BDSM – Page 12 – The Remainderman (Frank Speech)

06-64 Hella Honeymoon XX

2025-04-162025-04-11 admin

*1599 06-64 Fang bends and twists the helpless girls to her will^*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pleasing Channah

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

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

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

“Which is?” the Duchess prompted them.

“Pleasing Domina?” Penny whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

Literature Section “06-64 Hella Honeymoon XX”—Part 64 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1081 words—Accompanying Images: 1599-1601—Published 2025-04-16—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-63 Hella Honeymoon XIX

2025-04-152025-04-11 admin

*1596 06-63 The powerful, mysterious Duchess Fang^*

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

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

There was absolutely nothing they could do except pray—

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

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

Domina Fang

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Literature Section “06-63 Hella Honeymoon XIX”—Part 63 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1048 words—Accompanying Images: 1596-1598—Published 2025-04-15—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-62 Hella Honeymoon XVIII

2025-04-142025-04-11 admin

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

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

Hard Stop in Chang’an

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“The rawest parts,” Chas finished.

“The most vulnerable,” Penny agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Literature Section “06-62 Hella Honeymoon XVIII”—Part 62 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1079 words—Accompanying Images: 1593-1595—Published 2025-04-14—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-61 Hella Honeymoon XVII

2025-04-132025-04-11 admin

*1589 06-61 What it means to be powerless, vulnerable, and dependent^*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Literature Section “06-61 Hella Honeymoon XVII”—Part 61 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1026 words—Accompanying Images: 1589, 1591-1592—Published 2025-04-13—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-60 Hella Honeymoon XVI

2025-04-122025-04-08 admin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ride and Die

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

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

Literature Section “06-60 Hella Honeymoon XVI”—Part 60 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1166 words—Accompanying Images: 1586-1588—Published 2025-04-12—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-59 Hella Honeymoon XV

2025-04-112025-04-07 admin

*1583 06-59 Learning to Sashay, sashay, sashay^*

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

Debutantes’ Dance

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kiss and Show

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Literature Section “06-59 Hella Honeymoon XV”—Part 59 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1218 words—Accompanying Images: 1583-1585—Published 2025-04-11—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-58 Hella Honeymoon XIV

2025-04-102025-04-07 admin

*1580 06-58 Without Channah colon Sand and Sulfur^*

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

Instead of trying to answer Penny’s question about the Unforgiven in the midst of the clamor, Channah led them to the right, where a golden chariot waited, hitched to a huge red equine beast somewhere about where the chapel would have ended and the entry hall of Fensmere would have begun.

Penny looked over her shoulder for a final glance at Earth, but the unlighted chapel was just a slightly-less-inky spot between the horizon and the near-perfect onyx blackness overhead that may have shimmered a bit, or may simply have been separated from Penny’s eyes by the little grains of sand that appeared to swirl around them but without touching them, matching the flickering torches that whipped unpredictably to one side or another despite the absence of any wind she could feel. She swallowed, catching Channah’s eye as she turned back toward the Chariot, warming slightly when Channah winked and squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Thanking Fury

A soldier in black and red armor stood beside the great red monster at attention, holding his reins. As Channah approached, he snapped his arm out in parade-ground fashion, formally offering her the reins, eyes fixed forward on the horizon.

She accepted without even glancing at him; letting go of the girls’ arms and stepping up to hug and greet her horse, whatever she was murmuring to him lost in the general din. The second she moved away from the girls, hell got worse. Both girls gagged on the sudden, thick smell of brimstone filling the air so heavily it was like a weight bearing down on their lungs, and reeled from the sudden, immediately-irritating barrage of tiny grains of sand striking their skin, and worst of all their eyes, nonstop.

After at least a minute with the horse, Channah turned, laughing at the sight of the girls choking and rubbing their eyes. Pulling the girls’ ears close to her mouth, and thus bringing her halo of sweet, fragrant peace around them again, she yelled over the din: “Curtsy and thank Fury for agreeing to pull your little cart,” by which she presumably meant the heavy gold chariot. “Then follow my lead, staying a few steps behind me.”

