Tag: betamale

1856 06-104 Coven observing Channah and Penny through shield
1857 06-104 Coven opening shield
1858 06-104 Triggering Chastity
1859 06-104 Chastity’s Fate

Explicit version containing phallic, oralsex, analingus, and penetration themes at 06-104 Triggering Chastity at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Chas is shackled by her ankles with her wrists shackled behind her, blindfolded, and gagged, with her ears plugged.  Esmeray is shackled by the ankles overlooking the sea of devils and demons, restrained from falling down into the chasm they inhabit, only by a waist-high guard rail; while Hong holds her gently from behind, holding hands with her arms around Esmeray.  They are surprised by a new arrival.  NOW:

“Your Grace!” Hong gushed, releasing Esmeray, turning, and curtsying in a single fluid motion, matching the position already assumed by her four jawari. 

Esmeray, distracted by the physically stunning succubus in front of her and with no real good alternatives, settled for squatting where she stood, holding the top rail to keep her balance and help her pull back up to a standing position.  Having grown up in Ottoman Constantinople, unlike many Europeans, Esmeray had met plenty of black women in her life.  But none like this one.  She was well over six feet tall, voluptuous, and musclebound from head to toe with beautiful midnight-black skin, long thick braided hair, an intelligent, resolute face, and a determined expression that would deter anyone but a fool from wasting her time with nonsense.  She wore a light brown dress with white and dark brown geometric patterns Esmeray had never seen before, heavy brown almost masculine boots—perhaps because no boots made for normal women would have fit on her feet—and carried a large, heavy-looking canvas bag as if it were filled with air.

When she spoke, it was with a charming, musical accent almost at odds with her deep alto voice:  “Hong, always a pleasure.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Hong blushed, pleased.

“These are yours?” she asked, gesturing to her jawari.

“Yes, Your Grace.  Th—”

“And who is this?” she gestured towards the shackled woman.

“Hanim Esmeray Azlynn,” Hong answered immediately, startling Esmeray with her knowledge of Esmeray’s second name.  “Her Majesty’s Qahramanah.”

“Ah,” the woman nodded significantly, with the faintest hint of a smile.  “That makes more sense, then.”  Turning to Esmeray, she continued:  “The Queen told us you were wild.  Well,” she shrugged, with just enough of a hint of embarrassment to soften the statement, “I think ‘crazy’ may have been the actual language.  But I admit I didn’t expect to find a Qahramanah chained up.  That’s fairly atypical.”

“It’s her first day, Your Grace,” Hong explained smoothly, a fact for which the embarrassed Esmeray was glad on this one occasion.  “And she was faced with a… challenging situation.  It did not seem to be punishment, only correction,” Hong clarified.

“You look calm enough,” the woman opined, looking her up and down.  “Are you going to give me any trouble, or are you ready to be unchained?  We have a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it.”

Esmeray expected the last thing she would be inclined to do with a woman of this one’s stature, is make trouble.  And in the unlikely event she did, it would be carefully-planned, from behind, and heavily-armed.  Not shackled to a ledge.  “I’m recovered Your Grace,” she followed Hong’s lead.  “Thank you.”

“You can release her,” she addressed Hong again.  “Is this one—” she gestured at the naked young jariya shackled, bound, blindfolded, earplugged, and bent over the rail beside Esmeray “The English jariya called Chastity?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good.  You—” she tossed a jar of olive oil to one of Hong’s girls.  “Prepare her.”

“Immediately, Your Grace,” she answered, quickly and unceremoniously moving to the helplessly-bound girl as they all watched—who wouldn’t have?—Hongan raise the bottle and artfully hold it a foot or so over Chastity’s back, so that when she began to pour, it came down directly on her coccyx with a force they all could immediately imagine, would feel like a stream of water to Chas, who jerked in surprise, and then tugged, reflexively and quite uselessly, from side to side as if trying to escape both the stream and her bonds.  The oil then followed gravity downhill, causing Chas to shiver, before dripping from the lowest point of her to the floor.

The woman laughed harshly.  “Good.  Hong, you have trained your bitches well.”

“Thank you, Duchess Kadidia,” she answered, using the opportunity to communicate the woman’s name and rank to Esmeray.

“Commendable artistry.  Thank you for reminding me of its benefits.  I was very—in an overly goal-oriented mood.  There’s not much time, but there’s enough for pleasure.”  Hongan blushed and curtsied cutely before Kadidia.  “Girls, while your Qahramanah releases Esmeray, I want the four of you to overstimulate our bad girl so she doesn’t feel neglected.  Use your four tongues and all forty of your fingers to lead her into distraction.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” they answered as one.  Hongjiao and Honghua dropped to their knees on either side of Hongan while Hongzhi, her greater original distance from Chas making her like the runt of a litter, spread her legs to stand on either side of the other girls and leaned forward over them.

