crazy – The Remainderman (Frank Speech)

06-86 Esmeray’s Torment; Hong’s Mercy

2025-05-082025-05-08 admin

*1734 06-86 Hong analyzes Esmeray like a bug trapped in a jar*

PREVIOUSLY: Channah extended her arm straight out towards the tangled knot of clothed qahramanat and naked jawari, snapping her fingers decisively in command. “Don’t you dare let the truth-speaker go. Keep her here, in the hetaraslakos. Do not break the ritual. Bind her if you can, but I want her conscious and don’t you dare let her interrupt us again! Then mount them both on the rails!” “You biiiiiiitch!” Esmeray screeched, and “Yes, Domina,” Hong solemnly swore, and “Yes, My Liege!” the four naked girls imitated Fang. NOW:

Hong commanded one of her girls in Mandarin, who ran to the other side of the platform while Hong and her other three Hongettes struggled to wrestle the howling, flailing, fuming Esmeray over onto her belly so they could get her under control.

“Get your filthy paws off me you gorillas!” Hong’s eyes narrowed at the insult, taking it at first as racist, taking advantage of an opportunity to seize Esmeray’s arm in the first step of a wushu hold. “Don’t touch me with your naked filth! I promise god I will destroy the—the filth—AAUGH!” the last sound was more one of frustration at her inability to find words damning enough to express what she was feeling, than any reaction to the physical stresses being placed upon her.

Hong executed her arm-lock, twisting Esmeray’s arm upwards behind her back and eliciting a sharp scream of pain.

“BIIIITTCHH!” Esmeray screamed, which Hong understood, and then baffled her: “Keep your naked monkeys off me!”

Hong was taken aback. She was straddling the crazy gwáinòuh’s hips now, with her left knee on one side and her right boot on the other, rolling Esmeray’s bent arm away from its natural position and placing extreme stress on it, while her submissives—theoretically trained in the martial arts, but obviously not as seriously as Hong—were wrestling as ineffectively as Hong was fighting. Honghua and Hongjiao were using every ounce of their arm strength to fight Esmeray’s powerful leg muscles, while Hongan was at imminent risk of learning how much stronger jaw muscles were than fingers, if she kept trying to hold Esmeray’s head still by gripping her chin.

Was Esmeray stupid? Hong wondered. Jawari were one thing. Jawari could be little air-headed ninnies (and Hong often thought her girls were) as long as they were attractive enough and sporting enough. And apparently, according to the screaming devils below, it was quite possible for qahramanat to arouse them while being completely out of their minds. But a qahramanah could not be stupid—and she had not seemed stupid to Hong, at first.

Then, as Hongzhi hurried back into view, carrying her irons, which Hong had commanded her to fetch, it all clicked into place: This woman, who hardly paid attention to a submission hold, and kept talking about naked monkey parts, shuddered and stilled the moment she set eyes on the irons. Her language wasn’t about race.

“Please no. Please, no!” voice plunging from a scream to a frightened moan, resistance evaporating, practically limp in their arms, moving only her head to shake it, Esmeray pleaded. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll be good. See? See? You can hurt me it’s okay but please don’t please don’t use—use those. PLEASE!”

And as Hong put the pieces together, she shuddered, as if she had taken a sudden chill. Hong was not shy, or delicate, or squeamish, or easily intimidated, or scared, or timid, or submissive—she had been a best-in-class alpha as long as she could remember. Even her parents’ stories of her childhood portrayed her that way. She had faced, and faced down, monsters and threats aplenty in her own life. But the things she had seen, the women who hadn’t been as strong as her—like her own sister…. In an instant, Hong knew the essence of Esmeray’s story, and without surrendering her hold or her control, she eased back on the stress to end the deliberate pain.

She shook her head at Hongzhi to pause, considering. Esmeray was acting as if she had finally figured out what Hong and her girls had known since the moment they’d first engaged: clearly, Hong was the only decently-trained fighter among them; a match for Esmeray’s size and heavier than her jawari, who were deliberately chosen for being petite, among other stereotypically-female features the succubae considered predictive of success in the tasks they would be assigned. But…

“I’m sorry. My Domina’s orders were clear.” She nodded at Hongzhi to come closer: “To restrain you.”

“She said if—if!” Esmeray wailed. Hong was surprised she had had the presence of mind to register Channah’s words so accurately. “She said she wanted me conscious and you daren’t let me interrupt her again, I know! But she said to bind me if!”

“If I can,” Hong finished the sentence, adding reasonably: “And I can.”

“No! That’s not true!”

“You doubt my ability to restrain you?” she inquired, momentarily applying more pressure.

“No, no I don’t, I—oh, please don’t!” And when Hongzhi reached toward her neck with the collar, she began thrashing and resisting again. “Nonononononononono…..” the protest trailing off into a howl like a wolf, and then into crying.

Hong sighed. She couldn’t take pleasure in forcing herself on a genuinely unwilling and terrified victim. She wasn’t a soldier. And if the woman kept making noise, she’d have to gag her.

“Hongzhi, stop.” And when Esmeray quieted down, Hong offered: “I suppose if you’re quiet and still, it is less likely to ‘interrupt’ my Domina than if you’re thrashing and wailing. Therefore it may be difficult to bind you without interrupting Her more than necessary.”

“Oh, yes,” Esmeray agreed, sighing with relief. “Yes, please.”

Hong stared at her shoulder blades for a moment and decided, reluctantly: “Very well. If you cooperate completely, I will keep my hold on you, not bind you. But one single spot of resistance—”

“I understand. I’ll be good Ms. Hong, I promise, I’ll be good.” She liked that all right, smiling despite herself.

“Good. Let’s see if you can get to your feet without your left hand.” Hong stayed still a moment longer, emphasizing her control over the woman, then warned her girls: “Keep a close eye on her—be ready to shackle her if we need to.”

“Yes, Qahramanah,” her girls nodded, as Hong stood, carefully, maintaining her hold as Esmeray struggled to her feet.

