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.