Kadidia frowned as if making an artistic evaluation, trying not to laugh.  “Hmm… there’s not a lot of room there, is there?  You two on the sides can each keep one arm behind your sister.”

“Yws msh Kdd,” they murmured.  Hongan had ducked down, running her hands lightly along Chas’s calves and feet.  Hongjiao and Hongua dipped their hands in the oil before snaking them around her hips to play with her.  And Hongzhi used her hands to smear oil all over Chas’s back and shoulders.

Hong hissed with interest while Esmeray swallowed, looking down with all the judgment of a nun.  “It is pretty,” Kadidia concurred, setting her bag down, squatting beside it, and removing two brown leather harnesses from it.  Rooting deeper in her bag, she produced a small but elaborately-decorated wooden box, which Hong recognized as the last of her Domina’s wedding gifts to Channah.  Standing up, Kadidia opened the box, which contained two objects:  One a pair of golden tongs, the other both ordinary and extraordinary at once.  Ordinary, if suggestive, enough in unmistakable shape.  Extraordinary in its composition, which neither of the curious women really recognized or understood:  a deep, perfect black that absorbed light around it so perfectly no surface was even discernable.  Yet surely it must have one?

Using the tongs carefully but confidently to grip the base of the rounded tube, she set the box aside and asked Hong:  “Who’s the one standing?” 

“Hongzhi, Your Grace.”

“Hongzhi, please get the bottle of olive oil.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You other girls—as much as I’d enjoy seeing olive oil splashed over you—” they laughed coyly up at her, awaiting her command.  “I need two of you to lean forward, using the railing as leverage, and take hold of Chastity’s shoulders.  In just a moment her legs are going to give out, and I don’t want the weight of her body to wrench her shoulders.”  The girls nervously nodded, doing as they were bidden.  “Yes, Your Grace.”

“As soon as she falls, the four of you are to release her and lay her on her back with her hands above her head… there,” Duchess Kadidia pointed to a spot on the platform near where they had left Channah and Penance, but was now hidden by a thick, unnatural blackish-gray cloud of swirling smoke surrounded by ten succubae and one incubus. 

Hong gasped, amazed she hadn’t felt anything as the coven members arrived, and realizing just how charged with passion, agony, and energy the air around them had become to mask the disruptions their arrivals must have caused.

Kadidia was cautioning them:  “Once this begins, do not talk to me except in extreme emergency.  Stay close to us, but do not cause any distractions.  I will need to concentrate on Chastity.” Stepping forward and holding the object close to Chastity, she nodded at Hongzhi:  “Pour more oil.  Don’t be stingy, that’s right.  And now the tripper,” she indicated the daggerlike blade with her free hand.  When it was coated, the thick oil giving it a surface to shine and reflect the light of the torches as long as it clung to it, she lined it up and pushed it forward, its touch causing Chastity, to stiffen in surprise before slumping, dead weight, as Kadidia had warned she would.

Literature Section “06-104[X] Triggering Chastity”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 104 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1330 words::Explicit 1415 words—Accompanying Images:  1856-1859—Published 2025-06-01—©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.

1852 06-103 I love you! f you love me, you’ll be a good little white rabbit
1853 06-103 Good white rabbits stay in their cages
1854 06-103 You DO want to be my good little white rabbit, don’t you?  Un-huh, yes, ma’am
1855 06-103 You want me in THERE? Alice giggled.  I’ll barely fit!

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, chastity themes at 06-103X Consent Violations at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah and Penny have just had the experience of a lifetime, more than either of them could ever have imagined, touched with magical forces neither of them fully comprehends.  Penny is still lost in a daze.  Channah is consumed with a desire for more and cannot bring herself to let it end.  NOW:

Always grateful for her existence—once as an angel, now as a succubus—Channah loved herself, and her life, without suffering from either humility or disappointment.  And the combined flavors in her mouth—first, of the top drop, almost hangover-like in its intensity following the burning out of every single one of her nerves; and second, the crestfallen woe of being separated from Penny, were as unacceptable as they were unfamiliar.  Refusing to accept the intolerable situation, she did something she could not recall ever having done before, simply because she had never felt the need to:  She capitalized on her nature by using her powers to feed her own heat, feeling the low, struggling flame within her ripple dangerously before bursting into a full raging inferno.  Penny groggily began moving her head back and forth, her human body so much more shredded than Channah’s by the forces that had ripped through them, she needed more time and heat to come back.