“Jongzhi, rest your shackles across my shoulders in case I need them. I will walk her over to the display rails. Please bring her jariya.”

As they started up the stairs, Hong asked: “Are you afraid of heights?”

“No… not particularly. Why?”

“Because some people become upset near the edge. If that happens to you, I will have to chain you in completely, and gag you.” As they approached it, Esmeray’s angle of view became steeper and steeper; and she was able to see devils who were closer and closer. As soon as one of them spotted her, the volume of the devils rose again with excitement, and they surged forward like red cattle, packing tighter together than before, even as their agitation increased.

Esmeray started breathing faster as the reality of where they were headed sank in more strongly. But to her credit, she did not slow or even flinch. She allowed herself to be walked to the very edge, where a series of rectangles, like half-height gates with a hinge on the left side of each connecting it to a support post, and a latch on the right side allowing it to be secured to the next post over, served as a low guard rail.

“Continue right up to the rail. She ordered you to be displayed,” Hong explained pointedly, but not unkindly. “I have to bind you to the rail.”

“No—”

“Look at it!” Hong explained. “It’s for your own safety. But I can do your ankles only and give you the key so you’ll know you can get out.” And then softly: “That’s the best I can do.”

Esmeray hesitated, then nodded, a tiny nod of reluctant assent, as she stepped onto the bottom rail, pressing the tops of her thighs against the upper rail, her face set in stone as Hong knelt and secured her ankles.

Literature Section “06-86 Esmeray’s Torment; Hong’s Mercy”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 86 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1300 words—Accompanying Images: 1732-1735—Published 2025-05-08—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-85 Penny’s Astrological Discordance

2025-05-072025-05-07 admin

*1730 06-85 The Maddening Discordant Orchestra*

PREVIOUSLY: Penny has been completely deprived of all sensation—vision, hearing, smell, taste, and feeling; even their auxiliary aspects like balance and orientation and the awareness of her own heartbeat and breath. Outside her isolation, the world moves forward, with Esmeray trying to murder Chastity for defying her and disrupting Channah’s spell. Trying to recover, Channah has just put Chastity’s earplugs back in, cutting him off again. NOW:

Fang crouched over the effectively-mummified Penny, with her hands steady on Penny’s ajna, the third eye in her head, and muladhara, the basic center of trust in her root—or as close to them as her hands could be. Channah and one of Hong’s girls knelt on the restrained Chastity. Hong and her other three jawari struggled to restrain the still-livid, almost-rabid Esmeray. Like Penny and Chastity, when she could keep her skirts down, Hong almost appeared to be fully-dressed, if sweaty and disheveled with a whore’s slightly smudged makeup. Unlike them in one respect, the plunging neckline of her cheongsam had already been ripped open, revealing the inner edges of her breasts in a manner that would have been most fetching if it weren’t for the exigencies of the moment. Hong’s girls were disheveled, and naked, from head to toe, even their cages discarded on the other side of the platform with nothing to interrupt their shiny sweaty perfect cinnamon skin except the marks Hong had made on them with her fingernails and her stiletto heels. All of them had been forced to interrupt their own ritual to come running to the aid of their overlords in separating the murderous Esmeray from the rebellious Chastity, while the band played on, in accordance with its standing orders, to doggedly play until they were told to stop no matter what they saw or heard or felt, no matter what happened to them.

“Those fucking little bitches! And of all the times for this!” Channah spat, furious, astonished, and amused all at once, and shaking her head ruefully. Yet for all that, she couldn’t help but reveal the genuine, sharp concern beneath: “How is she?!”

Fang, like Chas and all the others, would have known who she meant, even if she hadn’t been caring for her. “She’s fine,” Fang assured her Queen soothingly, still snickering herself, meeting her Master’s eyes insistently to convey her seriousness and certainty despite the irresistible lightness of her mood. “Everything is fine, My Liege. I promise!”

“Then why are we both laughing?” Channah threw up her hands in exasperation as she stood, flicking her head at Hong’s girl and watching from the corner of her eye as the girl hopped to her feet and darted to help her sisters, her little noodle flopping irrelevantly.

“Because it’s funny!” Fang laughed merrily like bells pealing on a sweet summer day.

“It fucking is. It really fucking is! Isn’t it?”

“IT IS NOT FUNNY YOU INFERNAL WHORES!” Esmeray screamed and spit. Only unlike Channah, Esmeray was so out of her mind there wasn’t anything figurative about the spitting. “Bintāni al-haram!”

Hong and her girls gasped, mortally terrified to be so close to the woman, even in her vicinity, their eyes fearfully sidling to those of Channah and Fang for their reactions, to see if the five of them should dive down the stairs back to the protection of the castle in pursuit of minimum safe distance, or if they should continue to hold the defiant madwoman down.

Channah and Fang looked at one another in a shock that rapidly dissolved into even harder laughter, trying and failing to appear stern and judgmental, slowly shaking their heads in wonder, their eyes alight with gaiety, sharing an intimacy that was rare and profound because they found themselves in such a rare situation it was fresh, taking them back to their own youth. Esmeray, an even more rare specimen than Penny: A human, throwing the truth of what they were in their faces in an almost naïve attempt at disrespect, instead of hiding and burying that truth, which every human who knew or imagined the ancient succubae dreaded in their heart in the dark of night.

Without looking away from Fang quite yet, Channah extended her arm straight out towards the tangled knot of clothed qaharamanat and naked jawari, snapping her fingers decisively in command. “Don’t you dare let the truth-speaker go. Keep her here, in the hetaraslakos. Do not break the ritual. Bind her if you can, but I want her conscious and don’t you dare let her interrupt us again! Then mount them both on the rails!”

