Tag: ARP

1844 06-101 Channah claims Penny as she has never done before
1845 06-101 Penny is Channah’s plaything now
1846 06-101 Pray all you like, Penny dear… it’s adorable
1847 06-101 MINE.  Questions?

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

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

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

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

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

Pandemonium extremis maximus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


1840 06-100 Hong’s empathy, Esmeray’s truth
1841 06-100 Edging Esmeray

1842 06-100 What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger
1843 06-100 1,2,3! Point to the biggest bitch on this balcony!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No one enjoys being tormented.”

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

“Yes,” Esmeray spat.

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

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

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

“Everyone is!”

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

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

“I ask myself:  What is our real job?”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1833 06-98 Toe to Toe, Challenger to Champion
1834 06-98 Western fire and Eastern water begin to dance
1835 06-98 Wanna look like me, Madame Pompadour?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She blinked, then nodded.  “I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


1828 06-97 C’mon, whinny!  That’s a good little horsey!
1829 06-97 Ride me instead, please, Domina!
1830 06-97 Channah has Penny wrapped around something…
1831 06-97 Channah is the Queen of Penny’s heart
1832 06-97 Please let me be your sex-bunny, Master!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put your body inside mine!” 

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

1824 06-96 Run, rabbit, run!
1825 06-96 Silly wabbit, who’s your daddy?
1826 06-96 Crawl into your cage like a good little rabbit
1827 06-96 You know what I want, don’t you, mouse?

Explicit version containing creampie, sodomy, and precum themes at 06-96X Channah Makes Penny Beg for It at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

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

“Thank you, my darling dear,” Channah giggled, “But I already know you want me.  D’uh!  Unfortunately, you’ve not answered the question I asked.  Try again.  I’ll even break it down for you.”

“Thank you, Domina, that would help,” Penny heaved a grateful sigh of relief, clearly trying to keep herself from getting overexcited, amusing Channah again.

“What do you want to do to express our love, Penny?  As badly as I want to feel you in me, it would ruin us because I couldn’t bear to be reminded of what we’d lost.  Is that what you want, Penance?”  Tears gathered in her eyes as she asked it, the unthinkable.

“No—n-no!”  Penny cried, panicked at the idea.

She smiled, reassured.  “Oh, good.  I was worried there for a moment.”

“You never. Have to worry about.  That, Domina,” Penny huffed, controlling her breath to control her body, as she had promised her.  “I could never do anything to hurt you.”

“But what do you want to do with me, Penny?  Or do you want anything at all to do with me?”

‘Of course I do!  I want to make you happy, Domina, that’s all I want, I promise.”

“But you already know what would make me happy.”

“I do,” he admitted, nodding and looking dazed. “It—it’s just—” he fell silent for a moment, and finally looked back up into her eyes and whispered with total sincerity:  “I do.  I want to make you happy.  I want to be yours, totally and completely yours.  I know that now.”

Her small, relieved, still-uncertain smile broke Penny’s heart.  “How do you want to make me happy, Penny?  What do you want to do?”

“I want—I want to give myself to you,” Penny’s voice broke.  “I do, I really do—I don’t know if I can help but feel guilty and afraid of the sin, too—“

“Oh, Penny, my love!” she squealed, bending down and kissing her.  “You’ve made me so happy!  It’s all right, baby.  Guilt is fine,” she waved dismissively.  “Of course I know you’re going to struggle with it.  If it didn’t wrack you with so much guilt, it wouldn’t be half as sweet, because it wouldn’t be such a sacrifice, darling!  But I swear, you were made to be bullied, it’s the best thing for you—you need it—which is why you feel even more attracted to me than most…” she shrugged “call them ‘boys’.” She set Penny on cloud nine with another set of kisses “It means so much to me that you’re knowingly sacrificing your… well, your dignity, your pride… I’d say your manhood, if you’d ever shown any, but certainly, you’re forfeiting your very deepest moral principles for me.  The worse you feel, yet still want to do it—you have to want to—with all your sweet little heart—”

“I do!” she hollered helplessly, needing this to end, needing it so badly she thought she would die, longing so much now Channah wouldn’t, couldn’t, touch her at all.

Her face broke into a radiant, soft smile.  “Good.  I’m so happy to hear you say that, sugar.” 