They were looking at one another, unsure whether they should take her instruction literally or what else she might mean or even if she was punking them, until she leaned in again and yelled: “He’s almost as old as I am—far senior to you both! And he won’t even take a saddle unless we’re riding into battle, so it’s a great honor he agreed to pull a little cart to cushion your delicate little bottoms!”

With that, she slapped both girls, hard, on their rumps, eliciting a jerk and a squeal from each, which in turn seemed to excite the nearest devils and demons, causing a stir that started with them and then radiated out like a wave of rumor.

The girls could swear the horse snickered, but red-faced, they both curtsied as politely as they could. “Thank you, Mr. Fury, for agreeing to pull our cart for us! We’re ever so grateful, sir!” This time, they were certain the horse at least snorted at them, and moved its head in something that might have been a nod. Uncertain whether they were finished or not, they each curtsied briefly again, blurting less-formal thanks, and scurried after Channah, who by now was walking around the rim of the satanikoklus, looking down on the screaming crowd with her arms spread wide and an almost-but-not-quite beatific smile on her face, as if she were doing them all a favor by giving them collectively a moment’s notice.

Showstopper

And perhaps she was, the girls reflected: The crowd certainly seemed to get more excited when she came close to them. When they caught up, grateful to be back within her protective field of sweet-smelling, sand-free sanity, she smiled at them mischievously and asked: “Let’s try a practice run, shall we, girls?”

“Practice? Practice what?!” they asked fretfully.

“Watch, learn, and imitate!” she replied, before striking off down a black stone runway extending from the satanikoklus, directly into the center of the square—and therefore, of the mob. It formed a narrow peninsula of Unforgiven territory free of demons—well, the lesser sorts of demons that filled the square, anyway—putting her directly in the midst of a sea of them. Although the creatures could not touch the black stone without being scalded, they could lean in and reach over it, their hands so close to Channah’s boots the girls yelped with fright that one of them might catch her.

One thing was obvious: Channah wasn’t just walking. She was sashaying, swinging her perfect hips so they showed on one side, then the other, making the most of her long formal ladies’ dress with its wildly-inappropriate waist-high slits. She was strutting so her demoness’s thigh-high high-heeled boots gleamed red in the torchlight and drew the eye with every dramatic step. And she was flirting, her smile ramping up from mere moonglow to the sun’s brilliant midday beam in this gloomy desert, waving cheerily and cheekily.

When she reached the end of the runway, she turned fetchingly 90 degrees, looking back over her shoulder at the girls and licking her lips with amused delight to catch a miserable, mortified Penny bent over at the waist, adjusting her suddenly-painful cage. She winked, like driving a nail home though Penny’s heart, and laughed, confidently enjoying the effect she was having on every single one of the thousands of admirers that surrounded her on every side.

And that effect was both massive and disruptive, like an earthquake shaking every admirer until their teeth rattled, their legs felt rubbery, and their erogenous zones clamored for attention. All the devils and demons (the overwhelming majority men, but even the women), and of course Penny and Chas themselves, were among that enormous number. Like the sea under the command of the moon, the crowd closest to her compressed even further, and began to swell upwards, the most-crazed trying to clamber onto the shoulders of the merely-desperate in front of them. To all intents and purposes, they seemed a wave, crashing uselessly into the invisible barrier around Channah as if it were a sea wall, before receding as the weight of those on top flattened those below, driving them ba

Literature Section “06-58 Hella Honeymoon XIV”—Part 58 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1066 words—Accompanying Images: 1580-1582—Published 2025-04-10—©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.

Recap

06-43 Grimm Transformations VI: Sexual Sorcery (abridged version)

2025-03-272025-04-02 admin

1532 06-43 Channah addressing her mamalik in her Cairo palace

EXPLICIT VERSION AVAILABLE AT https://patreon.com/TheRemainderman

continued from 06-42[X]

Her bridegirls, on their knees before Channah’s elevated throne, had together placed a fine silver chain around her left ankle, symbolizing her power over them, from which she hung the magical keys to their Svadishthana Cages, as they watched from inches away.