“You biiiiiiitch!” Esmeray screeched, and “Yes, Domina,” Hong solemnly swore, and “Yes, My Liege!” the four naked girls imitated Fang. And that was the last Channah paid them any mind, the sound of them fading as Esmeray’s speech devolved into a profane mishmash of bastardized Turkish and Arabic that almost complemented the discordant, insistent music of the band. Below and all around them, incredibly, the roar of the damned had grown even louder than before, louder than either Channah or Fang could remember hearing.

The moment was so real and genuine, Fang felt comfortable breaking through the centuries and millennia of formal fealty that had calcified their once-passionate relationship, the bond they’d shared before they understood their new reality, even back before their Fall, to tell her what she needed to know: “It’s kind of your fault, Channah,” she laughed. “Stop, and experience!”

“But Penny—”

“I’m telling you, she’s fine,” Fang assured her master, understanding Channah’s concern. Every moment she was cut off from her own metabolism, Penny was at extreme risk: In life, her soul needed her body, inhabited her body; and her body incarnated her soul. With the connection interrupted by the Ajna-nerve wall, Penny’s mind could go mad—a typical mind would have already—and her body could die. They couldn’t do anything for her mind beside monitor it, because the wall was something they were doing to it already. The most powerful sorcerers debated whether a soul in this state even was alive, but agreed that at best it was on a knife’s edge. But what Fang could do—and was doing—was reassuring Penny’s body in her absence, persuading her Penny was alive, that she was alive, reminding her heart to beat, her lungs to breathe, every cell and organ of hers to continue going through the motions necessary for life. Indeed, the actions arguably constituting life.

That was what Channah had been doing when Esmeray lost her shit, throttling Chas and bowling Channah over in the process of her violent struggles with the thrashing, desperate, senseless Chastity. A particularly violent jackknife by Chas had thrown Esmeray full-on into Channah’s back, impossible to ignore, impossible even to weather, knocking her away from Penny and breaking her sacred contact.

Back in this moment, frowning curiously at Fang, Channah did make herself pause to experience this moment, this place, comprehensively—with her full complement of outer senses, and also with her third eye, taking herself out of her narrow focus…

And gasping.

“Yes!” Fang nodded excitedly. “Discordance… on a potentially astrological scale.”

“Yesss….!” Channah agreed, breathing faster, practically leaping to kneel beside Penny, opposite Fang, restoring her connection to Penny, and joining Fang’s consciousness and hands at Penny’s ajna and muladhara.

“Feel her, Channah!”

And then Fang saw something she never saw. Something that no one saw, not from the Queen of Lust: uncertainty. Almost fear. In this moment of connection, Channah whispered her confession, as she needed to: “I’m not ready! I don’t feel ready—”

“My liege, you’re ready,” Fang assured her, moving the hand on Penny’s muladhara to be on top of Channah’s so she could give her a reassuring squeeze. “She’s ready. Finally,” she widened her eyes for emphasis, reminding Channah how long she had been working towards this.

“But—we haven’t even shared solitude—”

“Then do it now,” Fang urged her. “Use the wall.”

“How can I know she’s ready, when I couldn’t even—”

Fang nodded with understanding. “The one thing you can’t do, in all of hell and Earth, because it’s beyond your comprehension.”

“But then—how did Chava—?” She shook her head uncomprehendingly.

“Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was Penny. Most likely, it was just an accident.”

“Our plan—it’s hubris. Madder than Esmeray! Pure good can never surrender to pure evil.”

“We know that.” Fang struggled to conceal her exasperation. Of course, it was the steadiest of all who didn’t, perhaps couldn’t, really internalize the doubts until the moment of crisis. “You know that already, My Liege. And that’s not what we’re doing. We’re just doing what can be done, the closest we can come. A makeshift bridge.”

“And if it doesn’t work—”

Fang laughed at Channah, to show her the absurdity of the last-second surfacing of doubts they had harbored from the very start. “You know this. Then we start again. Or if we can’t make it happen, we wait for it to happen again.” She shrugged and smiled, the immortal’s joke: “It will give us something to do. It will happen. Again, and again, and again. Every one of our enemies has found one—”

“And ultimately failed!” Indeed, it had been their very success in the attempt that had been their undoing in the world.

Which was why Channah had waited for so long before she even considered it. Perhaps it was the only reason the Succubae alone still roamed the Earth: because demons could not understand the good, and therefore struggled to use it instead of corrupting it. Fang honestly didn’t know what the correct course of action was. After so many millenia, she wasn’t even quite sure she cared. She was pretty sure the High Coven, maybe the whole Court, had agreed to go along out of some brand of inertial boredom or simple fatalism, rather than a careful analysis of their enemies’ mistakes and how to avoid them.

Fang shrugged, doing and deciding what she urged Channah: “It is a mystery. It will always be a mystery. You must know even better than me. Experience it and tell me—is this the best moment we are likely to have? Or not? Decide, don’t decide, roll the dice. Time and heaven don’t care. Only we do.”

Literature Section “06-85 Penny’s Astrological Discordance”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 85 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1653 words—Accompanying Images: 1727-1731—Published 2025-05-07—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-84 The Agony of Chastity

2025-05-062025-05-07 admin

*1713 06-84 Abandoned after serving her purpose*

*1715 06-84 Death is the only angel coming for you*

PREVIOUSLY: Chastity 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. After provoking Esmeray beyond reason, and being rescued and temporarily restored to hearing by Channah, who explained Esmeray would be allowed to spend her rage on Penny, Chas is put back under. NOW:

Would they really let Esmeray hurt Penny? Not injure her—Chas couldn’t believe that. Because it would interfere with Channah’s mysterious plans. But cause her pain? Oh, yes.

It was one thing for Esmeray to take revenge on Chas. She’d expected it. Shite, for reasons Chas didn’t fully understand, she’d egged it on. Long ago, at grammar school, she’d discovered her ability to take pain was greater than others’, so much greater it gave her power against her bullies and could even make her an object of a twisted kind of respect. But Penny was, if anything, the opposite—more vulnerable than most. Weak, sensitive—easily hurt. And she who was the most susceptible, had done nothing to deserve what was coming to her. Chas felt bad, her cheeks reddening under her bonds with her shame. A sharp, unambiguous moral shame that didn’t feed into her dark side at all.