And with that, she released Penny’s wrists and stood up over her so they weren’t touching at all, seeing and enjoying how Penny’s body unconsciously tried to follow her up as Penny whimpered and thrust her hips up as far as she could to try and keep any part of her in contact with Channah as long as she could.  Channah used her hands to hold her dress up, as she looked down to inspect Penny, making a disapproving noise and shaking her head.  “I thought so.  You’ve made a mess!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, so, so sorry,” Penny blubbered sincerely, as Channah turned around.  “I didn’t mean to, I promise, Domina!”  And then Penny gasped, confronted with the sight of Channah’s magnificent, callipygian backside.

“I’m glad you like and respect it,” Channah sneered.  “You should.  But instead you’ve contaminated it.  You know what comes next, what you need to do.  Don’t you?  But of course, it’s up to you, Penny.  What do you think would please me?  And once you know what that is, what do you want to do?  Search your heart sincerely, Penny.  I need your complete honesty, no matter what it does to us.”

It was only a second later, she felt Penny—at first, admittedly, a bit hesitantly; and then with more spirit, doing what she knew would make Channah happy.

“Thank you, Penny,” Channah said, rising back to her feet and turning around again, letting her skirts drop back into place, one boot on each side of Penny’s waist, facing Penny’s head. Considering her victim, and her special requirements, carefully, Channah firmly planted her boot right in the middle of Penny’s chest, before leaning down and resting her hand on her knee as she bent forward, her head a foot or two above Penny’s, looking and speaking seriously.  “It’s time.  If you’re ready, really ready to let yourself love me, get started, right now.  Put up or shut up.”

“But—what should I do, Domina?” she wailed, desperately afraid of getting it wrong, but genuinely unsure.

Channah’s eyes twinkled at seeing Penny’s profound innocent sweetness emerge in yet another new and surprising way.  “Idiot,” she whispered fondly, before turning back to cold bitch:  “Beg, bitch.  Beg hard.  Harder than you’ve ever begged for anything in your whole, wimpy, pathetic life.”

Literature Section “06-96[X] Channah Makes Penny Beg for It”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 96 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 912 words::Explicit 1040 words—Accompanying Images:  1824-1827—Published 2025-05-20—©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.

1820 06-95 A Bond So Intense You Feel an Outsider
1821 06-95 Channah and her loving babygirl
1822 06-95 Channah with her sweet little adoring jariya girl
1823 06-95 Channah over her weak pussywhipped slave

Explicit version containing CBT, masturbation, chastity, rape-fantasy themes at 06-95X Edgeplay:  Channah Teases Penny Toward a Hot Mess at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  After using Penny, as she continues to tease the helpless girl, she explains how her Manipura Chain will reveal Penny’s true and desired form when Penny gives herself fully and unconditionally to Channah.  NOW:

Humming, Channah swung her hip off Penny so she was kneeling beside the girl, trapping her right thigh between Channah’s right thigh and calf.  With her left hand, effortlessly, she took and held both of Penny’s wrists, giggling at the way doing so made Penny twitch.  Feigning a round “O” of surprise as her eyes bored into Penny’s, with her right hand, she startled Penny by freeing her, making the weaker girl shudder, her breathing turning into a raspy, panting wheeze as she flowered into her full, if modest, bloom.

 “Don’t you want to be everything you can be?”  Channah asked, fascinated by Penny’s expression of longing, desperation, panic, and total vulnerability, watching how her eyes focused on Channah’s hand, settling over Penny’s lower torso, so close—so close—using her fingers to raise goosebumps on Penny’s skin.  “Don’t you want to be the very best girl for me you can?”  Channah asked, nodding suggestively.  And Penny found herself nodding dumbly in response, her entire body twitching up and down with every single beat of her heart.

With a mock gasp of surprise, Channah swung her hip back across Penny, using her right hand to adjust her skirts, her left hand continuing to secure both of Penny’s wrists.  She barely breathed, almost reverently:  “You were built to obey and to please, darling.  Or I think from now on, is it okay if I call you ‘Pleaser’?  Yeah, that’s a good girl.  There…” she hissed.  “I’m sitting a bit further forward so it’s more comfortable for you.”  Penny groaned raggedly, feeling the soft, reassuring touch of Channah’s warm skin on her hips, electrifying every single nerve-ending as the dominant succubus stifled another smile.  “Don’t you dare ruin this incredible moment with any selfishness, do you understand me, Pleaser?”

Penny nodded frantically, not trusting herself to speak.

“Oh dear,” she made an expression of mock-surprise and -concern, tugging on her lip with her fingertip as if thinking.  “I forgot.  You’re totally pathetic bully-fodder, aren’t you, darling?  By chastising and humiliating you, I don’t cool you down, I just push you closer, don’t I, you little freak?”  And when Penny didn’t answer, she rose up again and frowned her best mean face.  “Answer me!  With the truth!”