Smirking, she had then leaned forward and secured her second rings around their necks: their Vishudhha Collars. They appeared to be very similar to one another: thick straps of soft white leather decorated with brass studs, each having a brass heart-shaped slave tag with their full name—Chastity and Penance, respectively—on the front, and the legend “Property of Countess Anne Batonnoir, Fensmere Manor” on the back. Chas’s was slightly wider than Penny’s, while Penny’s had a gold chain decorating its lower edge. At the ceremony itself Channah had laughingly declined to explain what the collars did, cautioning only that if they didn’t obey her, they would regret it. But afterwards, while holding Penny in an uncomfortable and embarrassing position beneath her, she had explained this much:

“The Byzantine Mural is yours. I made it, so it will always tie you to me, but it’s yours, defiled to you as part of our wedding ceremony like the anklet and ring you gave me. And to the rest of the world, it’s cheap cast-iron. The leather collar, like Chas’s, is also yours, with the usual powers. What looks like a gold chain, however, is something altogether different. But you knew that, didn’t you?” He nodded quietly, having seen—and felt—the great sapphire set in the heavy gold collar stretching from the upper part of his neck to the tops of his shoulders. “The Yoke and Star of Bethlehem are mine. They are always connected to me, and always in my consciousness. When I call to them, they call back; and they burn like the sun to me no matter how far away from me they are. So I can always find them, and I will always be able to find you. I am dressing you up in my property like a lord dressing his servants in his livery, or a pet owner dressing their pet. The Yoke is as much my property as you are. I am merely storing it around your neck, little girl, and letting it provide magical shelter to you, the same as my hamper offers you your bed when I send you to it. Do you understand?”

“Ye—yes, Domina,” she answered, nodding earnestly and nervous lest Channah might suddenly pinch or throttle or otherwise assault her with her hands. “I understand. Thank you, Domina, for lending me your shelter.”

“Good answer, girl. This,” she flicked the brass heart engraved with her name, “Cheap brass, is yours. Entertainment. Obviously not a part of my masterpiece. Like the mural, like all my magic, my collar conceals itself to all but my courtiers. But by my command, the secrecy of the collar goes further. It can only be seen for what it is, by the five of us: me, my two most loyal Duchesses Miryam and Rivqah, the metalsmith who forged it, and you—the person who has the most to lose by revealing its existence to anyone. Others will see it as just another service collar, when they expect to see you collared—probably, when I or one of my servants has you on a leash. And they will see it as a girl’s choker, or even a tight necklace, when they don’t expect you to be collared. Fortunately, your neck is feminine enough there’s no need for it to cover your Adam’s Apple, so I don’t need to worry about that.

“The Yoke will not protect you, or any part of you, from harm by misadventure. You can be hurt or killed like anyone else. If someone outside my Court, or even outside the five of us, were to learn about it or get the idea whatever they see around your neck is valuable, say, from you—can you imagine how quickly they would turn on you for the most-precious stone in Christendom?” She smiled with satisfaction, seeing she had understood the moment she was collared. “And like your chastity, it can’t be removed by natural means or by other people. Only supernatural means, by me.” She shrugged. “Or, since it doesn’t protect you, of course, by anyone on the planet willing to saw your head off. So, I think you understand how very, very vital it is that no one ever get any idea of what you’re wearing?” He nodded urgently, but silently. “Good. If I were you, I would also stay very close to my protectress. The one person powerful enough to protect you if word of what’s around your neck were to get out. The one person who can remove the collar without removing your head, and who actually finds you useful enough to lend her collar to.”

“Yes, Domina, thank you, Domina,” he dared to answer.