She tried to scream in frustration and rage, imagining what was happening to Penny right now because of her. She shook her head because it was one of the only things she could do, even as she felt hands taking hold of her collar. Angrily, impulsively, she pulled away from the hands, refusing to cooperate. And when they took firmer hold of her, she resisted all the harder, jackknifing and twisting her body over onto her left side to wrench away from them.

Now two pairs of knees dropped on her, one from each side—one on her shoulders, their owner fighting with her collar; a second dropping on her hips. Chas had the crazy thought that if she resisted hard enough, the hellspawned demons would all be so busy with her, they couldn’t hurt Chas.

When the person on Chas’s hips tried to seize her leg, Chas raised her knee sharply, jerking away and then kneeing that person in the arm or hand or somewhere, hard. At the same time, she tried moving her head and shoulders to deny access to her collar to the first attacker.

More hands seized Chas’s leg, two or perhaps three people wrestling to hold it still enough for them to do something they seemed intent on, with her ankle cuff; while the person kneeling on Chas’s shoulder shifted, so they had one knee on her shoulder and the other on her head, pinning it to the ground.

And now they had her, good and proper.

At her neck, fingers tugged and worked at her collar. At her ankles, fingers tugged and worked at her cuff. A second after that, the person kneeling on her shoulder started jerking Chas’s collar, not to get her to move—how could she?—but simply to hurt her and threaten her again. And at her feet—they’d attached her ankle to… something. A chain? And they were using it to force her right leg up in the air, away from her left leg.

Chas was so busy defending her neck and ankles she let her attackers realize before she did, that opening her legs had created a new and much worse vulnerability. The hard toe of a boot (Esmeray’s, she wondered? Perhaps hoped, meaning her ruse was working?) slammed into her crotch, causing her to flinch—ineffectively, because she could go nowhere, let alone defend herself—and scream—again, ineffectively, because she could not even make a sound.

She could do nothing to the world, or to her attackers, not even compete with the other noises she knew they could hear but that were denied to Chas—their own speech, the roaring of the sea of devils and demons, the madness of the band pounding on their drums and discordantly screeching on their strings. All she could do, was hurt. And this did hurt, in a really terrible way, causing her throat and stomach to clench and spasm with a reflexive urge to vomit. Which really scared her, because it shoved all her anger and frustration aside to make room for the sobering realization if she threw up in the mask, it would drown her. She could die.

Between the extreme pain, the shock, and the fearful reckoning, she was distracted and limp for long enough for them to work on her other leg cuff and finish whatever they were doing. A second later the knees lifted from her and even more hands rolled her onto her stomach and yanked her legs up behind her, bending her knees. Something was controlling her ankles, pulling them both, in the same direction and with the same amount of force. Something she eventually worked out was a bar securing her ankles at opposite ends, restraining both of them with one another but at a distance of about a yard from one another, making movement of any kind awkward. It also gave her attackers new leverage in the form of clear, solid purchase: something they could hold onto and force her to move with. And they used it to bend her legs at the knees until they could secure Chas’s wrists to the center of the bar.

At that point, effectively hogtied, they had Chas right where they wanted her. They didn’t have to hold her down any more: her body secured itself. She could no more easily move around, than a fish could maneuver itself after being taken out of the water.

Everyone climbed off her, then she was roughly picked up and unceremoniously carried, like a sack of potatoes, to wherever they were taking her. At one point she was almost thrown from the hands onto a metal surface—or wood, except she hadn’t seen any wood up here—but definitely too flexible and resonant for stone. Even her hips and shoulders could sense enough to know that. Then she was picked up again and moved a bit further.

Her anger and frustration had reasserted themselves as the pain in her testicles subsided from a blinding white agony to a grating throb. Now, just as they returned, like companions more reckless than Chastity herself, they were shoved aside again by panic at the realization that as far as she could tell, she was being carried in a more-or-less straight line on a platform that was very limited in size.

They must certainly be reaching its edge. She’d gone too far. She’d pushed them too far and they were going to throw her off it! It was a traitorous thought; a foolish one her mind tried to reason her out of: if they were going to kill her, why would the Queen of Hell have married her? Why would they have rescued her and raised her–?

But she was too close to the eye of the storm to quite believe she mattered. Chas knew. No one knew that better than her, she who was nearest of all to Penny, almost her twin, made to appear her twin without being it and remaining, instead, her pale shadow. Thank goodness, Penny didn’t know, the silly little cow! But Chas knew, how could she not?

Everything was about Penny. Channah was obsessed with her. The other succubae were focused on her—not lovingly, but in a dangerous way. Penny mattered. In her weakest moments (and this was one of them) it hurt her so much—scared her so much—that she only mattered to Channah, to their Governess, maybe to existence itself—because Penny did.

And that made her vulnerable. She knew it, of course she did. In her heart, she was afraid she only mattered at all, to anyone, because of Penny. What would happen when she outlived her usefulness? When Penny was… ready, or whatever she was supposed to be?

What if that was right now?

What if Chas had pushed the envelope too far, and Channah had decided to wash her hands of Chastity?

Maybe Chas had even given her a perfect excuse, the one she was waiting for, to tell Penny Chastity had deliberately caused Esmeray to torture Penny? If they wanted to get rid of Chastity without upsetting Penny, she might as well have issued them an engraved invitation.

They were going to throw her off the edge!

Literature Section “06-84 The Agony of Chastity”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 84 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)— 1360 words—Accompanying Images: 1713-1716—Published 2025-05-06—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-82 The Real Punishment of Chastity Begins (abridged version)

2025-05-042025-05-04 admin

*1704 06-82 You can always kill him for the affront later*

*1706 06-82 And then, she starts tugging on it!*

Explicit version containing themes of arousal, afterglow at 06-82X The Real Punishment of Chastity Begins at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

Chas’s tormentor doubled down, tightening the noose and jerking Chastity’s head back and forth as if trying to snap her neck, using the leash to drag Chastity tight up against her so she could pull even harder.