And Penny knew what that was.  Especially now, in this moment, she could not doubt it or deny it, who and what she was and had always been.  “Yes Domina, yes!” she confessed shamefully, shivering with the intensity and depth of the reaction Channah was able to elicit from her.

Channah shook her head in wonder that was only half an act, and was half a genuine marvel at how perfectly—for succubaean purposes—human biological males were made.  But she was snickering with unconflicted amusement at Penny’s plight and confusion. 

“You know I’m more perfect for you than any human woman on the planet, don’t you?”  Penny nodded frantically, not sure what, or even sure she cared what, she was agreeing to, because her mind was so jumbled and filled with the noise of her own arousal and the fear of Channah teaching her more about who she might be, what depths she might sink to.  And maybe because it didn’t matter:  after all, Channah was right, of course she was always right, and Penny… Penny belonged to her so deeply and utterly, her succubaean will thoroughly overcame and occupied Penny’s human one.  “The nature of a succubus is to be a perfect companion to human men, just like the nature of an incubus is to be a perfect companion to human women.  Because our purpose is to be your seductive predators, and humans are our sole prey. ” Channah confided sincerely, as if that were an obvious reason for humans to hang out with demons.  All the time, she kept swaying as if she were slow-dancing with Penny, not hard enough to finish, but not too soft to keep Penny’s attention, twitching in time with her pulse.  “By becoming your perfect companions, we ensure we are your perfect predators.  But you’re the lucky ones, Penny.  You, and Chas, and all my jawari… perfect as I am for you, I don’t want to prey on you.”  She shook her head, beaming down in sweet assurance at Penny.  “Because you’re my operatives.  My confidantes.  And you and Chas are even more than that… you’re my wives.  Do you know how special that is?” 

Penny nodded frantically.  She, and then Channah in response, moaned at the intimacy of that and Channah swooped down to plumb and loot Penny’s sweet mouth, even the vibrations of the sound made by their shared moans another chain of love and desire connecting them.  By leaning forward, Channah caused her hips to roll forward, pressing against Penny’s belly, a warm, soothing cataplasm.  A whine crept back into Penny’s panting breath at how touching her higher up took Channah’s body away from her further below.  Keeping her legs raised, Penny pathetically tried to reconnect everywhere.  She knew Channah was right when she laughed throatily, raising her hips higher as she smashed her lips down even harder:  “Hunh-unh baby.  Me first.  Me always.  Me only.  You’re out of your own control now, aren’t you, lovergirl?”  Penny nodded, unwilling to break contact with her mouth or miss a second of her possessing, dominating lips and tongue.  “That’s why you need mine.  Don’t you?”  Penny nodded again, sounding like nothing more than a whining dog overcome with a need only her master could satisfy.  “You’re lucky!  No human woman could be even close to what I am because she has so many conflicting responsibilities and priorities—mmm” Channah put her hand back on Penny’s neck with totally possessory intent, practically devouring Penny, Penny so deep under she welcomed every assault Channah was willing to visit upon her, the harder and more-invasive the better.  “Making new lives.”  Penny was in such an ecstatic, frantic, senseless space Channah could have discussed botany or politics and Penny would remain totally enthralled.  “Raising children.”  She was out of her weak little mind, nothing but a sponge for her Master’s more forceful one.  “Gathering food.”  Biting and pulling on Penny’s lower lip.  “Preparing for winter.”  Her right hand slid up Penny’s cheek to seize her hair possessively.  “Weaving and washing.”  And she wrenched Penny’s hair down, shifting her weight to her left hand to emphasize Penny’s meek submission and imprisonment.  “Keeping her home fire burning.”  She used the leverage on Penny’s hair to force her chin up further whilst keeping her lips against Penny’s mouth.  “And only on top of all that, at the end of such a long day, satisfying her man.”  She jerked Penny’s hair to one side, turning her head as she dragged her lips across Penny’s cheek to whisper in and nibble on her ear, her warm, moist breath electrifying Penny straight down into the center of her captive brain.  “I only have one purpose, one need.  To make men serve my every other.”  She snorted and clarified:  “Men and boys and little girls like you, Pleaser.”

