Tag: collar


1984 07-02 Into the Labyrinth–We can fly!
1985 07-02 You’ll be fine when you solve the maze
1986 07-02 What’s happening to us?!?!
1987 07-02 The World Turned Upside Down
1988 07-02 Fairies may or may not be real
1989 07-02 Make your choices, and live with them!
1990 07-02 Good girls get dunce-boxed forever
1991 07-02 Bad girls go anywhere they want!
1992 07-02 Oh no!  We could’ve been us!  Or them?
1993 07-02 Here there are worlds and worlds and worlds…
1994 07-02 Domina… You’re getting bigger!  No, you’re getting smaller
1995 07-02 In here, all truths are revealed

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah had shaken Chastity and Penance to their cores by binding them and then stripping them of their senses one by one—sight, sound, smell, taste, and then—finally, with triggers inserted inside them, even touch and their awareness of their own bodies, leaving them completely isolated from the world, themselves, and reality.  Now, only hours later, she has triggered the girls’ PTSD by leaving them kneeling naked, hands tied behind their backs, collars locked to rings at floor level, and alone in the eerie Honeycomb—vulnerable, bound, hitched, and stripped of their senses of sight, smell, hearing, and taste.  They remained connected to the world, and to reality, only by their sense of touch and their awareness of their own bodies, and trapped in their fear, uncertainty, and inability to resist anything else she might choose to do to them.  NOW:

Channah had, quite willfully and naughtily, allowed herself to become distracted, first by her castellan and other officials, then by her petitioners, and finally by a lover.  She spent most of her time on Earth, and even the time she had for hell had to be divided among different castles by the global nature of her responsibilities.  Inevitably, on the rare occasions she did return to Sademtsaowah, when she finally did reappear, she was besieged by the attentions of those she had ignored for far too long.

She had tried to assure them she would be returning next weekend, with her new brides, their qahramanah, and even Kadidia—all of those big draws for her curious officers and staff—but they had heard her promise how quickly she would be back so many times, they discounted her assurances to near nothing.  This time, they would see she meant it.  As much as Fang’s exhaustion concerned her with the possibility something similar could happen to her, she didn’t expect the girls could ever release that much sado-sexual sorcery again. But that wouldn’t stop her from trying to make it happen, she thought happily.

She had told her two girls she would leave them kneeling on the hard stone floor, virtually mummified and immobilized, for about half an hour.  In the event, it was between four and five hours later that she finally returned to the honeycomb, casually chatting with the guards posted outside, for a moment before proceeding inside.  Entering it, as she finally did, she brought light and noise to what had been a perfectly dark and silent space.  But of course, her girls could not be aware of that, with the plugs she had placed in their ears and more-importantly, the triggers she and Kadidia had pushed up inside their bellies.  She could strip them of their remaining sense, and indeed their connections to their own bodies, with a thought, anytime she wished; and she was confident they suspected and feared that to be the case.  Still, there was no way she was going to give them the satisfaction or certainty of confirming or denying it categorically.  Let them feel the creeping uncertainty and loss of confidence in their own awareness of reality, and the limits—if any—of her power that came with such profound uncertainty about something as fundamental as their very connection to the world.

Walking around behind her girls, she stood for a moment and regarded their beautiful backs and hips.  They were gorgeous, two of Channah’s best creations, submissive, feminine, eager to please her, kneeling there with their legs spread revealing their little hints of wannabe manhood below their taints—not men.  They would never be men.  That was never in the cards for her little futas—never had been.  Femmebois.

Both girls were showing signs of physical distress, shifting almost constantly, rearranging their legs, even daring to break position for a moment to straighten one leg and then another, pointing and stretching their toes like ballerinas, inadvertently shifting their hips like whores.  Penny was shivering slightly, a function of temperature but even more, Channah judged, of anxiety and dread.  Chastity moaned and whimpered, little sounds of her own distress, even panic.  Chastity seemed to be even more-affected than Penny had been, about the trigger.

Channah felt herself becoming aroused and reflected, not for the first time since she had broken them, how much she enjoyed their sexual ambivalence, and how muc                                                          h they made her appreciate her own.  It was a combination, she speculated, of their appearance, their submission, the fact she couldn’t drain them without throwing away decades of her own hard work, and the fact she had made them, thought by thought, feeling by feeling, experience by experience, even hip by hip and breast by breast.  Oh—and the maddening, fascinating technical “virginity” of her number one whore.  And the fact the little bitch’s personality had, so far, made her act and feel almost like a superior little virgin, no matter what Channah subjected her to. 