Frantic for Penny’s consciousness to come back to her, and irrationally irritated with Penny for not responding faster than her species was capable of, Channah saw the girl’s soft, sticky little pastry curled between her legs, as delicious and unthreatening as a snail cooked in butter, and decided on a wicked plan to interest her and punish Penny for—whatever it was she wanted to punish for.  Promptly, considering it only from the lens of her own desire without even considering any negatives or what Penny would feel beyond what Channah wanted her to feel, Channah converted her intentions into action, snatching up Penny’s cage from where she had tossed it aside and locking it again.

Then Channah resumed her undulating motion, rolling her hips against Penny’s.  Her supernatural energy pulsed through both of them like an electrical current, even as Penny’s twister pulsed and squeezed, animated by Channah’s will to resume what it had been doing before, enveloping them in a pulsing rhythm more intense than nature could have achieved unaided.

Channah groaned before Penny was even back present with her, aroused to a fury by Penny’s tight little booty, and her peaceful feminine features. 

Penny’s peaceful feminine features…

Something about the phrase tugged at Channah’s mind until she gasped in amazement, incredulous at how long it had taken her to get past her own shell shock to register the obvious.

And just as Penny shook her head, blinking rapidly and focusing on Channah with a dreamy, loving, seductive smile that made Channah’s heart jump in her chest, Channah proclaimed, as genuinely as any pathetic human punter: 

“Penny!  I knew it!  I’m so happy!  You’re beautiful!!!  I’m so happy!  You did it!  And you’re MINE!!!”  She picked up Penny’s hands and laid them gently on her girl’s firm round breasts, urging her to feel them and marvel, praising Penny’s beauty and femineity, doing everything she could to help Penny assent to what had just happened to her.  Penny had to accept it, her new body and appearance, at a minimum—she must!  And ideally she would see the beauty and opportunity in it, which would turn Channah on even more, and would certainly improve Penny’s life and disposition from this point forward.

Penny gasped, looked shocked, and then turned fiercely, brightly, practically a luminescent red, her hands moving gently and automatically over her own breasts and nipples, hyperventilating again and squeaking:  “I turned into a girl!”

Channah wolf-whistled, aroused by her own magic but even more, she knew, by Penny’s distinctive, innocent speech and way of speaking, even as she embarrassed Penny and the Coven members laughed and applauded, understanding the importance of Penny’s acceptance and doing all they could to encourage it.  At the same time, they distracted Penny and drew her attention to them and caused her to squeak again, covering her new breasts with her hands.  At the same moment, both to control and distract Penny, and to satisfy her own soul if she had one, Channah rose up onto her feet, using her weight as leverage to kiss her girl forcefully again.

For a moment, Channah could see, Penny’s mind wanted to resist the swirling storm of natural and supernatural (and perhaps even unnatural) emotion around her and within her.  The Penny she had always been, wanted to cover herself, no matter the feelings roaring and raging through her, her eyes rolling around wildly in their sockets like those of a panicked horse, taking in the sights around her.  Miryam, Rivqah, Judah, Fang, and the other eight members of the Coven watched them with hungry, desiring, rapacious eyes and the tense posture of predators aroused by the sight of their alpha feeding on desirable prey, hopeful despite themselves and imagining taking their own turns.  Esmeray and Hong watched too, with their five blindfolded, bound jawari kneeling before them, Hong coolly appraising and evaluating with, Penny might imagine, just a hint of contempt in her eyes; and  Esmeray fierce and attentive, eyes darting everywhere, with the attitude of a parrot whose feathers have been ruffled reclaiming her dignity, half as unsighted to Channah and Penny in this moment as the blinded jawari before her.

With an incoherent noise of anxiety and alarm, Penny started to flail; but determined to make this moment last, and recover her equilibrium by fucking Penny again, Channah shook her head commandingly and murmured “hunh-unh!”, all with her mouth pressed against Penny’s.  Grabbing her girl’s hands, Channah pulled them up and set them to hold the back of Penny’s ankles, helping Channah pull on her own legs.  Channah shivered with delight at the way the sensations she was delivering overwhelmed her little girl, her eyes bulging.  Channah felt happy in her current, odd mood, even knowing her own magic was affecting her and, she realized (a much more serious risk, in her mind) trusting Penny—or herself with Penny—to let her guard down enough to allow herself to be affected by magic.

Literature Section “06-103[X] Consent Violations”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 103 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 993 words::Explicit 1247 words—Accompanying Images:  1852-1855—Published 2025-05-30—©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.

1848 06-102 My girls are trained to obey
1849 06-102 I can make my little bitches do whatever you want!
1850 06-102 Doubloons!  Doubloons!  (traditional Mardi Gras plea for gifts)
1851 06-102 Bitches are throwing holy water now!  RUN!