“So here’s the point, missy.”  She rose back up, Penny whining with need and loss as she did so, continuing to hold Penny’s wrists in her left hand and Penny’s hair in her right hand so they could both enjoy their natural positions as captor and captive.  She slowly, gently, carefully rolled her hips back again, knowing how close to the edge they were, even without Penny’s many overt signs of desperation.  “I refuse to take you now, Penny.  If that’s what you’re looking for, playing out some little consensual-nonconsent fantasy of yours, we can just stop, because this isn’t about you.”  She stopped moving and even pushing down on Penny for several beats, shrugging to demonstrate how easy it was for her; how unmoved and in control she could be; how much stronger her will was than Penny’s.  “I let you watch me, and worship me, and I’ve even laid my hands on you before.  The next stage—if and when you’re ready for seriously committing to me and opening yourself to me, the way I’m ready to do both for you—is about consummating our marriage.  Real men, and even most jawari, want that intimacy.  You know, the way weak girls want it and enjoy it most, the way that only a succubus like me can give to you.  Not to mention the closeness that only comes with being my wife.”

“For real intimacy, Penny,” she leaned closer, closing her eyes and softly kissing and rubbing her face all over Penny’s, the sweetness and innocence at direct odds with her grip on Penny’s wrists and hair, laughing as Penny began helplessly trying to reach her again. “For real intimacy, we both have to be there, together, wanting it.  Wanting one another.”  She pulled back slightly, her eyes innocent and wide, batting them.  “So tell me, darling girl, what do you want?”

“You, Domina,” she squealed desperately, making Channah laugh with pleasure.  “Only you.  Totally you.”

Literature Section “06-95[X] Edgeplay:  Channah Teases Penny Toward a Hot Mess”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 95 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1509 words::Explicit 1646 words—Accompanying Images:  1820-1823—Published 2025-05-19—©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.


1816 06-94 The sacred, the profane, and the damned
1817 06-94 This is your bible now.  And I am your priest
1818 06-94 The Succubaean Bible is your training manual now, bitch
1819 06-94 Penny practices what she’s been taught

Explicit version containing masturbation, CBT, chastity, and edgeplay themes at 06-94X What Channah Wants, Channah Takes at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  After teasing and using Penny, Channah began explaining the succubae’s view of chakras and the functions served by the magical bonds she has locked onto (and into) Penny’s body.  Then she finally started to drop the other high-heeled shoe on Penny’s head.  NOW:

“I love you.  I want you, the you that you want to be.”  She shrugged.  “If that’s a big, gorilla-like, hairy he-man, that’s who I want you to be, and that’s what you’ll become when you truly, deeply, willingly surrender yourself to me!  But if you’re sincerely a woman… I mean, I know, you must know, we nurtured your interest in being a girl all along, but it was only for you, because we sensed the powerful feminine energy in you.  Doing that, while the rest of the world nurures your masculine side, gives you real choice so you can freely decide, having lived as both a boy and a girl.  But I’m confident it was the right thing to do, because you were so obviously meant to be a girl.  That first time Chas confessed to you…” she giggled, Penny’s mind reeling at the idea Chas had shared their most-private conversations with the Court, and the succubae had known the things that had passed between them, for so long.

“Oh, I don’t want to get rid of anything you value.  I love all the parts of you that you love.  And believe me, we know what parts you love and how much you adore them.  The parts of you that you can hardly take your hands off.”  She giggled as Penny’s expression changed.  “So… vulnerable.  So… easy and urgent and ardent.  And now, mean Auntie Channah has taken away your ability to play all those little games you and her like to play with one another…”.

Penny’s face was positively incandescent, the asymmetry in knowledge between her and her masters so pronounced it took her to a whole new level of vulnerability and she wished there were somewhere, anywhere she could crawl away in and hide. 

But Channah continued, only her obvious amusement betraying her awareness of Penny’s intense embarrassment.  “It would be a crime to get rid of an important part of what makes you so…” the palms of her hands were warm, sliding across Penny’s chest, her shoulders and upper arms, and even her neck, combining reassurance and gentleness with their counterpoints of control and even bullying.  When her fingers passed over Penny’s nipples, they might pinch.  Or after a particularly thrilling run up Penny’s side, they might slap.  And when she worked Penny’s neck… she wasn’t just stroking Penny’s neck, she was pushing Penny’s chin up.  So gently at first, that Penny didn’t even recognize what was happening.  Then, it became a pleasant, masterful manipulation making her feel a warm, giddy vulnerability, being was in Channah’s hands.  Only finally, at the end, did her manipulations become so forceful they made Penny understand Channah would push her chin up as hard as she wanted to, whether Penny was okay with it or not.  The odd combination of reassurance and dominance was deliberately provocative, testing Penny and demanding she override her instinct to resist or beg off to instead go along with Channah’s will.  Demanding she see that she wanted to.  And Penny did go along with her, of course, blushing at the demonstration of her natural submissiveness to Channah, as her neck cramped and her clitty twitched traitorously from the discomfort and passivity Channah required of her.  Was Channah right about Penny?