Usually, as much as she enjoyed the transgression of penetrating a boycow, she enjoyed being a woman so much it made her one of the straightest succubae around.  And, of course, she reflected smugly, she liked the fact that no one else on Earth or in Hell ever had to compromise less than she did.  That was always a fucking turn-on.  Something that, she could perhaps admit to herself, had discouraged her from experimenting with her staff side as freely as she might otherwise have done.  It almost made her resentful of her girls, for forcing her to abandon—or at least suspend—that conceit, even if it was at her own choice to fulfill her own ambitions.  She want to punish them, for making her compromise her own rigid, dominant femininity; and she couldn’t help the feeling they were asking for it, the little two-faced strumpet-prigs.  Among a species more sexually-ambivalent than almost any other, being ultra-, exceptionally-, uncompromisingly- feminine was a badge to Channah of her own uniqueness and power.

All of which kind of pissed her off.   Well, really pissed her off.  At them.  Again.  The whiny little straitlaced better-than-thou virginal sheltered taffeta-girl wimps!

Regarding their insolent buttocks thrust up at her like challenges—or at the very least, invitations—she felt herself breathing more heavily, her forehead and coccyx twitching with the rising urge to strike and penetrate them both here.  She could hardly imagine how badly they would freak out to feel her pushing lube into their sphincters, reminding them of the last time they had thought themselves senseless until she showed them what it really meant…

“Fuck!”  She shivered and rolled her eyes, turning away and forcing her thoughts down gentler courses.  She should have done these things on the heteraslakos if she were in the mood for it.  And she could always do it next weekend.  Or the next.  Or the one after that….

But she’d already pushed her girls harder than she’d pushed anyone she wanted to be genuinely intimate with before.  And she needed them to be intimate with her—needed them to love and trust her and depend on her.  She had to rein herself in and give them love they could understand.  Love they were more than ready for.  Love they did need, and maybe she wanted, just for a little bit—just for fun.  Only, she’d made them such perfect demon-bait… too fucking perfect… Only, they drove her so crazy—

Roughly and impulsively, allowing herself to womanhandle them and leave them helpless and lost to sate her own desire to punish and dominate them, she unhooked their collars from the hitching rings.  She enjoyed very much how startled and fearful each girl was at the first touch, shocked to feel evidence of anyone else after hours of being lonely and abandoned, even if they had spent those hours pining for her.  They were uncertain who was unhitching them and what they would be subjected to next.  They had no idea, and no way of finding out. 

She yanked the girls to their feet by their shortleashes and, after she was sure they both had enough circulation and feeling in their legs to keep their feet, casually draped the leashes over her shoulders, pulling their chins down right beside her ears and shivering with the feel of their soft skin and softer breath.  Pulling and holding the shortleashes tight, she forced the girls to follow her closely while trying not to trip over their Domina or their own feet.  She giggled, feeling them struggle and try to move cautiously, fearful that their next step might be on a painful or treacherous or difficult surface, as she led them back into—and through—the honeycomb.

Literature Section “07-02 Honeycomb Funhouse Mindfuck”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 2 of Chapter Seven, “Channah’s Slavegirls:  Pawns of the Court of Lust”—1240 words—Accompanying Images:  1984-1995—Published 2025-07-02—©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.

1949 06-121 The Evil Queen Bee seducing Her retinue
1950 06-121 Let ME find the path for you, my pretties

PREVIOUSLY:  A traumatized Chastity and Penance, naked and vulnerable, are led by Channah into the honeycomb, a mysterious structure used by the demons for travel, finding it dark and silent and sterile enough to make them feel like they are being cut off from the world all over again.  NOW:

With her sixth step, the silent darkness ruptured, practically exploding into light.  Despite Channah’s warning, of course, they were startled and surprised.  Of course, they jumped involuntarily, causing her to chortle merrily, as images swam into focus around them—organic shapes of flora and fauna, geometric ones of geography and buildings, on each of the six walls of the room, with a seventh billowing from smoke into clarity above them, and even a flickering below them like the floor itself might start to resolve into something—

“No!” Channah gasped as if scandalized, covering their eyes with her hands.  “I saw you looking down, Penance Batonnoir!  You saw the floor spark, didn’t you?  Clever girl—too clever by half for your own good, isn’t that right, Chas?”

“Very much so, Domina,” Chas had to agree, sounding amused and bemused at the same time. 