“It will prevent aging, and provide you safety from disease, infirmity, and the ravage of time, for as long as you’re useful enough to me to let you keep it. Meaning your clean, tight, hairless skin will remain as vibrant and beautiful in a dozen years, even a hundred if you’re useful enough to me that I want to keep you in it that long, instead of moving it to a more-useful courtier. Meaning you can remain as part of my court on Earth, as long my Ladies’ Maids. Even as long as me. IF you make sure to remain useful. IF you apply yourself to every task I set you, for me. IF you use your skills to serve my court.” She snickered. “So naïve, I can see you’re still as angry with me as you are fearful. Doubtless you’re telling yourself you’d rather be free than immortal. But I’m patient. Sometime—not long from now, even in human terms—you’ll find you’ve become accustomed to the idea of living forever, even as a eunuch who suffers for his Domina. And you won’t ever want to take it off. I know you’ll want to remove the Byzantine Mural—of course, who wouldn’t? But not this. Eventually, you’ll do whatever I say to keep it on. Eventually, you’ll do whatever it takes, no matter how repugnant or vile the task, to keep it. Eventually, my Court and the other denizens of hell will be your only peers, because you will have outlived everyone and everything you know in this world.” He shivered involuntarily at the thought. “And then, little girl, you will be my perfect little pawn. Allll mine.”

In exchange for her collars marking them to the world as her owned wives, the girls had knelt before her again and each given her a silver ring—actually a fine chain, soft and accommodating as they were expected to be—and placed it on a toe of their Domina’s left foot, symbolizing her superiority to them.

Their third exchange was in some ways the most intimate: As they continued kneeling before her, heads bowed, each of them offered her a tiny silver-mesh globe like a miniature tea-infuser, as she cut a lock of each of their hair, enclosing it in the silver-mesh globe and hanging each girl’s egg from her waist chain, where they joined 34 others, each given to her by a previous sisterwife, and each of which, by giving her a part of their flesh, gave her the power to ensorcell them at any time or distance. In exchange, she presented them with their Muladhara Twisters, or Intimates: the special tools of behavior- and body-modification unique to them, that only she or—with her permission, as part of their play group—her friends would ever use on them, and that would only ever be used on each of them. The first was a long, wicked, black wooden paddle, the black sticks upon which she had based their human surname. Chas’s was engraved, “Chastity’s Lover Boy,” and Penny’s “Penance’s Bull Daddy,” prompting a round of guffaws and jeering comments from the assembled succubae, incubi, damned, and operatives watching the proceedings. She also produced mysterious, elongated, jewel-encrusted gold ornaments—Chas’s diamond-studded, Penny’s ruby-studded.

For the breaking phase, rather than breaking a glass, while the girls were held down on the floor, Channah trampled them. When Penny passed out from the pain, Channah rolled her eyes with a snort of disgust and sent her bridegirls to bed—that bed being her dirty-clothing hamper, which had to be forced closed by the men who escorted them there, for it be latched shut with the two of them crammed in it on top of her dirty laundry.

Channah and her Court then celebrated together all night long. The next morning, and for most of the remaining two days and nights of the hazing, Channah put her housegifts through the Seven Indignities. These began by familiarizing them quite intimately with their Intimates as she gave each girl a paddling.

By the end, she had reduced them to the most pathetic kinds of broken, simpering sissy sisterwives. And the Star and Yoke of Bethlehem had begun to manifest their power, with intended and side effects alike. Not the least of which, Channah suspected, was how it had permitted her to really feel, for the first time, the submissive joy of releasing all control. And which she blamed for gentle Penny’s sudden, shocking, and thoroughly discombobulating outburst from his knees before her, in the final moments of their ceremony, that he loved her.

PART 6 OF STORY RECAP

Literature Section “06-43[X] Grimm Transformations VI: Sexual Sorcery”—Accompanying Images: 1532-1534. Abridged 1593 words::Explicit 1917 words—©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.

Recap

06-42 Grimm Transformations V: Broken Sissies (abridged version)

2025-03-262025-04-02 admin

1519 06-42 Channah’s Vishkanya in Karnata Vijayanagara kneel to their goddess^

EXPLICIT VERSION AVAILABLE AT https://patreon.com/TheRemainderman

The hothouse flowers who did not show themselves suitable, by aptitude or preference, for roles as mamluks, became something else. Those obviously unfit as mamluks, like Chas and Penny, were groomed for something else from the beginning. Those who had been offered, but failed, their test as mamluks, like Frances, were given the opportunity to accept this alternative station, although few of them could bring themselves to accept such a disgraceful alternative.

