Additional image containing cannibalistic themes at 07-32X Spicy Hot Dangerous Eating in Mesoamerica at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman
PREVIOUSLY: Channah, Chastity, and Penance are honeymooning at Channah’s secret tropical paradise. After a round of rough angry sex leaving her girls feeling compliant and adoring, and sending the girls to do chores while she worked, her girls have prepared dinner. NOW:
Channah took her girls, Chastity and Penance, by their hands and led them to the dining room. “Oh, that’s lovely!” she beamed, leading them to her seat at the head of the table, facing the garden, and then pausing expectantly. The girls dropped her hands and pulled her chair back from the table for her, then once she had sat, pushed her back in.
Penny laid her napkin in her nap, apologizing: “I’m sorry, Domina, we hope you are pleased with the food. We didn’t—we aren’t even sure what most of this is!” while Chastity poured her wine, looking surprised and concerned when she caught the smell from the bottle.
Channah laughed: “It’s not really ‘wine,’ is it?” she teased. “Because they don’t have grapes here—yet—it’s made from cacti!” Then she waved a hand dismissively. “That’s right, you don’t even know what those are. A plant that needs so little water it can grow in the desert! This is the most-exotic drink I’ve ever tasted, anywhere in the world, blended with chocolate, honey, and chili pepper. Hmm…” she mused happily. “Thank you, girls, you’re caring for me so well. Part of me would love to have you remain as my servants while I eat, and part of me would like you both to kneel under the table where you belong, but the truth is, I want to see your pretty faces and enjoy your pleasant company this evening. And picnic food is perfect for that. So please,” she captured a hand from each of them and squeezed it, “For tonight, sit on either side of me here.”
“Thank you, Domina,” Chastity answered, followed by Penny, as they sat.
“And the food looks wonderful! There are plenty of European ingredients for you girls to cook with later in the week, but to welcome you to this new world, I asked cook to prepare a feast of Aztec food. Things most Europeans still haven’t even heard of. It looks like the meats are… turkey and duck—maybe some iguana? The vegetables are squash, and the soup and bread are maize—corn—a very tasty grain of the new world. And all of it flavored with chili peppers. If I were you girls, I’d make sure to have a glass of water handy before eating anything!” While the girls scrambled to set out three more glasses and to fill them weith water, Channah picked up the ‘wine’ bottle from the table and poured both girls wine, giggling as she filled their cups nearly to the brim. “I know both of you—but especially Penny—are shy about spirits and I don’t want you two falling behind. Because this is going to knock you out!” Raising her glass, she asked: “What shall we toast to?”
“To you, of course, Domina!” Penny blurted immediately. “Our beloved Mistress!”
“To our Domina!” Chas echoed.
“Oh, thank you, my loves,” she did her best—which was not very convincing—to blush modestly as she sipped from her glass, but looked honestly pleased and touched. “Fortunately, in Hell, sovereigns may toast themselves without fear of hubris, so we can drink to me together! You girls had better drink deep to honor your Domina!”
And they did, Channah giggling as Chas bolted her entire glass in one go—regretting it immediately and entertaining her companions with her gasping, choking, turning red, sweating, and the way her very eyes seemed to bulge out of her head as if pushed from behind by steam from the heat generated in Chas’s throat by the drink. “Thank you, Chas, for your demonstration of such enthusiasm and commitment!” Channah complimented her, even as she refilled her glass. “And don’t you dare tell Penny I ever said this, but—” she faked a whisper “—maybe you should drink the next glass a little more slowly. Follow my example, and you can never go wrong.” Looking askance at Penny, who was frowning with concentration and licking her lips, processing what she had tasted and about to set her glass down after a single sip, before realizing both of her companions were watching her expectantly. “Now Penny dear,” Channah growled. “If you aren’t choking at all, it can only be because you weren’t bold enough!” Looking like a trapped fox, Penny drank several swallows in succession, waiting in vain after each successive sip for Channah to stop staring her down, until Penny finally began choking and sputtering, blushing as they teased her for her lack of adventurousness.
