”

“Really?”  A saucy glint immediately appeared in Channah’s eye, and she spoke for all three of them when she said:  “By all means, my curiosity is not the only thing you’re arousing.  We would like to see!”

Fang looked at the girls, as serene as always, deadpanning:  “I’d pull you by your little leads, but you’re far too short.  I’d have to walk with my knees bent.”  So she took each girl by her hair and the scruff of her neck, making them bend forward a little bit, and bitch-walked them towards the nearest door.  “As you know, Your Majesty, we actually have three hetaraslakos, one on each side.  But today, I would guess the best to try would be one of those you flew nearest, because they may have attracted a larger share of the damned.”

The girls remained carefully silent but shared what they would have liked to have been a furtive glance between themselves.

“You didn’t know?” Fang asked for the second time since they had met.  “You didn’t recognize any friends or relatives?”

“Fang… you’re naughty,” Channah teased.  “It’s no fun when you give everything away.  Yes, girls, the red devils and demons are the damned.  Or,” she reflected thoughtfully, “What we call the damned.  Since I suppose, technically, you could say everyone here, other than the quite rare sill-living visitors such as yourself, is damned.  But we use the term to mean them, the most-miserable and least-capable residents of hell.” 

Penny opened her mouth to ask about it, then visibly craned her neck toward the Countess, as much as her hand would allow, and fell silent.

Fang nodded.  “A wise girl does not keep buying before she learns the price.”

As the women walked, they switched to another language neither girl understood, or indeed had ever heard before.  They were busy enough without listening:  At the uncomfortable angle Fang was holding them, it took all their effort and attention just to crane their necks enough, and raise their eyes enough, so they could see where they were going well enough to avoid falling flat on their faces.  Although the inflections and tones of the language the women spoke were strange, neither one felt like their conversation was directed at the girls.  Instead, Penny’s best guess was, Channah was asking questions about Chang’an, or perhaps all of Hell in her absence, and Fang was answering them.

In the middle of the large and elegant building nearest the central triangle where they had landed, there was a small, parallelogram-shaped courtyard.  What appeared to be fashion workshops were visible through the windows on the right, facing a large, ornate, heavily-barred door to their left flanked by two impassive soldiers who came to rigid attention with eyes front the instant they detected Fang’s group approaching.  Immediately above the doorway were two balconies on the second and third floors, with a handful of beautiful women chatting and looking out from them over what seemed like a perfectly dismal little courtyard to Penny.  Putting herself in their place, and considering by comparison how much she missed the cool breezes and rich green-and-brown colors of Earth, she could only imagine how sterile and unpleasant life must be here to make standing on one of those porches, in this place, attractive.  It’s not like there were cool breezes on the balcony, after all; only the ever-spraying sand.

The beautiful girls immediately summoned an older woman, who nodded and bowed repeatedly as Fang spoke with her, before disappearing from sight.  The two guards, hearing the exchange, used a heavy key to unlock the gates and swing them open, confirming what had been obvious when they were still closed:  namely, that a pair of heavy wooden doors painted yellow, were immediately behind the gate.

Channah and Fang continued to wait, speaking animatedly, the Duchess continuing to use the girls as armrests, until the yellow doors were pulled open by four girls so absolutely beautiful, they immediately made Chas and Penny feel self-conscious.  Each girl carried a box wrapped in delicate red paper.  Rather than emerging, they stayed with the doors, two of them holding each one of them open, and all of them curtsying as they faced one another. 

After a momentary, but nonetheless dramatic, pause, a fifth girl strolled out of what seemed to be a harem.

And she reset the bar.

Literature Section “06-65 Hella Honeymoon XXI”—Part 65 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1077 words—Accompanying Images:  1602-1604—Published 2025-04-17—©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.

1611 06-64 Thank you good night we love you all!!!(per Ozzy)
1612 06-64 100 Watchers! (Take Two)–Mirror Maze
1613 06-64 100!  As many times as necessary!
1614 06-64 Throwing hundreds, hundreds

Celebrating 100 Watchers milestone (again) on DeviantArt

06-64 100 Watchers! (Take Two)—Accompanying Images:  1611-1614—Published 2025-04-16—©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.

1599 06-64 Fang bends and twists the helpless girls to her will^
1600 06-64 The girls show respect to their new Domina^
1601 06-64 Fang forces the girls to take her thumbs^

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls she is taking through the Hell of Lust on a flying chariot ride to reach their honeymoon destination.  Landing at the foreboding Chang’an Castle, Penny stumbles and is caught by the mysterious and powerful Duchess Fang.  NOW:

The tall, powerful, high-ranking woman didn’t move her arm an inch, or tell Penny to rise, and somehow Penny knew she wanted her to stay in her awkward and clearly-dependent half-curtsying position to emphasize her weakness.  With her other hand, the woman ran her fingers through Penny’s reddish-brown hair, frowning.  “Red.  You must be the one called ‘Pen-ants.’”