But Penny decided she knew this answer from experience already, maybe from the first time she had been in Channah’s presence, and felt her power:  Channah was always right.  Channah had lived a hundred times longer than Penny.  What could there be she hadn’t seen, experienced, lived through, learned about?  Of course, she saw Penny’s heart more clearly—and much earlier—than Penny herself, could.  Doubtless it was easier to see for Channah, too, because she relished what she saw; whereas for Penny… Channah was showing her she was not who she had thought she wanted to be.  Certainly not what society and the church wanted her to be.

“You’re so pliant.  And you know how much pliant girls turn me on.”  Channah dove down upon Penny again, her raptor’s teeth nipping at Penny’s lip just enough to shock, her arms seizing Penny’s wrists, using them for support and more-than-incidentally pinning her down, grinding down into Penny’s as she closed her mouth over Penny’s again and returned her demon’s tongue into Penny’s compliant mouth.  Penny moaned softly and Channah felt her naked truth, the truth confessed by her unshielded body, with no mistake:  Being kissed so forcefully made her little submissive girl melt again.  Channah felt Penny’s hips and clitty start to twitch underneath her, not with resistance, but with desperation.  She felt her girl’s knees and feet coming up along the sides of Channah’s hips and legs like a lover welcoming her master into her body, but too timidly to circle around her master’s legs and ass without permission.  She felt the girl’s arms go limp under the silent mandate of Channah’s hands.

Laughing fitfully and talking sporadically as she continued to make out with Penny, whose breathing was becoming ragged, Channah continued:  “I know, I know… boys, and girls with little clitties like yours, turn me on.  Succubae are built to enjoy you, and to make you respond to us the way we want you to.  But I especially like pliant girls.  More than anybody.”  She emphasized her point with a shivery wiggle of her hips.  “And I can—tell you especially like me.”

She whispered in Penny’s other ear, brushing her lips against it as she spoke:  “Don’t you want boobies, baby?  And—you pervert—dainty soft little feet?  And hips—I know you’d like to have wide, sexy hips and a thick juicy stern that you can lust after in your own mirror.  Don’t you?  Don’t you?”  She laughed especially hard, catching sight of the surprise and trapped look in Penny’s eyes.  “Or wait.  You want to be a girl, but you don’t actually like girls—is that it?” She raised her head, pursing her lips to massage the moisture from their kisses into the rim of her mouth, looking at him questioningly.

“Yes—no—I mean, I like girls, Domina,” Penny managed hoarsely, her mind struggling and halting in its efforts to think, unsure how much she meant she was attracted to women’s breasts, how much she wanted to please her Domina, and how much she just hoped to make the conversation move on to something less dangerous and confusing.  She was feeling all three of them, truly.  But the part she couldn’t help blurting out was:  “And—and I especially like you, Domina.  I—I truly love you,” she whispered.

“Awwwww….” And this earned Penny Channah’s full attention for several minutes before she broke their kiss and spoke again:  “And I especially like girls like you,” Channah agreed, trailing off, eyes unfocused but pointed at her hands and fingers, which were suddenly stroking Penny’s chest and rubbing Penny’s nipples.  “I want you to have boobies I can suck on.”  Penny gasped as Channah’s sultry eyes rose and met hers, defying her to look away.  “And a big round sissy bottom that jumps and wiggles like a pert girl when I slap it.”  Penny practically started hyperventilating as Channah slappic.  “And, and…” a long pause followed as they kissed, nothing other than moans—in Penny’s case, verging on whines, especially when Channah used her knees and legs to force Penny’s higher and wider.  “I—” even Channah was gasping now “—I want you to fill out a dress to your full potential.  You’re so pretty, Penny.  Mmm… If you had the hips and the bust to fill out your dresses completely…” she flicked her tongue obscenely and made a noise that almost sounded like a wolf’s bark, while Penny felt herself melting like bright pink strawberry snow.

Literature Section “06-94[X] What Channah Wants, Channah Gets”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 94 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1298 words::Explicit 1322 words—Accompanying Images:  1816-1819—Published 2025-05-18—©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.


1814 06-93 You need to be at peace with your place, slave
1815 06-93 Oh, did I forget to mention the scary side-effects?