“Don’t you dare look down, Penance girl.  Just one stray moment of curiosity—and I know you, you’re curious about everything—and gravity might drag the three of us straight down before I could even teach you about the sheets of the Honeycomb!”  She giggled.  “And since you have no business leaving my sheet, so to speak, that’s a skill you’ll never need anyway.  So… let’s spend this week exploring my sheets only, shall we?  In your own sheet, it’s simple:  Back and to the left is always home.  Always.  Back and to the right is where you just came from, unless that happens to be your home, in which case it’s determined like the other four faces,” she kind-of explained, turning them 150 degrees counterclockwise and guiding them—with her hands still over their eyes and counting:  “One.  It’s already gone.”  But she kept her hands on their eyes until she announced:  “Two.”  Then she brought her hands back down around their necks.  “Three.  Four.  Five.  Watch your pretty toes!”  And then she finished authoritatively, “Six!” drowning out the girls’ tentative “Seven and a half” (precise Penny) and “eight” (casual Chas). As well-matched as they were physically, there was little chance there was any actual difference to speak of between their respective strides.

“Now.  I need you to move just over here…” she guided them to the right, and then forward, maneuvering them around the outside of the glass cube.  They immediately noticed there were chains hanging from the upper rail and rings embedded into the lower rail, on this side.  “Now kneel down, and stay over here on the side, out of the main path.  You don’t want to get in the way of any important people.  And since everyone who uses the honeycomb is a succubus or accompanying a succubus, you can presume there will always be at least one person much more important than you, in here.  Got it?”

“Yes, Domina,” they chorused unconvincingly, getting what she was saying, but not why she was saying it.

“For the same reason, to make sure you’re in a respectful position if any of your betters come across you, I want you down on your knees.”  She was unfastening Chastity from the leash she shared with Penny as she spoke.  “Go on, kneel, I know the floor hurts a little but we have a strict rule, animals left in the honeycomb are always hitched.”

“‘Left?!’”  Penny asked, scared.  “‘Hitched?!’” Chas protested.

“Ohh… come on, Chastity!” she teased her, thereby easily ignoring Penny’s question.  “Who’s your cowgirl?”

“You are, Domina,” Chastity answered, embarrassed but also a little excited.  “See?” she kissed the back of her head as she pushed the girl down to the floor.  “What good little hucattle you two are.”  And with that, she locked each girl’s collar to one of the rings in the floor, Penny’s to the ring nearest the iron door, and Chas’s to the ring nearest the honeycomb, spacing them about six feet apart.

“Mistress?”  Penny squeaked.  “Domina?  Please, you aren’t going to leave us, are you?”

“Aww… my little poodle.  You’re a grown-up!  Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of the dark, darling?” she asked, managing to sound both sympathetic and irritated at once, as she pulled up on Penny’s bound wrists, hard, causing the girl to whine and shuffle her knees forward to ease the pressure on her shoulders, before using one of the chains hanging from the top bar to hold her wrists up and behind her in the strappado position. 

“Not the dark per se, Domina,” Penny squeaked, sounding a little whiny and pathetic, even to herself.  “But, it’s just—this—today—after the trigger—the honeycomb, Mistress!”

“Aww… does the honeycomb bother you?”  she pouted distractedly.

“It’s just… kind of upsetting, Domina…”  Chastity chimed in, her voice a little uneven, sounding even to herself like she had doubts about what she was saying.

“Oh, you poor little dears,” she said regretfully, locking Chastity’s arms into the strappado position.  “Unfortunately, I have to make an appearance here at Sademtsaowah.  Half an hour is  about the minimum I need to linger here to be confident I’ve given all—well, almost all—of the damned enough time to wrap their empty skulls around the fact they need to attend to me here.  Most of them react faster than that most of the time, but taken as a herd…” she shrugged.  “It takes time to keep the number of stragglers down.  Now,” she began, stepping over the bar into the cube, heading toward the iron door.  “You g—”

“Can’t we please come with you, Domina?”  Chastity pleaded frantically.

“Please, Domina, I promise we’ll be good girls!”  Penance added.

Sounding firmer, she emphasized:  “I have a great deal to do here and want to get as much of it done as possible, in those thirty minutes so I can give you sweet little love muffins mommy’s full attention on our honeymoon!”  They heard her turning and stepping toward the door.

“Please can you leave us with the guards Domina, please?!”  Chastity pleaded.  “We’ll be ever so well-behaved!”

“We—we’ll be a credit to you, Domina!”  Penny assured her.

She hesitated, and then turned back towards them, slowly, seeing the hunger in their eyes, not just for her, but for the light she was radiating.  A thoughtful, calculating look crept into her eyes, and just the hint of a smirk lifted the corner of her lips.  When she saw that both of her girls had caught the look on her face, and that it made them both quail like red-headed stepchildren, she bit her lip and pressed her knees together, sniffing deliberately and sighing with pleasure at their sudden burst of lambchop panic….

Literature Section “06-121 Led Astray”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 121 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1101 words—Accompanying Images:  1949-1950—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.