“Yes, Mistress,” she began, not about to correct her, and amazed anyone would have considered her important enough to mention.  “I’m honored—”

“Yes, you are.”  And then, with a glint of a genuine if predatory smile, she let go of Penny’s arm, asking in surprise:  “Nothing’s been explained to you, has it?”

Penny stumbled back and recovered her balance, opening her mouth but relieved enough when Channah strode up, saving her the need to speak by interjecting.

“Of course not!  She’s practically a child!  Get over here, Chas!” she called, as she and the woman embraced one another with a confusing, stressful combination of intimacy, warmth, and tension.  “And I don’t mind you having a bit of fun and another avenue for… working things out.”

Penny, of course, had no idea what they were talking about, but thought it a near-certainty it portended nothing good, trying her best to remain submissive and pleasant, instead of bursting out with the hundred questions she had—about what they were saying, about this remarkable succubus, and about anything and everything she had experienced since walking through the portal.  The reptilian smile shared by the two succubae didn’t give her any greater comfort.

“Your Majesty,” the woman, in her turn, bowed shallowly but quite formally.  “You honor me.”  Whether she meant with her visit, or… whatever had just passed between them, Penny was uncertain.

“My dear Fang, may I present my two new Princess-Courtesans, Chastity and Penance Batonnoir.”

Both girls curtsied again, formally and deeply, bowing their heads.  “Mistress,” they chorused.

“I look forward to… having you both,” the woman said, her imperfectly-concealed expression of distaste casting doubt upon her polite words.  Words chosen as carefully as she always spoke, making it seem her ambiguous wording was deliberate, as Channah laughed:

“I’m sure.  Girls, this is Duchess Fang of Chang’an, my oldest and most-powerful vassal in China.  What you call Cathay.”

“China?”  Penny asked, as she was wont to do. 

Channah smirked, stroking Penny’s hair possessively.  “Penny’s just full of questions.  I’m sure you’ll enjoy helping her learn how—and when—to ask them properly.”  Then she stage-whispered in Penny’s ear:  “You’d better behave around this one.  She’s known as a very effective trainer.”

“I’m sure I will,” Countess Fang agreed, looking at Penny as if she were sizing the poor girl up to see how many wolves she could feed.

“What outsiders call ‘China’ considers itself, with some justification, the center of the human world, with a vast population and more-developed technology and culture than many other human domains.  ‘Cathay’ is a term for the open steppe country North of China, origin of the Mongols who not too long ago nearly conquered all of Asia and Europe.  You see, Penny, when you ask me a question, I will answer it.  And then, I will make you do something for me.  Remember this favor when you return.  I certainly will.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Penny swallowed and shrank back against Channah without intending to, stifling her urge to ask what Chinese people called China.

“I’m appointing Fang as one of your Dominae,” Channah advised them.  “Whenever you visit here without me, she will be in charge of you, and of course you are to obey her as you would obey me.”

“Yes, Domina,” the girls agreed nervously.  “A pleasure to meet you, Domina,” they curtsied again to Fang.

Pleasing Channah

Penny took extra, nervous care to curtsy as low as she could and to hold her pose as long as she could without disrupting the pace of events.  And something in Fang’s eyes took notice, not displeased with her courtesy…. or perhaps her fear.  “Duchess Fang has consented to help with your training in the arts of pillowing and love.”

The girls gasped, both reflexively making eye contact with their new trainer, who seemed more curious about, than pleased or displeased by, their surprise and embarrassment, or by Channah’s announcement.

“And while I know you’re going to love the next week with me, I thought it would be a perfect start to our honeymoon for her to help you get in the right mindset for it by helping you remember and focus on what’s most important about it.”

“Which is?” the Duchess prompted them.

“Pleasing Domina?” Penny whispered.

Fang put her hand under Penny’s chin, forcing it up with her fingers and running her thumb aggressively around Penny’s lips.  Despite herself, shocked little Penny might instinctively have tried to pull away if she hadn’t already been backed against Channah with nowhere to go.  Continuing to regard Penny predatorily, even as she put her other hand on top of Chas’s head possessively, she commented:  “There might be some hope for you yet, big-open-inviting-mouth princess.”

Penny snapped her lips closed, only to find herself sucking on Fang’s thumb.  Rather than withdrawing it, Fang quite deliberately pushed it further in.  “A thumbsucker.  I’ve seen babies and toddlers do that in China, but never adults.  Are you an infant?”

“More of a natural-born toe-sucker once you get to know her,” Channah smirked, then clapped approvingly:  “Look at the poor darling’s face!  She feels violated and embarrassed.”

“But too polite and intimidated to spit me out,” Fang observed, working her thumb back and forth in Penny’s mouth while the two succubae laughed.  Looking at Chas, she said, simply, “Open!” and pushed her other thumb into Chas’s mouth.  “Close!”  and Chas snapped her lips shut around her other thumb.  She was now held in the same awkward fashion as Penny, and subjected to the same suggestive motions.  “Your two pink dolphins are easy to catch.  I don’t think they have much future in the wild.”