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah has been passionately and aggressively dominating and making out with Penny, teasing the girl relentlessly.  Now she wants more than Penny’s consent to take advantage of her.  Oh, and there was something about unexplained magic having to do with the jewelry partially implanted in Penny while she was insensate… NOW:

Channah snorted at Penny’s choice of pronouns.  “I knew you would choose to call it mine,” she shook her head, lips tight and flat in a mixed expression of amused, but exasperated, affirmation.  “Still so hesitant to admit who you are, and how invested in our… entanglement you are.  We’ll continue working on that.  Yes.  It’s my fruit, the medlar.”  Pressing on it, emphasizing Penny’s tenderness for a quick second, she explained.  “It’s the last of my wedding gifts to you.”  She looked up expectantly.

“Thank you, Domina,” Penny managed, knowing she expected it and wanting to please her even while she was in shock about being locked up with yet another chain by her Master.  This one had been not merely locked onto her body—like her collar and cage—or stuffed into her body like the tickler, but had been threaded through her organs and skeleton in a way Penny had only seen meat being sewn up for cooking.

Channah nodded briefly, pleased, and was about to speak further; but Penny’s anxiety about what had happened to her while she was banished from the world—and thus, from her own body—was so great that despite her training in passivity and receptiveness, she couldn’t help herself.  She blurted out:  “What does ‘Manipura’ mean, Domina?!” Her own voice sounded to her like the wail of an imperiled maiden struggling not to panic.

Fortunately, delight in her distress seemed to displace any irritation with Penny’s uppityness and with a surprised look, she observed:  “You’ve never asked before.  I thought perhaps you were familiar with the chakras?”

“No, Domina, please explain them to me?” Penny pleaded.

“In India, Hinduism and Buddhism have a tradition of practicing meditative arts known as tantra.  The chakras are various focal points in the body they concentrate on in a variety of their meditative practices, to help influence energy flows within the body.”  Channah shrugged.  “The actual human connection to the divine…. Isn’t known to us, regardless of which tradition—that is to say, religion—it falls under.  As far as we know, influencing energy flows may be genuinely part of the divine or simply a conceit by superstitious humans.  Or, most likely, it may be a form of magic acting on them internally.  That’s what we use the chakras for—to manipulate the flow of magic through living bodies.”

She noticed Penny’s frown of confusion and frustration, and held up her palm.  “Don’t even bother to ask me about how or whether tantra actually works.  For us, what matters is, the same or similar focal points are useful in directing the flow of magic through the body.”  With a smirk, she placed her hands on Penny’s collar and neck, pressing down and squeezing enough to remind Penny (as if she needed the reminder) of Channah’s strength and control.  “The Vishuddha is where we begin.  It relates to communication and thus to hierarchy and interpersonal relations.  It’s why your collar is so effective at linking us together, practically melding our souls to one another.  As you already know, it also has to do with longevity.”

She twitched her hips:  “Your Svadhishthana… maybe you understand this one already?  Maybe you feel it?” She taunted Penny mercilessly, laughing archly at her wince of pain as Channah caused her to push her literal and unforgiving limits.  “It is all about sex, procreation, and creativity.  Lift your legs,” she commanded, rising up higher on her knees, and when Penny hesitated she prompted him:  “Come on!  Legs up!  Right now!”  And as soon as Penny raised them, confused, she reached back to swat her, hard, on the bottom, then slammed back down on her midsection knocking her legs back down to the ground.  “Your Muladhara is your root.  It goes to basic trust, core emotional state, and foundational energy.  Does my presence there make you feel vulnerable?”  And she twisted Penny, not brutally, but across a range of her insides so broad it took her breath away, making her feel like she was so full everywhere she was about to explode.

“Yes, Domina, yes!” Penny yelped, her frantic expression and wide eyes giving Channah a thrill of pleasure. 

“I’ll bet you do.  I’ll just bet.”  And she relaxed her grip, a vise becoming a warm supporting hand.  “And when we’re united, top and bottom together, as we should be?  A whole?  When you’re good to me and obedient and when I’m pleased with you, so we feel trusting and connected to one another?  How does that make you feel, sweetheart?  Safe and secure?”

“Yes, Master,” Penny sighed, so relieved and submissive she almost sounded strangled. 

“Which brings us to our fourth bond.”  She played with her belly-button, then ran her fingers over Penny’s tummy and chest, causing her to gasp.  “Your new Manipura ring.  It’s about enhancing your wisdom and power.  It will also make you see more clearly and make your feet more sensitive.”  She giggled throatily.  “I’m going to take full advantage of that, believe me!  Today, here, in the hetaraslakos, is all about power.  But I’m sure, becoming more powerful doesn’t worry you.  It’s the acceptance of wisdom.”