“Now, do your best to keep up, Penny, or I’ll put you on your back under my foot with my toes in your mouth and start pouring wine down my leg to watch you sputter like Chas,” she threatened, teasing until she caught Penny’s involuntary pant, dilated pupils, and pink cheeks, and roared at her embarrassed arousal. “You filthy girl, you would like that, wouldn’t you? Fortunately, there’s plenty of time for that later! I want—I demand!—intelligent dinner conversation! Penny, you’re a smart girl. Start us off! And no sex talk! You must drink every time you ask a question and twice every time Chas or I ask one!”
“Tell us what you know of the Aztecs!” Penny gushed.
“Oh, you’re curious about the Indians of the Americas, are you? Drink!” she commanded, pausing until Penny did, although she looked more thoughtful than attentive, before beginning, her eyes narrowing watchfully, staying focused on Penny’s: “Years ago, one of my vassals, a useful but irritatingly sentimental fantasist, brought me a number of unpublished manuscripts from a secret Venetian library.”
“Venice!” Penny reacted.
“Yes, that’s where we found you, wasn’t it?” she teased, pretending surprise. “Who would have expected to find such a useful little English girl—” she paused, thought, and shrugged deciding the word fit well enough— “there, of all places? It was written by a Florentine bureaucrat on the secrets of wielding political power. Most astute. The Aztecs could have benefitted from access to it. I suspect Cortes did. Did you know, this vast land of millions,” here she gestured vaguely towards her garden, and the great valley beyond, “probably larger than all of Spain itself, was conquered by a few thousand Spanish adventurers—hardly even a proper army—with a motley assortment of modern weapons? Their weapons helped.” She shrugged. “And the pox helped them even more.”
“The pox?” Penny asked, looking shocked.
“Oh, yes. I’m not surprised the stories coming back to Europe omit that; not nearly as dramatic as warfare and politics. You know of the Black Death, from the time of Edward III?” Both her girls shuddered immediately. “Something very like that is going on here, all around us, right now.” And even as she saw the fear leap to their eyes, she raised her hands placatingly. “Don’t worry—you’re not at risk.”
“How can that–?” Penny began.
“Because you’re—the Europeans—the source of the infection. Just as the Black Death was brought from Asia to Europe, the Spaniards and Portuguese have brought the pox—and measles, influenza, mumps, typhus, and whooping cough, everything you grew up surrounded by—to the New World. In some ways, it was—and still largely remains—a paradise, lightly-touched by human hands. Make no mistake, it has dangers of its own. Not up here, in this heaven on Earth—the air is fresh, and free of miasmas, which is why Cortes built his capital here—safe as houses, one of the reasons my own palace is here. But there is danger in the hot, wet jungles and swamps along the coasts. So much so, the Spaniards have begun importing African slaves and forcing them to work in the lowlands. Because their own countrymen consider the New World so dangerous, only the most-desperate, most-ambitious, and most-rapacious will come here.”
“But even their plagues were not Cortes’s greatest weapons in conquering the Aztecs. They were—and are—the American Indians themselves,” she confided, gratified by the girls’ surprised expressions. “Yes. This was—and much of it still is—a land of city-states.”
“Like ancient Greece?” Penny asked in surprise.
“Quite! For almost a hundred years, it has been dominated by the Aztec Triple Alliance—more correctly called the Tenochca Empire—led by the city-states of Tenochtitlan, Tetzcoco, and Tlacopan. Although they controlled more land than anyone else—by far—they never completely eliminated their rival city-states. Perhaps they simply couldn’t manage it, but at least partly, it was because they understood war differently from Europeans. Europeans fight wars to become wealthier, or more powerful, or for vengeance. The Aztec and their neighbors fought for all those reasons, but another reason besides: The Aztecs’ adoption of Huītzilōpōchtli, a terrible god of war, the Sun, and sacrifice, as their patron deity. About a hundred years ago, following a great famine, Huītzilōpōchtli revealed to their priests that the famine was a punishment because the Aztecs had failed him; and that to redeem themselves, he required the Aztecs to appease him with human sacrifices.”