“Hothouse flowers,” Channah admitted, putting her arms around both girls while Fang, licking her lips, stepped closer, so her legs were pressing into their crotches and their heads were forced slightly back against Channah’s shoulders, and Fang, with a mildly curious expression, pushed her thumbs as far as she could into the girls’ mouths, liking it when their eyes watered and they struggled not to choke at the tickling of her long nails on the backs of their throats.

Literature Section “06-64 Hella Honeymoon XX”—Part 64 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1081 words—Accompanying Images:  1599-1601—Published 2025-04-16—©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.

1596 06-63 The powerful, mysterious Duchess Fang^
1597 06-63 Duchess Fang catches Penny^
1598 06-63 Handsome Incubus Prince saves sweet sissy^

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls she is taking through the Hell of Lust on a flying chariot ride to reach their honeymoon destination.  Now comes the hard part—landing.  NOW:

Their minds realized, through the screaming senses of their bodies, that this chariot was going to touch back down on the ground, whether under Channah’s control, or that of merciless gravity.  The faint hope and desperate prayer of survival suddenly reminded the girls they needed to prepare for that absolutely certain impact.  They frantically stuffed their corks back in their bottles, set them in their slots at the front of the chariot, then braced themselves as tightly and desperately as they could, arms deep through the leather straps bolted to the chariot, bodies pressed tight against the outer edges and back of it, their free arms crossing one another’s at the wrists to clench onto the back edge of the chariot with knuckles whiter than their dresses. 

From their vantage point, the horse and chariot seemed to be coming in too low over a final, monumental two-story arch separating the road from the open ground, as if the horse’s hooves would hit the top of it and he would tumble through the air, crippled, throwing their chariot forward over him.  Gaining a final impression of a formation of guards waiting to their left on the sand, the girls’ faces tightened into closed-eyed, rictus-grinned masks of clenched muscle.  And at least one of them might have screamed, only the speed with which events were progressing preventing their bodies from attempting something instinctive and crazy like jumping over the sides of the chariot before it hit, knowing:

There was absolutely nothing they could do except pray—

And with a breathless panic their bodies felt weightlessness for a second as Fury stopped and dropped, their momentum exactly matching Fury’s deceleration and therefore shrieking up their nerves that they were in free-fall just like their bodies had feared all along.  We told you so, assholes!  Before the bone-jarring reconnection with the ground at once caused an instant terror this was it, followed by the realization they were still alive and on the ground.  Then just as they started to hope, they were panicked by a final jolt—the wheels running off the end of the road into the sand, they opened their eyes in alarm to see the black stone wall on the opposite side of the triangle rushing at them with too much speed.

They gasped and breathed in relief as Fury decelerated, squeezing one another’s hands again, almost in disbelief that Fury and Channah had had everything well in hand after all, and nothing bad was going to happen to them for defying the gods by attempting flight. 

Domina Fang

“Oh my.  Oh my.”  The girls squealed and hugged tightly and happily, before a cold, unfriendly woman’s voice with a heavy accent they didn’t recognize, interrupted them, speaking Arabic:

“Come out of the chariot now.  Fury is ready to be done with it.”

They turned, seeing soldiers on both sides already releasing Fury’s harness and simultaneously detaching the twin tongues of the chariot from the harness, careless of the fact that as a two-wheeled vehicle, the chariot would pitch forward and unceremoniously eject them the second it was loose.  Penny didn’t begrudge the horse at all, he had just performed a miracle for the girls’ benefit.  But it was oddly deflating and disappointing for yet another denizen of hell to confirm that here, Channah’s horse was of significantly more importance and regard than the two girls. And after surviving such a flight!  Penny thought unreasonably.  As if mundane death or injury was less likely after a miraculous and unexpected survival.

All thoughts of honoring their Queen with their ladylike dignity were pushed aside by the imperative to get out of the chariot.  Penny was about to jump off the side of it, telling herself it couldn’t possibly be scary after what they’d just been through, only to notice another soldier already folded up in footstool position below her.

With a slight lack of decorum induced by haste, Penny half-scrambled, half-fell out of her side of the Chariot while Chas did the same on the other side, wincing and flinching “Sorry!” as her shoes landed on the soldier’s back with more force than she would have intended, and too much momentum to completely avoid her heels digging a bit into the poor man before she staggered down to the sand, barely stumbling to a halt as someone caught her arm, stopping her inches before bumping into them.

Raising her eyes up the detailed red leather boots and tooled red leather armor, Penny immediately registered from her shape this was a woman, and from her clothing she was wealthy and well-appointed.  As her eyes continued up, she knew the woman would have been a head taller than her even if they were both barefoot.  And finally, looking up into her face, she gasped in surprise to find a woman with lovely, glowing pale amber skin, exquisitely curved horns carved in bas relief, and eyes that for a split-second she registered with fright as demonic, perhaps because of what Penny sensed behind them.  Those eyes looked back at Penny like a cat’s, trying to decide whether it wanted to waste its time toying with an ant, or simply ignore it.  Penny shrank back involuntarily, sensing the woman’s satisfaction, before something about the woman’s face, or perhaps the patterns tooled into her leather armor, jarred an even stronger impression:

“Are you from Cathay?!”  Immediately aghast, even as the woman’s brows knit further in displeasure, Penny stumbled on, curtsying as best she could, feeling particularly pathetic in the awkward semi-curtsy she was forced to make with one arm still held rigidly by the woman’s strong hand:  “I’m sorry, Mistress, I’ve never met anyone from Cathay before.”  Penny was a stranger in hell, but even without the benefit of having read Dante’s Inferno, she would have had no doubt at all the woman outranked her.  Everything about her, from her clothing to her appearance to her attitude to her speech to her position here greeting her Queen, screamed she was of high rank.  And eventually Penny got around to saying the right thing:  “You’re so beautiful and exotic, Mistress.  More than I could have imagined from woodcuts.”