“Why—why would wisdom worry me?”  Penny asked fearfully, knowing full well there was something Channah was preparing to drop on her.  Something big, that Penny was going to find upsetting.  Unless she’d just been messing with Penny’s head earlier….

“The ultimate wisdom is knowing and accepting—no.  More than that:  knowing and embracing!  Enthusiastically embracing who you are and the world you live in so you can live the life you were meant to live.  The Manipura ring provides the magic to help you realize the person you truly are, if you’re worthy enough. But you have to be able to admit it to yourself.  If you can’t, our connection will never be complete and we can never have the relationship I want us to have, that I’ve been trying to build with you.  It’s so important, Penny, I hope you can see that.  It’s called a realization spell.  Whoever you are, whatever you are, at your most basic level… the magic senses it, and helps you become the person you want to be.  It relates to morganatic marriage because it helps ensure a good match for the Domina and a loving, unconflicted girl who can focus her energies on her Domina’s problems, instead of selfishly obsessing on herself.  The subordinate, or base—” she pointed down at him “that’s you, precious—proves that she is worthy of the marriage by surrendering herself completely to her top.  And in return, having shown that her true self is devoted to her master, she gets to become that true self.  I mean…” she began, convincingly, as if she felt shy about discussing it, lending a charming vulnerability to her speech.  It seemed she was barely able to meet Penny’s eyes but had to steal up to meet with them until Channah’s clear, innocent eyes were Penny’s whole world.  Somehow, at some point, while Penny was being tied in knots by Channah’s entrancing face, her hips had started to move again down below, talking to Penny’s body behind her back and bringing the pain and the aching, aching deep desire back up to the maximum.  “I keep calling you my ‘wife’ and my ‘bride’ and my ‘housegift.’  Could I spell things out any more clearly?”

“What?”  Penny whispered, her mind whispering that she knew, but unable quite to accept it or to put it all together.

Literature Section “06-93 Penny’s Yoga Lesson”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 93 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1254 words—Accompanying Images:  1814-1815—Published 2025-05-17—©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.

1809 06-92 Channah acts surprised Penny feels violated
1813 06-92 Penance’s Manipura ring (pre-grafting)
1810 06-92 Penny may not be able to sleep tonight
1811 06-92 … Make that a week…
1812 06-92 In fact, Penny may never sleep again…

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah has been passionately and aggressively dominating and making out with Penny, teasing the girl relentlessly.  Now she wants more than Penny’s consent to take advantage of her.  NOW:

“What I want now is your full-fledged participation.  I love you, honey, and I’d really like to fuck you.  But if you’re not ready, that’s okay.  I’m never going to force you again.  Unless you beg first,” she amended flirtatiously.  “If you’re not interested in loving me, I can exclusively take my pleasures elsewhere.”  She shrugged, looking disappointed, and started to lift off Penny, watching curiously at the intense emotions overwhelming the girl, washing and flashing across her eyes.

“NO!  No, no, Domina, I realized—I swore—in that place—I’m yours.  I love you, I’m yours,” she clarified emphatically, reaching to take Channah’s hand urgently, pleadingly, and kiss her knuckles with her eyes closed in passion.  It was the first active motion she had made since being ordered to show passivity towards Channah.

“Aww… that’s sweet,” Channah conceded, meaning it, and settling back down on top of her, their bare flesh sparking with electricity as Channah pretended to rearrange herself, letting them feel one another sliding against each other, separated only by the cruel barrier securing Penny.  She frowned curiously, as if she was confused.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Domina.  Yes, ma’am, I’m sure.  I’m sure!”

“But…” she raised her finger to her chin, looking into space thoughtfully, then sharply looked back down.  She was making fun of Penny, and Penny felt the heat in her face.  “But… I thought you knew what I wanted.”

“I do.  I do, Domina!”

With a twitch of the lip revealing the fun she was having, she leaned down again, resting her elbows on Penny’s shoulders and folding her arms, looking straight down into the submissive girl’s eyes.  “What’s that?” 

“what, Domina?” Penny asked in a small voice.

“It’s not a difficult question, darling girl.  What. Do. I.  Want?  I just want to make sure you understand.  Because this time, it will be about your thorough and enthusiastic participation.”

“My—” Penny’s face went red, her eyes popped, and her voice turned into a squeak.  “What?”