PREVIOUSLY:  Esmeray is shackled by the ankles overlooking the sea of devils and demons, restrained from falling down into the chasm they inhabit, only by a waist-high guard rail.  Hong is knowingly pushing the touch-shy Esmeray’s boundaries by holding her hands and pressing up against her back.  NOW:

“Can you abide… more?”  Hong whispered, a beat before shuffling even closer, slowly guiding—too gently to call it ‘pushing’—Esmeray’s hands forward and in front of her, and resting her head against the side of Esmeray’s, with her chin on Esmeray’s shoulder.  A bit taller, as she was a bit older, the two women fit well where they were, Hong on the platform and Esmeray on the bar her ankles were shackled to.

Hong settled softly into the embrace.  If she had wanted to clasp her own hands around the front of Esmeray, they were close enough to one another to do so; but she accepted Esmeray’s hands, holding hers almost like mittens, accepting the limitations Esmeray put on her.

“Are you matching my breathing?!” Esmeray asked suddenly, stiffening again.

But Hong laughed, softly and unthreateningly.  “Very good!  I am.  It’s a relaxation technique.”  And before Esmeray could go down that avenue any further, she began to explain:  “The damned, you probably know from your human religion—do you have one?”

“I’m… familiar with Islam.  Less so with Christianity.”

“The damned are in hell to suffer.  Their suffering is constant, unending, and unrelieved here.  Each of the demon races of hell are especially attuned to one human weakness, and expert in exploiting it.  For the succubae…”

“Lust,” Esmeray said, her voice as stiff and wooden as her posture. 

“Yes.  And when I say ‘succubae,’ you understand the term may also usually include incubi.  She gently moved her arms more tightly around Esmeray.  “If women bother you—try to ignore me,” she whispered softly.  “This means nothing to me, and I will be content if I can help it mean nothing to you.  Concentrate on breathing, slowly and regularly.”

Esmeray wanted to tell her it already meant nothing to her, but although she had learned to lie—with great facility—to survive, it still wasn’t in her nature to prefer it, or even adopt it unconsciously or unnecessarily.  It was a tool, not a rush.  And she teetered on the edge of too many precipices she couldn’t quite bring herself to look over, to seek mendacity in the things she could allow herself to experience.  So she said nothing, but instead, dubiously tried to breathe more slowly, fighting and overriding her own irritation at a suggestion that felt patronizing to her, but perhaps was not.

“Yes. The damned brought here by the direct intervention of the succubae—consorting within dreams, or in person; penetrating the succubus if male, being penetrated by it if female—often enough or intensely enough to be husked, are the red devils.  They are enslaved for all eternity to the succubae who seduced them.  If the succubus—or incubus, or if they were seduced by more than one succubae, any one of the succubae who seduced them—is in hell, they sense them and are drawn inexorably towards them.  The crowd here are probably all Fang’s, although they can get confused… their minds are not… reasonable the way ours are.  More instinctual and stupid.  Can you guess why?”

“Because they’re brainless morons, driven by their stupid dicks like all men,” Esmeray guessed.

Hong giggled.  “Essentially correct—they chose to surrender their reason and their souls to lust in life, and so they remain here, bereft of the former and enslaved to the latter.”

“And when their master is on Earth?”

“Lost.  Although they tend to stay where they are, or if they have the instinct to remember it, to collect where their slaver was last located in hell.  Doubtless legions of Channah’s conquests are shuffling and slavering their way towards us from every corner of hell right now.”  Hong, having a mean streak of her own, giggled again at the thought.  “When Channah returns here with her girls after her honeymoon, many of the devils who were within a week’s walk will have finally joined Fang’s in attendance here.”

“And the soldiers?  And you?  Are you… dead?”  Esmeray asked, her voice barely even rising in discomfort and willfully trying to ignore it as Hong repositioned her feet, so now her legs were pressing against Esmeray’s.

“In order—yes, the soldiers, my ladies’ maid (who you met at the brothel door), and the other denizens of hell who retain their human form here, are dead and damned.  But unlike their red counterparts, they were not husked in life. They were either damned by their own lust for, or fornication with, other Earth creatures; or they sinned in life at the behest, seduction, or command of succubae.”

“You’re talking about operatives.”  It was a flat statement, not a question.

Hong laughed softly.  “I think so.  Does that bother you?”

“I was born bad,” Esmeray whispered.  “I knew where I was headed before the succubae took me in.”

“Although the succubae are a bit cagey about it, they do consistently claim we have free will as long as we are alive.”

“And I’ve always exercised mine to be evil,” Esmeray growled.  “But that doesn’t mean I want to dwell on it.”

“Right you are,” Hong conceded, moving along.  “But no, the qahramanat, the jawari, and the mamalik—everyone with an operative’s job, is an operative.  A living soul, trained to serve the succubae on Earth, since unlike the succubae, none of their dead servants can leave hell.  I, and all my little boy-girls, are alive.”