“Human ignorance never ceases to amaze me,” she concluded, her eyes softening just a little bit at the compliment.

Literature Section “06-63 Hella Honeymoon XIX”—Part 63 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1048 words—Accompanying Images:  1596-1598—Published 2025-04-15—©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.

1593 06-61 Imagining the worst^
1594 06-62 A red fire shooting across the sky of hell^
1595 06-62 Ready or not, coming in hot^

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls she is taking through the Hell of Lust to reach their honeymoon destination.  But before they get there, she’s taking them on a memorable hellride.  NOW:

As their destination grew closer and more real, sensation—and then immediately panic—rose back in them from oblivion to preeminence.  Their eyes could see, and their bodies feel, that the movement each sensed corresponded to one another again.  And those senses immediately started clamoring that they were hundreds of feet above the ground, with nothing under them to hold them up, and indeed that they were descending toward it.  Hurtling toward it!  Their bodies remembered what they may never have consciously realized in the limited world of short distances they had spent their lives living in:  That when unsupported things fall, they accelerate, with potentially-gruesome consequences.  Their senses started screaming at them to do something, anything, to stop their fall.  When their minds knew full well, they could do nothing.  Nothing but hold onto one another and trust in their bold Domina’s confidence.

Hard Stop in Chang’an

Below them, the city—for that was what it was, many times larger than the village of walls around the satanikoklus—unfolded, with large straight whitish stone main avenues and narrower red trails snaking between them around a confusing welter of incomplete wall fragments at angles to one another.  There would be three walls with a fourth missing; wide gaps instead of narrow doors in curtain walls; softer dark-gray pumice blocks piled on top of more solid white granite; and a complete absence of floors to insulate any of the occupants from the searing heat of the naked sand. 

The humidity rose, reminding them how fortunate they had been without it, and they began to feel the strikes of tiny grains of driven sand again, making their bodies long for the remembered peace of the upper atmosphere.

Their destination within the city seemed plain enough:  A single huge building, a castle, solid black—a rock-solid black granite, not the cheap gray pumice used elsewhere to fill out and replace stronger stones—right where the three roads met, with a wide strip of cleared space—a killing ground—separating its outer walls from the densely-packed jigsaw jumble of lesser structures surrounding it.  The only structure in each of the three killing fields was a single solid hexagonal structure in the very center of it.  The castle’s position, in contrast to the satanikoklus, was to no degree arbitrary.  It was exactly where the three roads met—their focal point, in fact.

The castle’s basic design was triangular, with the arriving roads connecting to the three angles where the walls met.  The outer walls—and even more, the monumental gateways at each corner—were massive, beyond massive, and several stories tall.  Within them were smaller walls, structural rather than defensive, and something they had not seen since coming to hell:  solid four-walled structures with proper terrace roofs and doors closing doorways.  At each corner, an actual metal gate served to exclude outsiders from the castle itself.  And immediately behind each gate a series of triangular bunkers provided a warren of passageways barely wide enough for a chariot to pass, between the bunkers and under arches riddled with murder holes.

Cannon and soldiers dotted the tops of the walls, illuminated, like the castle itself, by an intense cluster of the flares scattered at much lower density throughout the landscape.  This confirmed some shred of reason in the madness of this place, that the otherwise-unremarkable site had been specifically chosen for the castle, and thus the city, for an actual reason:  because of the concentration of naphtha seeps coming from the land here.

Inside the castle there were soldiers and servants, human in appearance like the one who had served them back at the satanikoklus.  Outside, prevented from entering by either by magic or the heavy gates, was a seething ocean of the crimson, almost tomato-colored red demons and devils.

“Why do you think they’re that color?”  Chas said, having to speak loudly over the wind flowing past them, but nothing like the clamor of the creatures at ground level. 

Penny frowned in thought, then made a face.  “No.  Oh dear.  It’s like… maybe it is, scar tissue?  Or—”

“Or even, open wounds,” Chas suggested with a similarly appalled face, imagining she was finishing Penny’s sentence.

But Penny clarified:  “Or the most intimate flesh.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well—the lips.  The inside of the mouth.  The nipples and—”

“The rawest parts,” Chas finished.

“The most vulnerable,” Penny agreed.

“It’s like they’ve been skinned…” Chas swallowed.

“But no.  They can’t be,” Penny shook her head, perhaps trying to persuade both of them with the power of insistence.  “Devils are just red.”