Channah kept her lips pressed together but laughed merrily behind them, in the worst attempt ever to conceal mirth.  Finally she rolled her eyes and gave up, sounding positively delirious.  “Penny, my love, I’ve never seen such a face before!  Regretfully, while I appreciate your efforts, it doesn’t seem like you’re serious about wanting what I want.”

“I am, Domina, I swear!  I want you to get what you want!”

She snorted, turning up her nose.  “Not quite the same thing, is it, muffin?  And certainly not enough for me.  I’m not bargaining with you, I’m explaining how it is.  Drawing a line in the sand.  No more half-measures, sweetie.  No more pretending to be a damsel in distress while I play the bad girl.”  She shrugged, sitting up and rolling Penny’s nipples between her fingers.  “Unless, that is, you’ve already convinced me you really, desperately want me to be your bad girl, and you to be my sweet little damsel in distress.”  Penny drew a sharp breath, as startled as she pretended to be confused and fascinated.  “Well, I love to act and to play games.  You know that.  But with my wife, I want more.  I want to know you’re really with me.  That you like appeasing me.  Is that so unreasonable, for a Domina to want that from her housegift?” she asked, with wide-open innocent eyes.

“No,” Penny croaked, “Of—of course not, Domina.”

She smirked, tickling Penny’s nipples.  “You showed your true colors already, under me in the satanikoklus, didn’t you babygirl?”  She laughed, and laughed even harder at Penny’s mortification to be reminded of how submissive she had been for Channah.  “Look at you.  You’ve been waiting for me your entire life, haven’t you?  While trying to pretend you weren’t.  This time, I won’t shoulder that burden for you.  Playing is one thing.  Hypocrisy and denial are another.  This time, I can’t have either of us experiencing any doubt about whether we’re playing together, as a couple, or if I’m being some… beast,” she pouted, her fingers tracing Penny’s chest.  “I need to know, and even more… you need to know, sugar pie.  Well, to admit it.”  She looked off towards one side, speaking too casually:  “This isn’t just about my insecurity, or a wife making her Domina feel loved, you know.  The magic simply won’t work unless you’re totally sincere.”

“The… magic?”

“In all the excitement and being overwhelmed, you haven’t even noticed it yet, have you, my sweet little cherry?”

“Noticed what?” Penny asked, hoarse again, eyes darting and scanning.  Channah raised a finger and circled it in the air, like a hawk circling and watching for potential prey, the circles getting smaller as she brought it down over Penny’s torso, continuing to tighten in until her finger pressed on Penny’s navel.

“Is your belly-button a little sore, darling?”

“What—yes!  My whole tummy but I thought—” she exclaimed in surprise, raising her head to look down at her stomach, feeling disoriented, almost a touch queasy, at more evidence of how thoroughly she had been separated from her body, from the world, from reality itself.  A tiny ruby fruit, round like an apple, but with distinctive gold prongs ringing one end like a crown, glittered in a gold setting, pinned to her body with two gold piercings, one in the center of her navel, and the other in the flat skin immediately above the edge of her navel.

“The ring—more of a wire, really—stretches down into your tummy and anchors it around your intestines and spine.”  Penny gasped in a fascinated horror at the idea, and at the idea of the ring penetrating her—if it had even been her, when she was, well, gone.  Horrified at being penetrated at all, freaked out about the penetration being so deep, and especially feeling uneasy that such a thing could have occurred without her knowledge.  “Anchoring it to your spirit there.”

“What—what is it, Domina?” Penny asked fearfully.

“It’s your Manipura ring.  Of course,” she shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “Stuffy old swamis and yogis would quibble with our understanding and usage of the chakras and related concepts.  But how would any of them know more than us about succubaean magic?  Or where to seize and pin down parts of the souls of humans?”  The answer—to Channah, but certainly not Penny, who had no idea what she was talking about—was obvious:  “They wouldn’t.  Do you recognize it?” she asked curiously, with a mischievous smirk.

Penny, staring at it, made the connection and recognized it.  “It’s—it’s the same thing, the fruit, on the paddle—a medlar!”

“Very good, child!  But describe it accurately.  My paddle, acknowledging my ownership,” she corrected.  “Or recognizing your chattel status, your paddle.  Either one is acceptable, but not merely ‘the’ paddle.”

“Your paddle, Domina,” Penny corrected herself, red-faced.

Literature Section “06-92 Channah Demands More Penance”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 92 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1154 words—Accompanying Images:  1809-1813—Published 2025-05-16—©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.