For six days and nights after Penny’s eighteenth birthday, years of careful preparation and planning were brought to fruition as Penny and Chas were guilted, punished, trained, seduced, subjugated, intimidated, cajoled, drugged, teased, confused, gaslit, sleep-deprived, tormented, and broken to the ultimate will of the succubae. If not perfected—every soul on Earth remained a work in progress as long as it lived, such was the meaning of Earth—the girls were reincarnated, or evolved, into the advanced form the succubae desired them to assume.

In human languages—which were all the succubae had—there were no names for precisely what they were being broken to. And certainly, the girls’ succubus and human minders had avoided suggesting any. Had they been biological females, in England, “second-class wives with a bit of indentured servant thrown in” would not have been too far off the mark. (And some particularly-cynical women might have been heard to respond: “oh, an ordinary wife, then.”) But the truth was, if they behaved themselves after their hazing was complete, Penny and Chas had every chance of being treated better than many wives in England; and would certainly continue to enjoy a higher material standard of living. Indeed, the Countess fully expected and intended to preserve their loyalty without the help of the human secular and religious authorities and traditions that supported husbands and buttressed the institution of marriage against unhappy wives of humans.

In Channah’s most-ancient palace in Cairo, and her primary Western palace in Constantinople, two cities where Channah had spent a plurality of her long life, the hucows had a word for female sex slaves of males that in the time of the Abbasids, correctly described the female operatives in this group: jawari (in the singular, jariya)—slaves for entertainments and pleasures. The succubae, being intrinsically female masters, with overwhelmingly male slaves, extended the term to describe all sex-and-pleasure slaves of all masters. As with the mamluks, her operatives sometimes used local words, especially in cultures outside or resistant to the Muslim world, to label themselves—kunoichi in Japan, vishkanya in India, hetaira, in Greece, with varying degrees of accuracy.

Queen Channah and three of her Ladies of Court—Duchess Miryam (posing in human form as her Lady’s Maid Mary), Duchess Rivqah (her Lady’s Maid Rebecca), and Sultana Mayaam (adopting incubus form as necessary to play the role of Obedience, a model sisterwife to Chas and Penny) took turns and cooperated, with the assistance of all of their retainers at Fensmere Manor, to maintain the unrelenting pressure on Penny and Chas for 144 straight hours. Because the succubae could reach the girls even in their dreams, their only independence in that time was for those few, minimal hours of dreamless sleep they needed to stay alive.

The succubae had been training and enslaving humans—and Queen Channah had been married to her primary (“Di,” or “Great Royal”) husband, Húanglóng—for millennia. He had taken countless humans as his secondary (“Shu,” or “Royal”) sisterwives during his limited time on Earth. Yet in all her time here, more than 250 generations, training tens or even hundreds of thousands of jawari, Channah had taken only 34. Partly because there were few enough reasons to want them besides pregnancy, which held little enough appeal for her. Channah had tried unsuccessfully to conceive with two of her wives, borne 9 children by 9 of the others, and gleefully kept the other 23 of her wives in chastity for the rest of their mortal lives while using and teasing them mercilessly.

As the culmination of their 144-hour hazing, she had taken both of these girls as her wives—Chas as her 35^th, and Penny moments later as her 36^th—in a relationship as thoroughly unequal as its human counterparts, if more explicitly so, and with the biological sexes reversed. By the wedding rites of the succubae, she had yoked them to her will, spiritually and magically, becoming their Domina (head of household), while making them her sisterwives (housegifts). She’d actually never had two sisterwives at the same time before; but the term was used, whether they had sisters or not, to reinforce her greater importance and superiority while diminishing them, suggesting they were fungible, and implying they would be expected to cooperate or bond in any manner she preferred, rather than acting as if they had personal agency or were in competition with one another. Let alone with her husband.

They were married in what had been the Defalaises’ private chapel at Fensmere, now desecrated into a satanikoklus, the hellish analog to a church or temple. In the satanikoklus, the shroud between Earth and Hell was thin and porous. From the moment Penny had been brought there, she had seen, heard, smelled, and felt the hot, humid air and burning red sandscape of the Hell of Lust all around her, recognizing it for what it was, and the succubae and incubi and damned there, for exactly what they were. It was a thing not many living humans could see, her clearer sight a reflection of both her intelligence and her sensitivity.