But even that gory thought was not enough to keep their attention, not with as much of Channah’s hell-brewed spiked wine as they’d had, and even more, the constant barrage of fantastic and previously-unimagined sights bombarding their senses from every direction.  Even the maddening sand wouldn’t discourage them from trying to take in as much as they could.  Some few hundred yards from the castle, one of the red creatures had caught sight of them and its excitement, almost desire, spread like a wildfire from its origin to envelop the entire crowd in the same kind of frenzied, mad efforts to reach the chariot that had characterized their departure.

The chariot passed close over the three-story castle walls, close enough to make out faces watching them with enough wide-eyed interest to indicate flying horses and chariots were rare as eclipses even in hell.

The closer they got to the ground, the faster they seemed to be moving, vertically and horizontally, a kind of optical illusion that insisted to the senses they were accelerating (read: falling) in an uncontrolled descent, and thus to their deaths or at least grievous bodily harm.  It was a jangling alarm that sounded and reverberated through every nerve and sinew of their bodies, clang-a-langing like demanding children banging spoons on pots.

The three roads seemed to traverse the castle, passing through numerous gates and under several building as they did so, meeting in the center of an open triangle of red sand interrupted only by three seeps, the whole clearing perhaps 10 or 12 times the length from Fury’s nose to the stern of the chariot.  They were approaching it directly over the road to the satanikoklus, descending between three-story buildings lining either side of the road that seemed breathtakingly close at the speed they were rushing past them, with nothing solid to hold them up or in line.

Literature Section “06-62 Hella Honeymoon XVIII”—Part 62 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1079 words—Accompanying Images:  1593-1595—Published 2025-04-14—©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.

1589 06-61 What it means to be powerless, vulnerable, and dependent^
1591 06-61 Masterful Channah commands the very sky^
1592 06-61 Channah’s passion for the ride^

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls she is taking through the Hell of Lust to reach their honeymoon destination.  But before they get there, she’s going to test their exhibitionistic limits.  NOW:

As Fury, Channah’s steed, powered the ascent of their chariot into the sky, the screaming of the demons and devils below rose to a new and more-frantic pitch and they began jumping and then trying to climb on top of one another as if to catch hold of a chariot rim or axle, even after it would have been clear to any rational mind that doing so was impractical.

As the chariot surged and rocked, the girls screamed, braced themselves harder, and began gulping wine.  Sipping proved impossible because they knew they daren’t risk spilling wine on their gorgeous white dresses, so they had to wrap their lips firmly around the bottlenecks before tipping them up.

The chariot was almost immediately the height of three men above the ground, then six, then nine, then quickly a height greater than either of the girls had ever experienced or even imagined.  With a wide-eyed slack-jawed glance at one another they raised their bottles for another drink.  Penny was hardly able to open her eyes, and yet at the same time unable to resist the queasy thrill of taking in the dramatic scene unfolding beneath her.  As they rose in the air it seemed to grow slightly less rotten with brimstone and the sand, mercifully, seemed to have been left behind closer to its home in the shifting dunes.

Everything grew smaller and quieter below them, and soon they were able to see a greater distance, down and from horizon to horizon, than their eyes had ever encompassed before.  The sheer dimensions of it were overwhelming enough by themselves.  Channah’s realm was revealed as a burning red desert of such scale the mind wanted to reclassify the fantastical and utterly-unique volcanic rock formations that punctured the sanguine powdered sea as commonplace and fungible; a set so numerous, surely not one of them could be truly matchless.

The black rocks now looked like holes through the floor of hell into a bottomless black pit below, distinguished only, if at all, by their outlines.  At the same time, almost every feature within the glowing burnt-orange sand flattened and blurred until it looked like an endless and monotonous moth-eaten rug thrown over the abyss.  The tiny red figures shrank and merged until they were only visible where they clustered around the satanikoklus, and then the figures themselves were lost behind the waning light of their torches.  Then the stone walls and the activity within them became a mere abstract pattern of whites and crimsons interrupting the bloody endless orange, with the ruler-straight stone road like a latitude line under them, pointing the way for Channah and Fury.  As they got enough distance, the girls realized the main road did not end or even bisect the satanikoklus.  Instead, it passed some distance, perhaps leagues, from the satanikoklus, to and from destinations unknown in either direction, with a shorter road of slightly-brighter (new?) stone connecting the square in the settlement to the main road.

There came a point when the ground seemed so far away, so remote and unreal, that the fear of falling subsided.  It wasn’t imminent or even tangible enough to register as a real thing, and so it became a mere idea.  Even though they could feel the rapid motion of the chariot, it didn’t correspond to any infinitesimal change in their position above the landscape, and this detached their senses from the earthbound world below, bringing them into another:  the serenity of space.