1693 06-81 Yar dee har!  Ye’re a fine prize, lassie!
1694 06-81 Bosun, I’ll guard this prisoner in me own cabin!

1695 06-81 Mayhap the flat of my scimitar’ll hasten your step
1696 06-81 Option B?  A long walk down a short plank, missy!

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny has been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, disoriented with her hands tied behind her back and left lying on a platform knowing only that there is no way off it without risking death or serious injury.  NOW:

Penny had no way of knowing how long she’d been left alone and abandoned.  Half an hour?  Less?  More?  But lying without any sensation other than the warm—actually, closer to hot—stone beneath her and the steaming air around her, and without any company other than her own fears and anxieties, made it feel much longer.

Suddenly—finally!—a boot pressed against her temple, pushing until she turned her head and bent her neck in the way her unknown master demanded.  When her master was satisfied, the boot left her alone and a second later fingers brushed her hair toward the back of her neck and jiggled her collar.  She figured it out only as the fingers withdrew:

She was being leashed.

A moment later, she was yanked, if not brutally, then much harder than necessary, even the sound of her choking stifled by the magic entombing her senses.  Was the magic acting on her senses?  Or the air?  Could her tormentor hear anything from her mouth?  Or could she (or he) choke Penny to death unintentionally, simply because she couldn’t hear Penny’s struggle to breathe?

Yanking Penny’s leash again almost immediately, her master demanded Penny move immediately.  She wanted Penny to move faster and more effectively than she was managing to do with her hands behind her and her senses gone.  Penny tried, but her leash holder was so intolerant and impatient!  With great difficulty, and doubtless damaging her white gown, Penny made it onto her knees, gasping around the gag for breath, and tried to stand.  But with her hands tied behind her, nothing to lean against, and the high heels on her feet, she couldn’t quite get enough balance to stand. 

She choked and sputtered almost soundlessly as the leash was jerked back and forth by her frustrated master, and then she was struck across the cheek, a blow so fierce it made her head ring.  A second attempt to stand failed, and she desperately ducked her head in fear—not enough to evade the blow, but just in time so it landed on her temple instead of her cheek, dazing her and knocking her over.

Scrambling desperately and whimpering in an ineffectual attempt to plead for mercy, she tried to shield her own head by pressing it down against the stones to give her the lowest profile she could possibly assume, and to limit whiplash or injury from any further blows when her skull was so close to the stone.  Frantically she kicked off her high heels, hoping it was the right decision and one that would lead to less hitting rather than more.  With them off, she struggled to her feet as fast as she could, in a race with the leash her master was dropping over her neck like a noose, soon pulling Penny directly by pulling on the actual collar with one hand, and a second hand that had caught the collar from both sides of Penny’s neck.

As Penny got to her feet, she tried to stand and felt her master’s resistance until she realized she was meant to stay bent way over.  Was this Domina Fang?  It somehow didn’t feel like her steady and subtle hand.  Did it?

Only when she had satisfied her master by her stillness that she had learned her place was remaining in a crouch was she pulled, still rasping for breath around the gag, the collar, and the length of leash, her stocking feet on the stone, towards… wherever she was being taken.

Why were they moving so fast?  Maybe any speed was too great for comfort when nearly insensate but surely they couldn’t be in so much of a rush after leaving Penny lying there for so long!  Penny became nervous that the person hustling her would let her pitch off the side of the platform from carelessness, and tried to slow down, only to be jerked forward all the faster.  Finally, really starting to worry, she was slowed down and then brought to a halt.  After a moment of stillness, the hands moved her forward again, but with less force:  what she interpreted as a signal to move forward carefully.  Was she being urged straight to the edge?!  Probing forward, her toes bumped into metal.

She stopped in confusion, was urged forward again, felt more deliberately with her foot, and confirmed she had reached a barrier of some kind.  What did her master expect her to do?!

The hands loosened on her collar and leash, and she felt the person brushing against her shoulder and head.  Then a yank on the leash again, from above and in front of her, and she figured it out:  it must be stairs.

She raised her foot, daring to straighten just a bit so she could raise her knee, and set her foot down on a stair.  She was meant to climb a staircase!

That indicated they were either at the jungle gym or the pool, she thought.  Surely not the pool—she’d drown—

But nobody was waiting for her to have a think.  Another hand slapped her, hard, on her bottom and she made her way with difficulty up one stair, feeling her feet press into a metal grate as the stair took her weight.  Then when she was urged forward, she took another stair, and a third.  The metal grating cut into her soft feet uncomfortably, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to stand on the metal for long.