The succubaean ceremony itself was ancient, its eight elements familiar or at least recognizable to most humans, comprising indenture (betrothal), veiling, invocation, exchange, cursing (blessing), indignity (affirmation), breaking (celebration), and seclusion (honeymoon). Of course, it was the sisterwife who was veiled, and then tested. The vows and rings they had exchanged were unequal, befitting their new positions: Pledging to take her sisterwives in hand and dominate them, Channah had used her deceptively cute fingers and wicked-long fingernails to chastise them with her Svadhishthana Cages, Persian Gate for Chas, Byzantine Mural for Penny.

And as she did so, she had explained, condescendingly and embarrassingly, that as a succubus, she lived primarily off the virility and vitality of men, by drawing it from them and devouring it. Whereas she had chosen them as ideal consorts precisely because they were not virile or manly to start with, and by chastising them she had rendered them as harmless and impotent as empty bladders. “As long as you wear my cage, your virtue is safe.” As she had explained more precisely to their mamluk foster brothers and longtime bullies when they celebrated with her, penetration was the real risk. If they penetrated any part of a succubus’s body, it sapped the man’s vitality. The body had a certain resiliency, of course; and could largely recover from limited contact with a succubus, although even a single encounter could result in feelings of lethargy for hours or even days. But burn the candle any faster than that, and their life would drain away, swiftly and unrecoverably, even as the succubus’s victim thanked his lucky stars for her, one moment of bliss at a time. “Which is why your Svadhishthana Cages will likely never, ever come off during your lifetimes.” She mock-pouted at them: “I have to protect you, my sweet darlings!”

Laughing at how uncomfortable and scared they already looked, she twisted the knife even harder. She had done this to so many biological males, in so many conservative, judgmental societies, they had no chance to avoid her manipulations. Their cages, she noted, would also perform one of the succubae’s favorite tricks, showing their partners whatever sex they expected the girls to have—and helping their partners act in a manner that confirmed and reinforced their expectations into convictions. Giggling at their expressions, now of terror and horror, she explained how important that made it for her to choose pretty, slight, effeminate, and convincing girls like Chas and Penny to train as her jawari in the first place.

“The Mural is a crown of walls, and the Gate is a mountain pass. This ring,” she lied evilly, “is a clever design of my own that destroys the testes slowly. And until they’re completely gone, my victim lives in an agony of arousal.” She chortled, loving their fear and sorrow as her broken males, and let them know in a sing-songy voice ending in a cackle, that that was as much as she was prepared to tell them about the metal devices she had locked around their most-vulnerable and -important boy parts. They would simply have to wait and see what other effects they might have.

Poor Penny had already discovered one power her Byzantine Mural had, that Chas’s Persian Gate apparently did not. It had happened the first time Penny had been used and teased and ignored until she was out of her mind, and every time thereafter she had been brought to that state. The succubae had been doing everything possible to simultaneously shame and excite her while locked. At the crucial moment, it had whisked her joy away and transferred it to Channah and her other partners, multiplying their pleasures and leaving Penny in a state of desperation, longing, sorrow, and misery. As long as the ring was on, her partners—no matter who they were—would enjoy the force of her pleasure on top of their own, while Penny would feel only the bitter disappointment and the eventual ache of losing out on one of the most pleasant experiences in this world. She had cried out and wept, bitter-astringent tears, every time the Mural had taken her joy during the ceremony.

PART 5 OF STORY RECAP

Literature Section “06-42 Grimm Transformations VI: Broken Sissies”—Accompanying Images: 1519, 1521, 1523, 1525, 1527, 1529. Abridged 1619 words::Explicit 1697 words—©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.

Tag: BDSM

Pleasing Channah

Domina Fang

Hard Stop in Chang’an

Ride and Die

Debutantes’ Dance

Kiss and Show

Thanking Fury

Showstopper