They kept expecting to reach the stars and perhaps the moon.  Surely they would get close enough to them to really comprehend them and study them in detail, up close.  But no matter how high they rose in the hellish sky, there was nothing to see.  Not one thing, not a star, not a reflection, not a half-sensed motion detected from the corner of an eye, to break or even vary the endless inky blackness, leaving it without form or dimension.  The mind—or was it the body?—even yearned for the maddening sand to hit it again and help make things more real.  The moment the ground ceased to be relevant and real, acrophobia was replaced by a weird stomach-churning juxtaposition of claustrophobia and agoraphobia, their physical forms unable to tell if they were alone and separate from everything in a petrifying unreachable nothingness, or drowning in a terrifying, unrelenting, crushing ocean of darkness.

They had no reference-point, no reality, except the hollow chariot they sat in, one another—who they could bond with in mutual fear—and the self-assured woman riding her horse in front of them, leading them without any apparent hesitance or doubt to the safety and certainty of her chosen destination.  Between draughts of wine, they held hands for comfort, daring to allow a few inches of space between their bodies and the firm chariot walls so they could feel the comfort of one another’s hips, sides, shoulders, and warmth.  And their eyes locked on the woman—their woman, their Domina—they knew and understood and, well, trusted with their very lives, wishing she were sitting here between them with her arms around them, laughing at the pliant and accommodating world she seemed to live fearlessly in.

They were so disconnected from the landscape below that at first they didn’t even notice their Queen was leading them back down into hell.  Chas squeezed Penny’s hand firmly, bringing her attention back to her own physical senses, and startling them into realizing they had actual, useful information for her again.  Penny swallowed and looked backwards, daring to move despite her body’s demand for the security of perceived stability, and could not recognize anything behind them except the white line of the road disappearing into sand, long before it reached the horizon. 

As the desert shrank before them, and its features expanded and swam back into focus, they immediately distinguished a pattern of stone and fire and eventually movement up ahead of them, at the point where the direct line of the straight road from the distant satanikoklus ended, before splitting like a “Y” and proceeding at different angles to the horizons ahead of them.

Literature Section “06-61 Hella Honeymoon XVII”—Part 61 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1026 words—Accompanying Images:  1589, 1591-1592—Published 2025-04-13—©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.

1586 06-60 Encore!^
1587 06-60 Channah and her chattel^
1588 06-60 Raw Power.  HYAA!  Giddyup, thrall!^

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls.  The girls, raised by Channah’s servants as her grateful wards, had just been put through the arduous indignities—hazing and trials—required for a human to be properly bound in left-handed marriage to a demon.  Seclusion is the last requirement of the ritual; but to reach their destination quickly, they will have to travel through the honeycomb, which is only accessible in Hell.  Now the Queen has commanded them to help her entertain the hordes of hell.  NOW:

When Channah had finished her love-strut along the catwalk and reached the satanikoklus, she turned around and watched the girls’ progress.  Separated from the immediacy of her enthusiastic presence, they felt more awkward and restrained and vulnerable, especially Penny, but they did their best to imitate her.  And if it wasn’t accomplished with quite her panache, it was graceful enough for men, as they built up their confidence, trying to block out the fighting erupting all around them.

When they reached her, she immediately spun them back around to face the crowd and led them in a deep actor’s bow, kissing each girl fiercely on the cheek and exulting:  “There’s a bottle of wine for each of you in the chariot.  I can hardly wait to see you two go all the way at the capitol!  ”

And with a playful slap on their bottoms she was gone, striding back toward her horse before either of the girls, suddenly worried and anxious again on top of their momentary adrenaline high, could ask her what she meant.  

Apparently when she walked away the last time, the soldier had recovered the rein—it was unclear to Chas and Penny, whether the horse was sentient.  And therefore, it was unclear whether the soldier was holding the rein for the usual reason of controlling the horse; or if his sole mission was simply to convenience the Queen by picking up the discarded rein off the ground and waiting patiently for her to return for it.  In either event, he now stood at attention waiting for her, once again. 

This time, when the Queen approached, he right-faced, dropped to his knees, and jackknifed forward with military precision so he formed a human footstool, while at the same time twisting his arm and straightening it so it jutted directly up at the sky behind him, holding the reins at a convenient height for the Queen’s grip.  Taking them without a word, in her high-heeled boots, Channah climbed onto the back of the kneeling soldier for greater height without, apparently, giving him, or his back, any thought; and swung up onto her bare-backed horse.  The soldier immediately scurried to his feet; then to the chariot just a moment before the girls, walking carefully in their high heels, reached it.  There, he threw himself down into the same position. 

The girls looked down at him, aghast, then at one another.  Penny tried to peer over to the other side of the chariot to see if there was another entrance there.  But if it was, it was just as high as the one on this side.

Chas leaned close:  “We’re supposed to make her proud!  Can you reach the chariot without his help, and still remain ladylike?”

They both knew the answer to that.  Penny shook her head and, once Chas was in the chariot, followed her example by standing on the man’s back, both of them trying to keep their weight on their toes so their sharp heels wouldn’t dig into the man’s back.  “Thank you!”  Penny shouted as she climbed.  “I’m sorry!”

As the girls settled into the comfortable seat, bracing themselves for the ride so they could maintain their dignity, the soldier stood, removed a pair of shockingly white and fresh cloth gloves from a pocket, pulled them on, and then reverently reached into the chariot, pulling a long straight bundle from the front and hurrying back to Channah, unwrapping the bundle and presenting its contents to Channah without ever touching them.