“You serve her on Earth… but you’re in hell?”

“Like you.  Visiting.  For this.”  And Esmeray knew she meant the hetaraslakos, and… whatever it was that was going on here.  Before she could ask, Esmeray explained:  “Hell is a place of banishment and suffering.  Those are the only reasons it exists.  I don’t know if there’s… science, or magic, or simply the corrupted or complete absence of Dao—what you would call God—behind it.  The succubae are very cagey about it all.  But the way I can understand it, is that each hell exists to torture; and thus torture is the essence of each hell, its sustaining force—it’s fuel.  In this, the Hell of Lust, punishing the lusty for their lust gives this place, and its masters the succubae, their purpose, and therefore their power.  Every measure of a succubus is taken and given by the amount of misery they can twist from lust.”

Esmeray gasped with understanding.  “And somehow… this place intensifies what we do here, and what we do here… tortures the damned!”

“Yesss!”  Hong nodded, pleased with her student.  “Here, we enjoy everything they want most, the things their entire existence has been reduced to by their worldly surrender to lust, but can never, never, ever have again.”

“We’re whores,” Esmeray concluded bitterly.  “Dancing-girl whores.  I think I may be dead and damned, whether you are or not.”

Hong laughed gaily.  “Please!  We’re qahramanat—madames, circus lion-tamers, dominatrices, whatever you want to call us.  We may be part of the entertainment, but we’re not the ones putting out.  The jawari are the whores.  Remember, the purpose of whores—pornoi—is to serve men’s lust.  On Earth, that is physical, and women can do it despite their indifference.  In Hell, it is spiritual:  the devils—all, or virtually all, male at the castles of huskers like Channah and Fang—are reacting not to our female bodies, but to the amount of lust—that’s their desire, not their satisfaction—that we can wring out of our poor little boybitches.  We magnify the devils’ agony by magnifying the lust they can sense but never slake.”

“I understand,” Esmeray sounded surprised.  “But it still doesn’t explain why Channah chose          me as one of these—” she struggled and accepted the least-objectionable of Hong’s analogies “—lion-tamers.  Unless her real purpose is to humiliate us.”

“I didn’t mean to bury the lead.  The damned exist here to be tortured.  The only thing they are capable of in hell, is suffering.  They are more than their suffering, but suffering is the only action they can take here.  They respond to lust, and they respond to cruelty.  That’s why I’m good at my work:  I like sex, and I like torturing helpless little bitchboys who are stupid enough to let me know they crave me.  The jawari of the succubae, mmm…” Esmeray could feel her smile, imagine her closing her eyes as she reveled in her thoughts.  “They’re raised for this.  Like veal calves, or hothouse flowers.  Their lust, and their agony—physical but especially mental—interact to magnify the suffering of the devils, and thus the amount of power they send back.  Our purpose is not to sate the lust of our jawari, but to magnify, thwart, twist, and whip it into a frenzy of suffering beyond all reason.”

“And so the devils react to me…”

“Ohh, girl… I’m still working that out.  I’m not sure even the succubae understand it fully yet.  I suspect you’re an experiment.  But I think it’s the utter contempt, loathing, and hatred you feel for men, and our boys, especially when they become aroused.  I can feel it… I’m sure the devils do, too.  And you hate the devils directly, too, because you hate their lust.  It may be your hatred for your jawari and the devils, combined with their lust for you, that is setting the damned on fire.”  She shook her head, as if to clear it.  “If Channah brought you here to punish you, I assure you it is only because somehow by punishing you, she punishes the devils and extracts more power from them.”

At that very moment, Hong’s jawari chorused as one:  “Your Grace!”

And when Esmeray looked back over her shoulder, she saw the largest and strongest woman she had ever seen or even heard of.                                                                                                                 

Literature Section “06-102 The Lust and Misery of the Damned”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 102 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1623 words—Accompanying Images:  1848-1851—Published 2025-05-29 [slipped to 12:44am 05-30]—©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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pandemonium extremis maximus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1836 06-99 Penny cannot believe the words coming out of her own mouth
1837 06-99 Penny begs for things she couldn’t have imagined

1838 06-99 Penny waits desperately for Domina’s decision
1839 06-99 I’ll do ANYTHING Domina

Explicit version containing penis, size, analpenetration, orgasm, piledriver, and masturbation themes at 06-99X Channah Knows How to Stretch a Penny at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny, lying open below her Domina, begs Channah to take her.  NOW:

“Wow, girl,” Channah snickered, impressed with her girl’s begging, pulling a jar from her pocket, removing the stopper, and dripping olive oil all over herself.  With every single drop that landed on her, Penny jerked and writhed and moaned with the need to release bottled-up energy.  “I’m impressed with you!  I sensed there was a raw, live-wire slut inside you, buried beneath all the layers of propriety and manners and civilization….  There were times when even I doubted my instincts about you, you buried yourself so deeply, but I shouldn’t have.  I knew it!  Didn’t I?  And now you’re my whore.  My slut.  My wanton, wanton girl.”  And then she snapped:  “Aren’t you?!”