Like a stone being shot from a sling, panic rushed forward overtaking her as her situation sank in. Utterly and rapidly purged of every thought except for survival, she began kicking and thrashing—the only two things she could do—trying to ignore how much it hurt her own arms and hands, trapped behind her as they were on the stone, hoping against hope she might throw off the leather strip that was killing her, instead of helping to break her own neck by putting more stresses on it.

Choking, gasping, except for the pain in her hands, her arms, and her neck, her entire world was limited to rapidly-blooming terror and the struggle to breathe, even the peripheral pains starting to fade as her attention and her world narrowed and narrowed down to a few inches under her jaw, her burning lungs, and her panic.

Her resistance started to weaken as the energy drained from her muscles, not even adrenaline able to replace what oxygen-deprivation was taking until she became vaguely aware, in some remote part of her brain, that there were hands and other bodies all around them, even on top of Chas, pulling on his would-be murderer’s arms, fighting with her for control of the leash, and trying to loosen it.

After what seemed like forever, the leash loosened and Chas began gasping, her lungs heaving with effort to catch up, her awareness rapidly expanding back to include the knee of one of her rescuers on her chest, restricting her lungs, and her tormentor’s legs and boots kicking her as she was dragged away.

Insofar as Chas could tell, she was now alone with the woman on her chest, who slid off to kneel beside her even as she unwound the leash, leaving only Chas’s collar around her neck and her breathing unimpeded.

A moment later, she felt fingers at her ear and motion inside her ear canal.

Sound exploded back into her awareness as the plug was removed: closest and loudest, laughter. Laughter! She recognized Channah’s voice—the woman kneeling by her—and further away, she thought she could pick out a couple of other familiar voices. Hang’s? Fong’s? Despite only having just met the latter two, she felt hurt and betrayed by all of them, and if she’d had the emotional reserves for it she would have been outraged. Somehow, the fact she knew some of them, even if slightly, made the feeling of betrayal worse and intensely more personal than with respect to the voices she didn’t recognize.

Instinctively, Chas tried to protest. But although she caught herself uselessly trying to talk through the gag and the spell, she could not really muster the intensity of indignation she felt the situation deserved because she was too exhausted and her nerves were too shattered.

Somewhere in the direction she had been dragged, Chas recognized Esmeray’s voice. Screaming: screaming with rage and fury and the kind of indignation Chas could not muster, all tinged with something Chas’s heart still had enough bandwidth to recognize as a cousin to her own instinctive panic. Practically spitting, the bloodlust Chas could hear directed at her, doused her own feelings of being slighted like a tubful of ice water poured over her body.

Surrounding Esmeray, there were a cluster of winded voices of people trying to subdue or remove her, some barking orders at her, some trying to reason with her quietly, but most of them, Chas was sure, tinged with some mild shade of amusement over her act of attempting to murder Chas. Below and behind all the other sounds, the roaring, raucous ocean of the damned not only continued, but had surged, their howling seeming to be at the highest and most frantic pitch Chas had heard yet.

“Are you all right?” Channah asked, still laughing, resting her hand lightly on Chas’s neck in a form of attempted comfort. And then, before Chas even realized she was grunting and snorting insensibly Channah reminded her: “Sweetie, you’re going to have to nod or shake your head for me. You sound like—well, like a gagged woman trying to talk.” And she laughed a bit harder.

Assessing herself, Chas decided that despite the soreness of her neck, the post-adrenaline jitters, and the even deeper bruises to her psyche, she was physically more-or-less intact, and she managed a nod.

“Good. That’s good. Are you able to breathe and recover?” Chas nodded again, almost feeling cared for until it occurred to her Channah was making no move to remove her other earplug or otherwise release her. “I’m glad, wifey dear. I told you, I have plans for you, darling. You need to take better care of yourself. Do try to remember none of the other women on this roof are your wives or girlfriends, and it’s not all about you. It’s best for everyone if you try to please us instead of thinking of yourself. Understand, honey?” Chas nodded, ignoring his burgeoning outrage as he concentrated on trying to figure out what it was important for her to know and understand for her own survival.

“You’re not going to like what comes next either. But we’re all going to enjoy ourselves more than enough to keep the damned in a lather. And Esmeray’s anger… lust and anger, that’s all the damned can feel or understand.” Her voice fell, to something like hushed in this environment, expressing wonder: “They’re going mad! That’s all they are, now… wanting what they can’t have. Don’t you dare tell Penny yet. She’ll put it together fast enough anyway and I need her strong.” She patted Chas’s forehead protectively. “But as much as the thought of your suffering satisfies my own urge to teach you a lesson, it’s counterproductive out here. The power we take from the damned is spiteful lust, so you won’t be able to share in that power. Oh, well. More for me!” She practically giggled.

She leaned close to Chas’s ear, and kissed him on the earlobe, and then between her temple and her ear, making Chas shiver with delight. “You and Esmeray, together… you’re an emotional firestorm, the two of you. So think about this: Because I can’t trust Esmeray to leave you alive, I’m going to have to give Penny to her today, and she’s going to take out all the rage and upset you can hear from her, on Penny. You did that to your sister-wife.”

And with that, the plug was pushed back into Chastity’s ear, and her world was plunged back into near-perfect stillness.

Literature Section “06-82[X] The Real Punishment of Chastity Begins”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 82 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1132 words::Explicit 1290 words—Accompanying Images: 1704-1707—Published 2025-05-04—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-81 The Perils of Penance

2025-05-032025-05-04 admin

*1693 06-81 Yar dee har! Ye’re a fine prize, lassie!*

*1695 06-81 Mayhap the flat of my scimitar’ll hasten your step*

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.