With pleasure, she removed a thick gold belt she fastened around her waist; then a long, coiled piece of metal with a handle the girls didn’t recognize that she snapped onto the left side of her belt; and a fearsome black scepter with a black skull mounted at the top, which she slid through the right side of her belt and snapped into place.  Looking meaningfully back at them, she made a waving motion with her hand, and they both nodded understanding, straightening their shoulders and raising their hands in their best regal poses.  Then she raised an eyebrow at them, pretending to search, until Chas reached forward to pull the loosely-corked bottle on her side of the chariot and Penny imitated her.

Lastly she terrified them by mouthing exaggeratedly, with a deliberately exaggerated grin and a wink: “HOLD. ON. TIGHT!”  Swallowing in fear, the girls began bracing themselves as firmly as possible, Penny finding a leather arm strap on his side of the chariot and pointing out its companion on the other side of the chariot, to Chas.

Finally, Channah pulled out a wicked long, thick, well-oiled black bullwhip that she kept in one hand, using the other for the reins.  The soldier was bowing deeply and then backing away quickly.  “Is she going to leave him behind?!”  Penny asked Chas, who shrugged.  Clearly his only thought was to get away from them, not stay close.  And his reason for moving became clear quickly enough:  before her horse even started forward, she expertly twirled the whip in the air to gather speed, and snapped it forward, cracking it with a sound like thunder that shocked the girls—and the crowd of devils and demons—every bit as much as the lightning that sizzled briefly back and forth between the end of the handle and the tip of the whip.

Ride and Die

When Channah cracked her whip, the guard stumbled and almost fell.  The girls reeled back in their seats, all thoughts of regal decency momentarily banished.  And even the ocean of red monsters spreading out across the land in front of them reeled backward, their cacophony rising in pitch, the disturbance amongst them again spreading like concentric waves of reaction from those closest to the Queen, to those further away.  Every living—or, at least, moving, apparently awake—thing from one horizon to the other reacted to the whip except for Channah and Fury, although as she urged Fury forward she straightened and leaned forward, swirling the whip like a spiked dragon’s tail and cracking it again in the air.  This time, the lightning was not limited by the length of the leather tail:  thin tendrils of lightning extended weakly from the tip into the air itself, and the accompanying cracking sound was louder than the first.

Fury lurched forward, but not only forward:  He also bounded up, rising on his hind legs and launching himself into the sky.  Chas and Penny screamed in fright as it became obvious their ride would not be earthbound, but airborne.  With a sudden jerk, Fury’s momentum carried the chariot into the air, slowly gathering speed as the product of whatever traction Fury’s hooves and the chariot’s drive train were able to gain on the air.  Meanwhile, Channah kept cracking her whip, over and over, the resultant lightning storm gathering more force with every snap of it until a veritable electrical storm crackled and shook the sky and the closest surface of the Earth, demons beginning to duck and scatter, overwhelmed with the amount of lightning falling on them and crackling overhead. Had anyone asked the girls’ opinion, they would have agreed with the demons below who were voting with their feet:  Channah and Fury were a terrifying pair.  But nobody ever seemed to care what the girls thought.

Literature Section “06-60 Hella Honeymoon XVI”—Part 60 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1166 words—Accompanying Images:  1586-1588—Published 2025-04-12—©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.

1583 06-59 Learning to Sashay, sashay, sashay^
1584 06-59 Flamethrower: Ignition^
1585 06-59 Awkward first (stage) kiss^

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls.  The girls, raised by Channah’s servants as her grateful wards, had just been put through the arduous indignities—hazing and trials—required for a human to be properly bound in left-handed marriage to a demon.  Seclusion is the last requirement of the ritual; but to reach their destination quickly, they will have to travel through the honeycomb, which is only accessible in Hell.  Now the girls are learning consorts of the Queen of Lust are expected to help her whip her subjects into a frenzy.  NOW:

Debutantes’ Dance

Channah gave her girls a devilish smile and extended both arms towards them, beckoning them forward with a leering grin that made it clear she expected them to imitate her flirtatious manner when they followed.  She bent over at the waist, slapping her hands against her knees (and possibly-inadvertently jutting her butt backwards at the frantic crowd behind her), laughing at the girls’ panicked, terrified reaction, practically hugging one another for support.  Behind her, her antics seemed to arouse some of her admirers enough that scuffles started breaking out.  Here and there, demons further back determined to get closer at the expense of closer demons, who refused to make way for them and tried to push them back.

When the girls hesitated to immediately follow Channah’s lead, she shook her head and wagged her finger, chiding them, and then narrowed her eyes, communicating that her good humor had a hard, and very close, limit, coercing them into action. 

Turning so red and warm-faced they feared they would start to glow like hot coals, they swallowed and tried strutting, imitating her long straight-legged stride, and quickly figuring out that they could swing their hips wider by turning their feet as soon as they touched the ground, but before they took their entire weight. 