“Yes, yes, I’m—I’m your t- your, I mean, Jezebel!,” Penny started bawling, her cheeks on fire, shamed and humiliated beyond all measure and reason, abasing herself and professing her disgraceful deepest desires as she had never done before.  And the worst part of all of it was being afraid, as the words came out of her mouth, that they might all be true.  “I’m a—I’m such a hussy,” she sobbed.  “Why why why I don’t know!  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I’m such a nymphomaniac.  But I need you.”  She looked and sounded shocked again:  “But-but I think it actually may be—I’m feeling a funny kind of way—Oh, Domina!  I—I think I really do!  I need you, Master!  I need to feel you warming me up inside, right to my heart!  Please Domina, make me complete!  Oh, please, please pleeeeeease…!”

Channah, meanwhile, was rubbing the olive oil into her skin, enjoying the feeling.  “Where—where do you want me to touch you?” she demanded, panting almost as heavily as her slave.  

“Where—where you did before,” Penny squeaked, hardly able to stand the sound of the words coming from her own mouth.  “Anywhere, Domina, anywhere you want, you know best!”  And she started moving her own hands lower. 

“Hunh-unh!”  Channah snapped, dropping an oily hand to slap Penny’s to one side.  “You had your chance, Ms. Modesty.  No more!  No hands!  You made your decision—keep your hands on your nipples, girlie!”

“I’m sorry, Domina, I was stupid!  Please, please let me change my mind, Domina!  Oh lord, please—I need—Please?!  You’ve got to—”

“ ‘Got’ to?  Are you trying to tell me what to do, bitch?”  Channah asked dangerously, raising her open palm as if she were going to slap Penny hard.  Penny moued, and her knees jerked as if she were fighting every instinct she had to keep them apart, but hold them apart she did, cringing while she did so.

“No—no of course not, I’m sorry, Domina,”

“No, ma’am, I thought not.” Channah shook her head, smirking commandingly, her voice at once much quieter than Penny’s, and much more authoritative.  “Good girl.  Try again. Do you command?”

“No, Domina, I—” and she realized she knew the answer already.  Channah had already told her.  “I beg, that’s all I can do, Domina!  I beg of you, please take charge of me!  I want it more than anything.  More than anything I’ve ever wanted!”  And in that moment, she was so deep in subspace, under Channah’s spell, that she believed it well enough to be true.  Penny whimpered and cried brokenly.  “Do what—what Roger did to you, Domina.”  She realized, with shock, that it was absolutely true, mortified to consider what it looked like, what it sounded like, and that for some reason she still wanted to be treated the same way.  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Mistress.  I want to be your baby-doll.”

Backing the rest of the way back so Penny’s feet weren’t under her knees anymore, and shaking out the rest of the bottle carelessly all over Penny, Channah shook her head.  “No. Not today… today I want it to be so personal.”

“Personal?”  Penny gasped.  Not understanding yet.

Channah laughed, a low, guttural sound.  “I’ll show you.”

Channah took hold of Penny.  “Please do!  Please show me!  Oh please do!”  Penny hyperventilated, as Channah dropped to her knees.

Penny flipflopped instinctively, panic piling back into her eyes as the reality of what was about to happen hit home, and wailed in a combination of need and fear.  “Oh please be gentle with me, Domina!”

Penny’s squeal rose to a full-fledged wail as she felt Channah touch her.   “Oh my goodness—PLEASE!!!!!”

Channah wasn’t sure what Penny wanted at this point and she doubted Penny had any idea, either.  But in any event, it was way past the time Penny might have had any say in the matter.  She was Channah’s totally passive receptive girl now, her entire existence defined by, even given by, Channah; her whole identity shrunk to the obedient, desperate, aching flesh being touched by Channah, even as she flooded Penny with another blast of the magical-sexual lightning that was the unique gift of the succubae.