Stories

06-80 The Splaying of Chastity (abridged version)

2025-05-022025-05-04 admin

*1681 06-80 Perpetua and Felicity bring down the Colosseum*

*1683 06-80 With the fierce passion of St. Perpetua*

Explicit version containing masturbation, orgasm, asphyxiation themes at 06-80X The Splaying of Chastity] at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY: Penny’s and Chas’s wrists are restrained. They have been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, before being spun until losing their balance and sense of direction and falling onto the hard stone platform. NOW:

Chastity lay on the stone, breath quick, heart beating rapidly, every fiber of her being focused on her periphery. Like a bullseye lantern sweeping across a dark room, she scanned her own skin, from cute blonde locks to painted little toes, waiting for first contact: anywhere, anything, stimulation, a signal that it was starting, and the first hint of what it might be.

She could not see. She could not hear. She could not smell. And for good measure, she could not even taste. They had taken everything external away from her except the warm stone beneath her and the hot, moist, still air around her; the air that pelted every inch of exposed skin with specks of sand every moment without the air itself joining. That was her entire world.

There was fear; but her elevated pulse wasn’t entirely about fear. She remained buoyed by the boundless, youthful expectation that what was coming would be better than before.

She had fallen on her back, shoulders and head raised on her elbows, legs spread wide, and she hadn’t bothered to think about her modesty.

When the first touch came, it was a soft kick to her side. When that produced no response, it was followed by a harder and more insistent kick, immediately repeated, prompting Chas to struggle to roll herself over onto her front. Next was a kick to the bottom of her shoe, repeated again until she moved it, bending her knee and then in response to a blow to the other sole, moving her other knee. The kicks were repeated until she lay on her knees and her shoulders, one cheek pressed against the stone, like a frog with its arms tied behind its back.

Someone lifted the back of Chas’s gown, pulling it up like a curtain until the entire dress, causing Chas a quick shiver. She next felt the boots that had been kicking her sliding up the outsides of her calves, before being withdrawn. A moment later they returned, this time between her legs, nudging her insistently to force her legs apart, the woman’s—she assumed it was one of the women—standing behind her, legs pressed against her hips.

The woman did something with Chas’s chemise, the light linen smock under her dress—Chas couldn’t quite tell what, because it was such a light garment and only one among the many she wore.

The next thing she felt were fingers, insistent fingers, tugging fabrics around her sacrum and yanking them down around her knees. Chas groaned, startled again by how much weaker and deeper her own voice sounded when every noise outside her body was taken from her absolutely. She felt fabric being stuffed between her panty strings and her hips, before being used to tug her panties down.

Then the hands were gone, abandoning her back to her isolation, causing Chas to croak out a useless, drawn-out sound of protest. How long would she be left here this time? An hour? Or only—

—a moment. She was kicked in the side again and obediently rolled back over onto her back, like a dog being trained in the kennels.

Lying flat on her back hurt her arms and with a nervous swallow, she worked her elbows up towards her shoulders with difficulty, raising her shoulders again.

Hands finished removing her unnecessaries.

The she felt boots between her legs again, pressing.

Chastity grinned, her skin tingling with anticipation…

Nothing.

Nothing happened. Her smile faltered, and blurred into confusion and disappointment.

They’d left her! For the first time she thought of Penny, her friend—and felt a stab of jealousy. Were they turning their attention to her now?

Don’t ignore me! Her mind hollered uselessly, so thoroughly separated from the world around her it could only express its longing with a rather desperate-sounding and ambivalent grunt of protest.

Finally it came, a testing of how easily he moved from side to side, to confirm what the carelessly-named Chastity already knew. She felt her lips tightening again, in another pleased, only-slightly-guilty smile.

The hand withdrew and Chas moaned in disappointment. Then gasped when two hands returned, tentative hands, not assured ones like the first. These made no contact whatsoever with her skin; they were hyper-careful. Chas felt no warm palm resting on her leg, no stray fingertips brushing the pulpy flesh at her base; only its housing being shifted, first to one side tentatively, then a second time, decisively, straight downwards, making her moan breathily. Chas gasped as she dared to hope she knew what it portended…

Small movements around the place where the parts of her Svadhisthana device met. Yesssss! Chas sighed raggedly with relief and breathed even faster, panting, rolling her hips in silent entreaty for more attention, waiting to feel more aggressive hands…

Where were they? She moued, only half-hearing the sound herself, the part inside her head, nothing after it left her body. She brought her knees together and up to her chest, frantically moving them, breathing harder, unsure if she could even press hard enough. Any second, she expected hands to stop her movement, prevent her from continuing; and when they didn’t come, she began hoping she could make it—

—she finished! She just barely managed to, enough for relief but not satisfaction. She longed for the velvet glove of a woman holding him the way he was meant to be.

She could hardly remember the last time she had been left in such a place of gratitude and dissatisfaction. Even as she felt the comfort of the afterglow, if she could have cried out properly, she would have remonstrated with fate and demanded a do-over! She wanted more…

Literature Section “06-80[X] The Splaying of Chastity”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 80 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 948 words::Explicit 1199 words—Accompanying Images: 1681-1684—Published 2025-05-02—©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.

Stories

06-79 The Disorientation and Abandonment of Penny

2025-05-012025-04-28 admin

*1666 Ring around the rosies, A pocketful of posies*

*1668 06-79 Beltaine! Beltaine! I think I’m in twubble*

PREVIOUSLY: Penny’s and Chas’s wrists are restrained, and they have been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste. Penny is still trying to fully comprehend what the spelled panties have done to her. NOW:

And it wasn’t just her sense of smell that had been taken from her: she couldn’t taste anything! She’d never even been aware her own mouth had a flavor until that was taken away. Indeed, she could hardly even feel her mouth properly, her tongue insisting that it could sense the shapes of her teeth and lips, but the total absence of any taste insisted equally to her tongue that anything it imagined it felt was a lie, because her tongue was clearly not working at all.