They could not make out her voice, but her lips whooped joyously and she clapped her hands again approvingly, laughing both at them and with them, managing to tease and encourage at the same time.  Still bending forward with her booty thrust out behind her to the crowd, she took turns bending and straightening her legs so her hips swayed from side to side, nodding encouragingly when the girls awkwardly turned their feet more, exaggerating the sway of their hips further. 

It felt completely unnatural and… and even whorish, the two girls having been raised as modest young ladies.  But as they realized they were having their own effect on the crowd—not as insane as that provoked by Channah, but real and palpable—it helped them with their confidence, and little smiles of satisfaction crept across their faces despite their attempts to stifle them.  Both girls noticed, and were both amazed and not-quite-disappointed, when a couple of spats erupted among demons who were fighting to get closer to them.  Penny even caught Channah’s eye, pointing to the fight with a wondering look, and blushed with pleasure when Channah smiled wolfishly and nodded.

Of course, the girls’ efforts and mixed feelings about the results they obtained, just made Channah smirk more widely and knowingly, as if she were burrowing into their brains, which made both girls tingle with the vulnerable embarrassment she managed to evoke in them in all things sexual.

Kiss and Show

By the time they reached her, they practically darted into her welcoming arms, warmed and rewarded by her embraces and sweet kisses.

Turning around between them to face the crowd with them, she said:  “Penny, watch and be ready to imitate!”  Then she let go of Penny, turning her head and body towards Chas, took her cheeks in her hands, and kissed her boldly, making sure to pull back so hundreds of observers could clearly see Chas’s loose, slack, stunned mouth and Channah’s long snakelike tongue, before she returned to making out. 

A couple of moments later it was Penny’s turn, and when Penny accepted her passively rather than more actively as Chas had done, she used her giant tongue to deep-throat Penny, long enough to press her uvula up against the back of her throat and make her gag, even when she pulled back far enough to regard Penny, that their lips were separated by two inches of air and the entire crowd could see Channah’s big red uncircumcised tongue fucking Penny’s throat, driving the crowd absolutely insane with the sense of Channah’s aggression, especially when Penny’s knees buckled and she struggled to stay upright under Channah’s sexy, aggressive assault.

Laughing joyously, Channah let go of the girls, raising her arms in triumph for a moment, before signaling the girls to turn around.  Now the three of them were in a sort of huddle, with Channah in the middle, facing away from the centerline of the square; and Penny and Chas at thirty-degree angles to her, facing the middle of the huddle, with their bottoms pointed towards the two separate sides of the square behind them.

Putting her arms over their shoulders, she commanded:  “Feet together—very ladylike, like this!”  She indicated herself, nodding as they imitated her, then narrated her own actions:  “Now bend your knees slightly so you have some control… good… and wiggle your booties!  Come on, ladies, thrust them back at that crowd and let them know how hot you are!” When she was dissatisfied with their efforts she pulled her arms from their shoulders and slapped both girls as hard as she could on their bottoms while she continued to vamp, encouraging them:  “Be kind girls!  You can see how many more males there are here, than females!  They can’t actually go anywhere!  So give them something!”

And they each did what they could manage, Chas loosening up considerably more than Penny, but even Penny wiggling her hips, if more tightly and narrowly than the other two women, stirring up the crowd even further than before, the girls thrilled and overwhelmed and shocked by how rapidly the fighting was spreading, the mindless and aggressive energy searching in vain for anywhere to go.

“Now, with legs spread!” Channah opened her legs to about shoulder width and a quarter.  “Put the toes of your shoes right up against my boots so they’re touching and imitate how I’m standing!”  With a mixture of laughter and nervousness, they did so.  “You can bend your knees with your legs spread, but that’s usually something for much later, the last stage, with a man—or woman—who’s already completely lost in you.  It sends all the ‘go’ signals, and will look vulgar to anyone who isn’t under your spell yet.  So for now, keep your legs straight when your legs are spread, and roll your hips side to side.  Like this!”  She demonstrated, and giggling, they hesitantly began to imitate her. 

“That’s the way, girls!” she shouted encouragingly, grinning with them and exaggerating her hip movements further, running her hands over their shoulders and backs when they followed suit.  “Chas, you have a future as a professional dancer!  And Penny, maybe not pro, but a hot amateur!  Way to make me proud, girls!”

Finally, she said:  “Time to wrap up this little rehearsal show!  Be good sports and kiss the boys all the way back up the runway.  Like this!”  And with that, she headed back up the runway toward the satanikoklus, strutting as before, but this time offering them pretend kisses:  bending forward at the waist and pursing her lips in one direction, then throwing her shoulders back with a radiant smile and blowing kisses in another direction, preening and wiggling and thrusting her hips and breasts suggestively, whipping the crowd into a higher and higher frenzy.  Fights were breaking out everywhere now, which she ignored as completely as she had her admirers’ related efforts to reach her, continuing to flounce and prance her way back off the runway.

Literature Section “06-59 Hella Honeymoon XV”—Part 59 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1218 words—Accompanying Images:  1583-1585—Published 2025-04-11—©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.