Literature Section “06-99[X] Channah Knows How to Stretch a Penny”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 99 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 827 words::Explicit 1183 words—Accompanying Images:  1835-1838—Published 2025-05-24—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put your body inside mine!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Literature Section “06-96[X] Channah Makes Penny Beg for It”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 96 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 912 words::Explicit 1040 words—Accompanying Images:  1824-1827—Published 2025-05-20—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Penny nodded frantically, not trusting herself to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Literature Section “06-95[X] Edgeplay:  Channah Teases Penny Toward a Hot Mess”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 95 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1509 words::Explicit 1646 words—Accompanying Images:  1820-1823—Published 2025-05-19—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

1799 06-89 Protect me, Channah!
1800 06-89 Channah shields Penny from the storm
1801 06-89 Tarnished Savior
1802 06-89 Scarlet Angel

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny is isolated without being able to sense anything about space, time, the world, or even her own body.  She is so isolated she wonders if she even existed or if her memories are the imaginations of a momentary consciousness flickering in nothingness.  NOW:

The first moment was overwhelming.

As everything returned, she felt completely overloaded by light, sound, smell, taste, feeling, gravity, movement, her frantic heartbeat, her panicked breath.

Data crashed in, fired like musket balls and flung at her like buckets of scalding water, crushing her from all directions at once, as if her entire existence was being obliterated by fire.  There was so much of it that when the assault began it meant everything and nothing at once. 

She had been searching for a whisper or a flutter of distant candlelight, any tiny thing to break the nothingness.  And instead, she had been hit by thunderous screaming and a burst of direct sunlight straight in her eyes.

It all happened so fast, after the utter stillness of before.  But it took a moment for her brain and body to accelerate and re-synchronize with the raging torrent of water and the speeding avalanche of life.  She experienced that glacial moment as forever, and it would stick with her always, even as she struggled to remember already, what the utter stillness and absence that had preceded it had really been like.

Then her body and mind started processing data again, remembering they had once done so normally and routinely, and falling back into their well-worn tracks to move forward.

She felt the sharp tug at her bottom and then the gentle, warm hand between her legs removing it and casting it away, as the last of the wicked plug left her behind, ending her total violation and occupation, even as it allowed her to start trying to process what she had been through, in a way she hadn’t been able to reach when she was… gone.

Next, seconds and minutes later, she started making sense of everything else.

The smell of frankincense, myrrh, opium, and the very very essential and musky scent of one unique woman, maybe even something too deep for conscious awareness, embraced Penny with the certain knowledge of where she was, fundamentally and totally:  Domina!   She was with, held close and tight by, her Domina.

That was the essence, the meaning, of everything.  Of being back:  She was safe, back in the arms of her Domina.

She moued in joy and relief and safety and love.

From that core of certainty, her awareness felt secure enough to widen back to something like normality. 

She was lying on her back on a soft, warm bed, cradled in her Domina’s warm, gentle arms.  The air was hot and moist—hell insistently reminding her where they were, even before the low, distant roar of a thousand worried voices and the clanking, booming jangle of the band faintly sounding at the very threshold of perception, told her she had not moved too far.  Persuading her she had not been away for too long, no matter that it felt like a lifetime, the wall between before and after that… whatever it had been, so massive and high she could not even see back over it to gauge how different her place was now.

She felt her Domina’s cheek against her forehead; Channah’s reassuring arms and breasts cradling her neck and shoulders; Channah’s silky smooth dress against her bare flesh; Channah’s legs wrapped protectively around her bare ones; Channah’s boots resting on Penny’s bare feet and ankles, possessing her in a profoundly comforting way.

She was safe in the arms of her Domina, and to Penny, in that moment, they were nothing but loving and assuring and inspiring and protecting her, like a mother and wife and nurse all wrapped up together as one.  Then her brain sighed, putting all the comparisons together:

Duh.  Like an angel.

No.  Not just like one.  Whatever had happened to her, however she had fallen, Channah was an angel, and no one had ever felt that truth more strongly than Penny did in that moment.  Penny’s heart leapt as she realized she, literally, had a guardian angel!  Penny felt the full and wonderful import of that now, a feeling of peace like she had never known before.

“Domina!”  Penny sobbed, immediately crying, finding her arms and using them to roll slightly to her right.  With her left arm (her right arm trapped between them), she hugged her angel with desperate joy.  She wanted to wrap all her limbs around her Domina, but after what she had been through, the fact Channah was controlling her and constraining her—and Penny could feel her mastery—was the most reassuring and wonderful feeling in the world.

Limitations of any kind were real; they were the certainty confirming she was not alone and nowhere.  She could remember their absence from her banishment, more keenly than she could remember anything specific about what the banishment itself had felt like.  But that—that horrible interruption in her existence—was the last thing she wanted to think about now.