Thus left without sensation except the nerves in her skin, Penny was left to consider the true and full meaning of being “senseless,” and wrestle with the idea that having her last remaining feeling taken away would be… unbearable.

And then she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, urging her counterclockwise, insisting she turn where she stood. And after she had turned, the hands continued to urge her to turn more, until she understood she was meant to spin like a whirling dervish, around and around, faster and faster, prodded and finally, even lightly slapped, every time she was too slow or stupid to please her master, wishing she could still taste the salt of her own tear dripping down over her lip to confirm she was still alive. Her master kept spinning and spinning her until she started feeling so dizzy she couldn’t even keep her balance.

And at that instant, that very moment when her nerves were so jangled and confused she started to fall over, the hands were gone and she was on her own.

She careened, stumbled on her own high heel, and fell onto the hard stone, barely having the presence of mind to keep her head from cracking on the unforgiving, unyielding surface, even as her shoulder and back slammed into it. She had no idea where she was or how she was oriented except her memory’s and body’s insistence she was still on the same platform where she had been bound. But she couldn’t say whether she was facing the jungle gym, the bed, the glass platform, or the pool. She didn’t even know if she was facing the edge of the platform, or the stairwell in the center.

She wasn’t even sure she could get to her feet if she tried, certainly not in high heels with her hands cuffed behind her back. Not that she did try. What was the point? The very best thing she could hope for was to walk straight into the side of the pool or the crib or the jungle gym, and fall back onto her bottom again without cracking her skull. If she was unlucky, she would walk off one of the edges of the platform and fall two stories to a likely death upon impact. But supposing she survived the fall, she would be shredded or eaten or—whatever the hell devils and demons did to victims who fell into their midst. The only way she could get off the platform without such a gruesome fate would be if she managed to find her way to the stairway in the middle of the platform. But it was three flights—50 or 60 hard, steep stone stairs—down to the basement passageway, and she couldn’t even use her hands to steady herself. She reckoned her chances of making it to the bottom without breaking her own neck at close to zero.

Slowly, glacially, the absolute certainty swept over her that she daren’t do anything at all except to keep breathing (and even that was at her masters’ pleasure!) and wait for her Esmeray’s mercy. Hanim Qahramanah’s mercy, she corrected herself, mindful of how important it had suddenly become for her to keep the disturbing woman happy. Penny didn’t even have the wherewithal to find her and beg her for guidance; she couldn’t sense her, she certainly couldn’t catch her if she dodged or fled, and she couldn’t even risk moving to search for her.

So she half-sat, half-lay there, on the stone, elbow throbbing where it had slammed into the hard rock, contemplating the depth of her plight.

Hanim Qahramanah left her there for what seemed like forever…

So she lay where and as she had fallen, shaking and weeping, unable to even hear herself beyond the gasping in her own throat and the humming vibrations of her cries through her own flesh. She was pining and desperate for her qahramanah to come and touch her, perhaps even help her to her feet, or even use her as a footstool. Or an ashtray—she would take anything! She really needed Esmeray or Channah to touch her, pretty please with sugar on top! To reassure her she wasn’t all alone and abandoned on what surely, must literally be, this godforsaken platform.

But all she could feel were the stones beneath her and the hot, moist, still air around her. All she could hear were the half-crying, half-gargling sounds she made in her own throat and strangled to death before they could escape from around her gag. She smelled nothing, tasted nothing, saw nothing.

She’d never felt so helpless in her life. Hanim Qahramanah let Penny contemplate how very, very deeply she needed and craved being mastered.

Literature Section “06-79 The Disorientation and Abandonment of Penny”—Part 79 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—879 words—Accompanying Images: 1666-1669—Published 2025-05-01—©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.

Stories

06-71 Dance of the Qahramanat VI

2025-04-232025-04-17 admin

*1635 06-71 Aging Divas still know how to entertain*

PREVIOUSLY: Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls she is taking through the Hell of Lust to reach their honeymoon destination. At the foreboding Chang’an Castle, Penny and Chas have been told to open Duchess Fang’s wedding gifts to their Domina, Queen Channah, while the succubae and qahramanat watch. NOW:

Operant Conditioning

“Oh—I apologize, Domina,” Hong bowed from her position kneeling on her saddle’s back. “I didn’t—”

“No, it’s fine” Esmeray interrupted hastily, reaching out, almost as if she were fighting her own arm to get it to move. “I’m sorry,” she murmured quietly, while Hong and the two succubae exchanged significant looks, and the girls scrambled to catch up. “I—recognize them. These are for… prisoners.”

“Or in this case, lovers,” Channah clarified gently. “Not you—ever. Only the girls.”

Esmeray met her eyes. “The girls?”

“Only them. Ever. I promise. Using them on the girls might even… help you.”

“Help me?” she frowned. “To use it on them?”

“Yes. You may find it… empowering. But if you never want to use them, it’s fine. We’ll definitely bring them with us on the honeymoon. Fang and Hong, they are lovely. A more fitting gift than you might even have thought. But it is the very significance and importance of the gift that makes it more serious.”

“What—what are they, Domina?” Penny asked.

“I know now,” Chas whispered. “They’re not—exactly what I’ve—seen.”

Channah looked at Chas closely, stood up, approached him, and squatted down beside both girls, surprising them by feeling them. “But you’re not bothered,” she pronounced. “At least, not in the same way as Esmeray. Good.” She turned to Penny, smiling archly, still holding them both. “They’re to restrain you girls so you’re helpless for me and I can have my way with you.” And she gasped when Penny did. “Good,” she nodded, causing Fang and Hong to exchange an amused glance. She stood and returned to her seat as Esmeray slowly reached into the box again, pulling out bright red pieces.

“Eyes,” she nodded, considering one of the pieces. “This one is for the eyes.” She drew out another. “And… the mouth?”

“Yes,” Hong confirmed.