“So it’s true…” Penny murmured.
“From that time, their Empire thrived on the backs of human sacrifices. Sometimes dozens, sometimes even hundreds, a day are slaughtered. At the consecration of a new temple, it may even be thousands, killed in their temples, at the tops of their pyramids. The exact manner of the sacrifice depends on the god to which the sacrifice is made, and the purpose of that sacrifice.” Breathing faster, her pupils dilating, Channah continued: “For Huitzilopochtli, for instance, the god of sun and sacrifice, the sacrifice is ritually dressed and decorated, then dragged to the top of the pyramid where their hearts, still beating, will be ripped from their chest and placed in a cuauhxicalli, or “eagle gourd bowl.” The priest will then toss the heartless body down the stairs on either side of the pyramid like so many scraps discarded from a dinner table. Sometimes, to accommodate the number of sacrifices required, four sets of priests will work at once, on each side of the pyramids, sacrificing and throwing bodies down the four flights of stairs as quickly as possible. At the bottom, the bodies land on a platform called an apetlatl, where they might be cremated. But more often, they are returned to the warriors who took the sacrifice captive in the first place, who can either strengthen himself by eating the sacrifice’s flesh, or chop up the body and share it with others to increase his social standing. They would save the skulls for display on huge skull-rack displays called tzompantlis.” She emphasized her point by tossing a half-eaten turkey leg onto the floor as she chewed, licked her lips, and smiled wolfishly, noticing how shocked her girls looked. “My little sweethearts. You can’t even imagine the carnage, can you? The priests and the audience become so excited by it, they stab and cut and bleed themselves to add their own, smaller sacrifices to the gods.” Her voice sounded reverent, before she shuddered and came back to herself, snorting. “A few of them fuck. But the Aztec focus is much more on the literal kind of self-abuse. As limp as my own little girls.”
Noticing Penny glancing, bothered, at the turkey leg on her well-maintained floor, she snickered: “That’s right, Penny dear. It doesn’t belong there, does it? Why don’t you be a good girl and go fetch it?” And when Penny looked at her uncertainly, she barked: “Fetch!” Laughing as she scrambled out of her chair, she added: “On your knees. And bring it to me in your mouth. No hands, except for crawling.” She watched, her breath coming faster, as Penny hesitantly dropped to her hands and knees, crawling to the bone and—with difficulty—getting a solid grip on it with her mouth. Channah pretended not to notice her fastidious girl wiping the floor with a moist napkin before crawling back toward Channah, who was pointing at the ground immediately beside her right foot. Penny sat back on her haunches, looking up at Channah with an endearing, desperate-to-please expression that made Channah wet. Staring back at her with blazing eyes, Channah held her eyes for several seconds before taking the bone back and whispering loudly: “You’re going to drink from under my foot tonight. But not yet.” She clapped, breaking the spell and gesturing to Penny’s place. “Back in your seat for now.”
“In real wars, like Europeans, the Mexica—that is, the Aztecs—gathered every poor and powerless sod they could lay hands on, drafted them into service, and threw them at their enemies after bombarding one another with missiles, while the rich and powerful stood in the rear shouting orders. But in the flower wars, only the best and brightest, dressed as Eagle Warriors and Jaguar Warriors, led the fighting from the front, using their melee weapons to display their individual prowess, meeting their enemies at prearranged times and places in roughly equal numbers like sports teams, and bringing plenty of peasants along as bait for one another to capture and sacrifice. Their enemies could either oblige the Aztecs’ thirst for sacrifice by participating in—and on balance, losing—these flower wars, like European jousts only even more dangerous, against the cream of Mesoamerican soldiery, or face full-on attacks by the more-powerful Aztecs to take away their citizens en masse. After a century of feeding their sons and daughters to the bloodthirsty Aztec priests to buy their survival as a group, you can imagine how much they hated the Aztecs. And when the Spaniards arrived, with just enough force and novelty to unify the Aztecs’ opponents and tip the balance of power, they fought with a vengeance, providing Cortes with the vast majority of his army.”