She broked down and wept, chest heaving, wracked with sobs, in Channah’s arms as her Domina wrapped and swathed her reassuringly, comforting her with her warmth, and her protective envelopment, and her throaty murmurs of reassurance:  “It’s okay, baby.  It’s all right.  You’re back here with me, darling.  That’s all that matters.  My sweet girl.”  She kissed the top of Penny’s head, sliding against Penny’s hair and the sense of softness from her lips even touching Penny’s skull.  She had one arm under Penny’s head and shoulders, and Penny burrowed her face into the crook between Channah’s breast and arm, staining her beautiful brocade with Penny’s salty tears, Channah not caring in the least about clothing no matter how precious, when her little girl needed to be comforted and welcomed back.  And Channah’s voice and manner and words and gestures and even excited heartbeat, everything about her, confirmed that, how true her compassion was.  “My little honey bear.  Oh… ohhh, my little darling.  There, there.  You’re safe.  You’re safe in my arms, sugar.” 

One hand held Penny’s shoulder firmly, while the other patted and stroked Penny’s back and side.  Meanwhile, Channah’s booted feet wrapped themselves around Penny’s naked ones, her upper heel hooking around Penny’s ankles and gently pulling them on top of her other leg.  Penny leaned in harder to her, face buried completely in Channah’s breast, wrapped in and enraptured by the sweet, distinctive perfume of her amazing body, the totality of her presence, the bliss of being in complete communion with her. 

Channah’s dominance over Penny, in every category that might be compared—spiritual and physical, emotional and rational, sensory and force of personality—was total.

And Penny knew it, deeply, profoundly, and intensely, in that moment.

Physically, as an angel, Channah was unnaturally strong and magnetically attractive, while Penny was, ultimately, only human; something paler and less than the stuff of heaven itself.

Mentally and emotionally, in addition to whatever undoubted angelic or demonic superpowers of hypnosis and seduction Channah had, she had hundreds of human lifespans’ worth of experience and practice, versus Penny’s worldly body and single life that were only just getting underway in earnest.

And Channah was in her own element, one she had centuries of familiarity with; while Penny was just returning from a place more distant than she could have conceived of before, a place that made Fang’s heteraslakos in the Hell of Lust, seem as familiar and nostalgic and homey as the half-remembered, more-imagined gentle Buckinghamshire countryside where the person Penny had once been, innocent little Pen, lived with his parents before their deaths.  Before Cambridgeshire and the manipulative demons, before Venice and his cold aunt, there where he had been whole, a child cared for as a child actually should be cared for, with the parents every child should have.  After what she had just been through, in the preceding moments, and even in the past days of her hazing, lying here in sweet Channah’s arms truly felt like the soft, pastel imagamemories of early childhood.

Situationally, of course, they were in Channah’s world—literally, an entire world owned and ruled by her—whereas Penny was not merely lost, not merely out of her bailiwick, she was outside of the very world she had grown up in.

Channah had brought Penny here, surrounded her by what Channah wanted surrounding her, even dressed her—when she had still been dressed, and in a way, now that she was completely vulnerable and naked—exactly as Channah wanted her to be.  This place, that Channah seemed to know well—to thrive in—that was somehow very important to the succubae, could not have been more alien, or less comfortable, let alone natural or connected, to Penny.  It jarred with her soul like a sword being scraped blade-edge-down against a stone.  In sum, Channah had Penny exactly where she wanted her and how she wanted her.

Channah was even fully-dressed, assertively to match her personality, whereas Penny wore nothing, as naked and vulnerable as a newborn baby in her mother’s arms.  Well, Penny wore nothing that could protect her or strengthen her or help her; she had only Channah for. that.  The only thing on her body was her master’s tiny cage, binding her and marking her as Channah’s virginal property.  And there was the only thing, the terrible thing inside her, which her mind could not even bring itself to think about but she felt as a great unsettled discomfort, reminding her of her vulnerability:  Channah literally held her and controlled her, inside and out.  As she had definitively demonstrated by sending Penny away from everything with an embarrassing and uncomfortable, but ultimately simple, plug.

Channah and Penny were so connected, so completely bonded to one another, that they seemed to feel it rising, not merely simultaneously, but together, as one:

Even as Penny’s heart leapt with the urge to kiss her Domina, she felt the hand that had been soothing her back brush lovingly across her ribs to take her chin, and gently, gently lift her face to Channah’s, giving Penny’s abashed eyes time to gather their courage and rise, until…

Their eyes locked, their hearts and breaths synchronized, and while Penny’s mouth opened in wordless,  silent, passive amazement and awe, Channah spoke and acted assertively, for both of them, as seemed only right and natural from now on, whispering:  “Oh, my rhythm.  My basis.  My love.”

Then, turning her head as she leaned forward, Channah crushed her lips against Penny’s and pressed her tongue inside Penny’s receptive mouth, just enough to make it clear she could and did rule even that place.

Literature Section “06-89 Channah & Penny 4ever I”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 89 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1754 words—Accompanying Images:  1799-1802—Published 2025-05-11—©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.