She hadn’t noticed stairs specifically when she’d first glimpsed the structures around her.  How high did these go?  And where, exactly, did they lead to?  In the event, she stepped up six times before being pulled forward again across a short platform.  Just when she started moving forward more naturally, she was jerked to a halt with a punishing yank.  It was so forceful—was it desperate?  Had she been about to walk off an unprotected edge of some kind?

She was granted a moment’s worried stillness, then a pair of hands coming from the opposite side of the leash-holder, gripped her, one on her stomach, the other on her buttocks, guiding her forward until she bumped into a horizontal bar that hit her right around the tops of her thighs.  Pressing her hips forward against the bar to signal she should remain where she was, tight against the bar, the hands moved to her left ankle and tugged her by the cuff to make her spread her stance.  Obeying, she felt tugging on her ankle cuff until her legs were fairly wide apart.

Now she felt a boot against the back of her right leg and complied fearfully with what she knew was expected of her.  When her legs were spread far apart, at least 3 feet apart or even more, the boot was withdrawn.

With a moue even she couldn’t hear, Penny knew she had been spread against a railing—but not where, or why, or what would come next.  She panted, trying to get her breathing under contr—

A hand shoved her between the shoulder blades, jerking her forward.  Reflexively she tried to straighten back up again, only to be shoved a second time, this time the hand remaining in place, feeling her master step up against her, pressing against her leg and hip, reaching forward—

Then the leash pulled her collar sharply down, and Penny realized the person to her right had threaded the leash under the railing while a second firm hand of the person behind her, joined the first on her shoulder blades, pushing her firmly and insistently forward. 

Penny started leaning forward, not sure how she was supposed to keep her balance if she had to lean forward too far, and then panicked when it hit her:  both her tormentors were on this side of the bar, trying to get her to bend forward over the far side of the bar.

Terror shot through her.  She was at the very edge of the platform, being asked to lean forward over its edge, above the red sand and howling devils far below them!

Now instinct and raw fear combined to cause her to resist with all her might, shaking her head and making incomprehensible, frightened noises of protest as she tried to fight.  The woman behind her responded by shoving back all the harder, even as the woman beside her pulled down on the neck chain using her full weight.

Penny was crying now and shaking her head violently and making muffled sounds with as much force as she could muster, rapidly burning air faster than she could replace it, every inch of her body resisting as strongly as she could, even as pain shot through her neck and back, but moving with such an instinctive sense of survival that she managed to resist her two larger and stronger masters, until the woman behind her changed tactics:

She moved to Penny’s other side and shoved her fingers with their sharp fingernails between Penny’s collar and neck, grabbing the collar in her fist, and helping to pull it down with one hand, while her other hand rapidly went fishing under Penny’s skirts. 

What was she doing?  Was she going to lift Penny off her feet and make her lose her balance?!  Penny tried to screech, only serving to wind herself faster, as the clawed fingers of the woman’s right hand clenched around Penny’s purse, her fingernails digging into the sensitive flesh even as her fingers clenched around them, as hard as she could, crushing Penny’s shameful little testes.

In the next moment, three things happened simultaneously: 

First, Penny came close to unconsciousness as extreme pain exploded from her crotch, straight up her spine towards her head, making everything turn black for a second and making Penny pray she would be knocked out so she didn’t have to feel any more.

Second, Penny screamed in terror, the lonely kind of scream nobody else could hear, using up the last of her breath.  And third, the shock of the pain caused Penny’s muscles and control to fail her utterly for a moment, her resistance collapsing just long enough for the hands to cause her to pitch forward, her body tipping over the bar and her feet coming off the platform beneath her as gravity became her third master, pulling the top half of her body forward and down and pulling the bottom half of it over the bar after it.

Literature Section “06-81 The Perils of Penny”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 81 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1747 words—Accompanying Images:  1693-1696—Published 2025-05-03—©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.

1532 06-43 Channah addressing her mamalik in her Cairo palace
1533 06-43 Channah addressing her jawari in her Cairo palace
1534 06-43 Channah addresses her children

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.

1519 06-42 Channah’s Vishkanya in Karnata Vijayanagara kneel to their goddess^
1521 06-42 Channah’s Kunoichi in Sengoku Kyoto kneel to their goddess^
1523 06-42 Channah’s Jawari in Safavid Tabriz kneel to their goddess^
1525 06-42 Channah’s Jawari in Ottoman Cairo kneel to their goddess (edited)^
1527 06-42 Channah’s Hetairai in Ottoman Athens kneel to their goddess (edited)^
1529 06-42 Channah’s Jawari in Tudor Cambridgeshire kneel to their goddess (edited)^

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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 35th, and Penny moments later as her 36th—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.