The rest of their meal passed in much the same vein, learning about Aztec clothing, customs, politics, tribes, history, architecture, food—Penny’s questions were inexhaustible, and Channah’s knowledge of her human prey, deep and vast. Penny was spellbound, gazing at her guru with something like growing awe; and even Chas remained interested enough to learn about this world, in such detail. In England, no more than a few sentences’ worth of information about this new world—which the Spanish considered an important state secret—were even known; and even that was hidden and confused by the much larger volume of often-conflicting rumors rendering all of the stories that reached England, unreliable.
Toward the end of dinner, Chas asked about Aztec sports and games—a subject Penny had left out. After describing Ullamaliztli—the great ballgame played between teams of warriors, often in front of large crowds—and the individual throwing game of Totoloque, she told them about Patolli: “It’s a board game, named after the small red beans used as playing pieces. The players roll dice numbered zero to five, or throw five beans with marks on one side, to determine whether and how far their pieces can move on a board with four arms and 52 squares. Bets aren’t simply made on the game; they’re a fundamental part of the game. And the stakes can be high, like Aztec punishments. Each player has to offer six treasures, acceptable to the other player, as bets for the game.”
“What kind of treasures?” Chas asked, fascinated.
“Anything. Money, valuable stones or metals, practical things like blankets or clothing items, even services or total slavery to the other. If you roll a zero, you have to make an offering to Macuilxochitl, the god of games, who the Aztec believe plays in every game with the human players. The offerings to Macuilxochitl go to the winners of each round. Each round lasts until a player has moved all six of her pieces onto, around, and back off the board; and the game ends when either player loses everything.” And with a daring glint in her eye, she hissed for emphasis: “Everything.”
“That sounds fun!” Chas clapped her hands. “I want to play!”
“I’d love that,” Channah responded flirtatiously, winking at Chas and flustering her momentarily.
“Well, I don’t!” Penny protested, sounding as anxious as she looked.
“Oh, come on, Penny—please? I haven’t played any party games in forever!” Chas whined.
Channah rolled her eyes. “Come now, Chas, you know as well as I do that Penny is a dreadful spoilsport.”
Penny looked wounded. “I—I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be, it’s just that—I mean—‘losing everything’… that sounds really bad! And it’s gambling! St. Augustine says the Devil invented gambling!”
“Please!” Channah huffed. “That just goes to show how little the church understands devils. Those pedantic, bureaucratic, bean-counting apparatchiks wouldn’t even gamble with other people’s money.”
Penny looked deflated. “I’m sorry, Domina, I’m not sure he—or I—used the term properly. He meant—”
Their Mistress rolled her eyes. “I knew what he meant, honey. I’m just busting your balls—metaphorically for the moment—for being such a dull and selfish girl.”
“Please, Penny, would you just do it for me?” Chas begged, immediately making Penny feel torn.
“Think about it this way, little Miss Literal: I bought you from your aunt when you were what… nine years old? Literally speaking, you’re my ‘total slave’ already, and you have been for almost half your life. I could order you to do anything, or order you to give me everything you have, any time I’d like. Wouldn’t you rather have some fun with your Domina and sisterwife, and maybe even get a chance to boss me around—”
“Holy cow, I hadn’t even dared to imagine that!” Chas squeaked in surprise, causing Channah to shake her head slightly in amusement before she continued:
“than be little miss gloomy-pants and sit out the game while Chas and I have fun? What do you think you’re going to do while we’re playing?”
“You’re going to order me to do more chores,” Penny deduced despondently. “I thought—”
“You know what? Actually,” Channah raised her finger to stop her. “I wouldn’t,” she announced, sounding surprised at herself. “You know, I really don’t think I would. This is our honeymoon. The three of us are supposed to be bonding, and that’s what we’re going to do, even if you’d rather go pout by yourself.”
“I obviously don’t want to pout!” Penny protested, so exasperated she made every effort not to laugh. And then added hastily: “Domina! Mistress, couldn’t we do something else?”
“Like what?” Chas asked skeptically.
“Our Liege Lady knows so much—I thought we were having a fascinating conversation!”
“Oh. My. Gosh!” Chas howled, clearly pouting. “I’ve been listening to you do that for hours! Can’t we do something I want to do for awhile?”
“There must be something else you’d enjoy—”
“What?”
“Something, I don’t know… safer?”
“We’re married!” Channah objected. “You’re my wife! What are you saying, that you don’t feel safe—” Channah began, then made the mistake of meeting Penny’s narrowed eyes and paused, struggling her very hardest to maintain a neutral expression, before throwing up her hands and dissolving into laughter. Penny couldn’t help herself from laughing, either, but in her case, when the laughter forced itself to the surface, it dragged her hurt and anger into view with it and she laughed with poor grace.
“Penny!” Channah and Chas simultaneously managed to express their genuine shock at the fierce, raw intensity of the feelings on Penny’s face.
“It’s all right, I’ll play!” Penny was hyperventilating and averting her eyes from her companions, uncomfortable with allowing her own feelings out and trying desperately to cut off any discussion of them.
“Penny.” Channah said, quietly, reaching out and taking her girl’s hand. And when Penny instinctively tried to pull back her hand, Channah tightened her grip, managing to combine her usual commanding tone with an undertone of pleading: “Penny, stop!”
Penny jerked, almost pulling away again before she could still herself. “I’ll play, Domina,” Penny whispered, still looking away.
“Penny, look at me,” Channah instructed her softly, gently, waiting patiently until Penny could force her face up, revealing how distraught she was, eyes boiling with passion and tears. “I love you.”
“I know,” Penny blurted, all she could get out.
Softening her expression from concern to compassion and speculation, Channah added: “And you love me.”
“I do,” Penny managed. “I—I do!” And then she fell to her knees between Channah’s, sobbing, allowing Channah to guide her forward until she had crawled between Channah’s legs, and then to pull her head tightly into Channah’s lap and her embrace. “I—I do love you, completely, with every bit of my heart,” Penny confessed. “But—but—you—you’re such an evil fucking bitch!” Penny half-screamed, half-wept into Channah’s skirts, her shoulders heaving. “You treat me so badly. Why do I love you so much? I don’t understand.”
“Because I love you back, sweetie,” she murmured. “And I love that you can’t help loving me no matter how much you try to hate me. Oh Lilith and Cain, that’s the very very best! And because you need someone wicked to love. Someone like me, who truly hungers for your love and adoration. Oh, baby, I can’t get enough of it, especially because you can’t help yourself. I’ve told you your conflicted, tainted love is the sweetest ambrosia there is, to me. And you need to love an evil fucking bitch, Penny, my darling. You do! You need it. I promise you—no matter what you want to pretend, no content little adoring hausfrau will ever do for you, darling. Only an evil fucking bitch will ever do for you, pudding. A wicked goddess like me.” Cradling Penny’s head in one hand, and rocking Penny back and forth between her knees, Channah used her free hand to pull Chas into their embrace, understanding with perfect clarity how badly and how much her other wife needed to be part of this, feeling her, too, start to cry. Channah held them both against her. She was so overcome—the back of her brain only keeping her calm by reminding her, or promising her, this was the Yoke’s doing, not hers, and that the Yoke was necessary to her plans—that she found herself crying and murmuring sweet nothings with them.
“I didn’t break you, Penny. I just broke you to me. You were shattered already—don’t you see? Long before we met. That sweet, fragile, gentle web of cracks down your soul, so slight it was almost invisible, except as a slight opaqueness. Not even you could have seen it back then if you’d had anyone to help you look for it. But you can see it now, can’t you, baby?”
“Yes, Domina!” Penny howled, like a wounded animal, bawling into her lap, held warm and safe between her legs and under her protective arm and her friend. “But it doesn’t make any sense—”
“It does. I promise you, it always does. But you don’t need to understand it, because I showed it to you,” she whispered. “You’re so beautiful and broken… both of you, in your own ways… you have to know… I have to show you the poignant beauty of you. Lover!”
“Do you really love me?” Penny asked, her fear and disbelief plain in her voice. “Really? It’s not just some trick?”
“Yes, of course!” Chas bawled, answering the question whether it was directed to her or not, falling on top of Penny and hugging her around her waist as Channah, surprised, held her breath to let him finish. “I’ve loved you as long as I can remember!”
“And I love you!” Channah promised in turn, meaning it. “Sometimes—sometimes I think I’m crazy. Sometimes I think it’s the Yoke. Well, it has to be the Yoke, to feel this much! But it’s real. I know what I am, and I know what I need. I know I’m a total fucking cunt—”
“No! No, I’m sor—” Penny began.
“Hush your Domina is speaking!” Channah reminded her, laughing wryly. “And believe me, I’m not apologizing, sugar bear. Far from it. But I’m not stupid. I know what I am. Who else could possibly ever love that? And normally I don’t need love. It doesn’t even cross my mind. Or, I didn’t—or, I don’t know. But when I first came across humans—men—so wrecked, so totally destroyed, but still surviving, somehow still going and capable of shattered, fragmented, irrevocably damaged love, so submissive and undemanding and accepting it tastes just like worship—Lilith and Cain it filled up a part of me I didn’t even realize was empty—hadn’t even recognized existed! It’s what a goddess needs, children! Like water! I know, it risks becoming a distraction—a weakness—it’s not what I am! I don’t think men were supposed to be so fragile and yet so resilient that something so demolished could continue to walk and breathe and love a goddess, not really. They’re meant to love women—an equal relationship with their own kind. Not in the yielding, sacrificing, unconditional-surrender way a goddess needs and deserves to be loved. Of course no healthy being, no whole soul, no real man, could love this. Ravana, even fucking Húanglóng …. I would torture them all to death if I could, and they me. But do you imagine I don’t know a mirror when I’m looking in it? Fuuuuuuuuuuckkkk!” She cried intensely to the ceiling before folding her body down and around them both. “But I love being me, I love it–this—adoration—whatever it is, and I love you—you both—sooo much for completing me!”
“I love you I love you I love you so much I do love you…” she heard Penny suddenly whispering, pleading, professing, and at the same time expressing amazement, or even apologizing—whether to herself, or to her conscience, or to God, or even to Channah, only heaven above could say for sure. Penny’s voice was muffled, clasped between Channah’s legs as she was, her face cradled to Channah’s lap; and there were so many things going on at once it took Channah a moment to notice Penny was not just nuzzling her legs and lap, but kissing her down there, as assiduously and repeatedly and with as much abandon as she was professing her love. They were simple kisses, sweet and romantic kisses, but of course they made Channah want something more.
Literature Section “07-32 Spicy Hot Dangerous Eating in Mesoamerica”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 32 of Chapter Seven, “Channah’s Slavegirls: Pawns of the Court of Lust”—4406 words—Accompanying Images: 2146-2153, 2154X—Published 2025-08-11—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, stupid choices, evil, harm, danger, death, mythical creatures, idiots, and criminals. Don’t try, believe, or imitate them or any of it.