Channah was peeking into the package she had opened, and met Fang’s gaze, smiling, before closing it again. “I’m going to save that one. Thank you, Fang. Thank you, Hong. Thank your benefactors, girls.”

“Thank you, Domina,” the girls chorused. “Thank you, Hong Qahramanah.”

“You’re very welcome, girls,” Fang and her own wife touched hands.

Trying Out the Wedding Gifts

“I want to be the first to cover their eyes,” Esmeray declared. Penny and Chas exchanged a nervous look.

“Oh, look at the girls,” Channah smiled. “Actually…” she considered for a moment, then laughed wickedly. “I like that idea. It will let you, Esmeray, have your first chance to observe the girls, and I think it will set the right… mood for the honeymoon. Let’s release Hong’s girls back to her so she can begin.” Channah stood again, as the other women imitated her.

“Hong, the Hongettes are yours again.”

“Yes, thank you, Domina,” she curtsied, deciding not to mention or inquire about the nickname. Instead, she purred: “Stand and stretch yourselves, bitches. You need to be ready for hard service again in a minute.” The four girls, all looking even more excited than before, stretched and rose, loosening up after their service as saddles.

“Esmeray, attend closely today. First to me, of course. But you’ll also have plenty of opportunities to observe what to expect when we return next week, and how Hong handles her jawari. So watch and learn. And if we’re going to blindfold the girls…” she laughed wickedly. “They won’t have any idea what’s required of them. So Esmeray, you’ll have to watch this week extra carefully to learn.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Esmeray agreed.

“First lesson, Esmeray, when you’re managing the girls…” Channah commented, moving so that Chas and Penny were between them both. “You should always be considering control. Do you have it, how to keep it, and whether you’re in any danger of losing it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“With two tops, or dommes, and two bottoms, or subs, in an open area like this one, with no walls or other obstacles to help you corral your subs, I often like to trap the subs between us, the way we are doing right now.”

The girls glanced around in surprise at the first thought of their position, while Esmeray asked: “What about the edges of the hetaraslakos? Couldn’t that be a barrier?”

“Very good,” Fang nodded approvingly. “It’s good to think about how you can use your environment in each moment.

“I agree,” Channah nodded, “but the reason I didn’t want rely on it is because simply backing your girls against a cliff is an active threat which itself is out of your control. Unlike a wall, which you can usually count on to stay in place and limit not only your sub’s actions, but also to limit the number of environmental factors out of your control.”

“Out of my control?” she asked.

“When we’re ready for edgeplay, literal edgeplay, we might back the girls against the edge of the platforms.”

“Please, no, Dom—” Chas began, hushing when Channah placed her finger on the girl’s lips, otherwise ignoring her.

“Hush. No one is speaking to either of you girls. It’s adult time now.” And looking back at Esmeray, she continued with her thought: “But what if there’s a sudden gust of wind? Or your girl loses her balance or panics? Or one of the damned throws an object, either to get your attention or out of frustration? The damned are usually pretty focused on trying to reach you, but they’re not always the best-reasoned, or therefore predictable, of creatures. The point is, once you’re sure you have control, you can take your girls to the edge. But you get total control of your girls first, to limit the number of variables you have to worry about at one time.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you. That is helpful.”

Behind Esmeray, Hong switched back to Chinese with her girls and they began moving with purpose to form a line before her, listening to her.

Behind Channah, Fang strolled to the band of aging jawari as they finished their piece of music, and spoke with them in rapid-fire Mandarin as they nodded and bowed to her. Chas looked a bit sad as she watched their interactions.

“What’s the matter, honey bar?” Channah asked curiously, touching Chas’s chin.

Her eyes flickered to Channah’s, then away again, embarrassed, and she whispered: “I was wondering… if there was a time Fang looked upon her jawari musicians with the same tenderness she shows now… for…”. Chas forced herself to look back at her and almost linched at the expression of pity in Channah’s eyes.

“Time is a far crueler mistress than me,” Channah acknowledged. “I’m sorry, hucow. But if it’s any consolation, Fang values her old jawari, too.” She sniggered. “Dirty old jawari have their uses. Their desperation to please… is delicious.”

Satisfied with the orders she had issued, Fang sat on one of the benches, as calmly and precisely as she did everything, mainly focused on Hong, but briefly meeting Chas’s eye, startling her, making her wonder if she had heard the exchange. Fang winked so that Chas looked back at Channah, then blushed harder and looked down. Both succubae laughed as the drummers began a new piece, pounding out a much heavier percussive beat than they had before. Soon, they were joined by a sly and suggestive melody and harmony, and finally, two of the women—one a soprano, the other a tenor—began singing to one another and the world.

One of the last things Penny noticed before she was blindfolded, was the way the devils and demons below changed their movements and sounds when the music changed. They were neither singing nor dancing; indeed, they could hardly be described as rhythmic. And yet, there was something about their movements that was affected by the music from the band; some quality about their voices and expressions that complemented what the orchestra was doing.

Literature Section “06-71 Dance of the Qahramanat VI”—Part 71 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1317 words—Accompanying Images: 1633-1636—Published 2025-04-23—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-70 Dance of the Qahramanat V

2025-04-222025-04-17 admin

*1623 06-70 RAPUNZEL was less-sheltered than you girls!*

*1625 06-70 I don’t think she can get pregnant that way*

About Men, Girls, and Dogs

Chas and Penny knelt near the center of the hetaraslakos, surrounded by their four counterparts kneeling in saddle position supporting the girls’ four superiors, and began carefully removing the red paper wrappings from the packages without damaging them.

Esmeray laughed harshly. “You are girls now,” she decided, amused and slightly contemptuous. “A man, like a dog, would just rip the paper off to see what was inside.” And then she laughed again. “And so would I!”

“You’re admitting you’re a dog?” Hong asked demurely, but not kindly.

Minutes after spoiling to initiate a fight, Esmeray casually waved a hand, unphased in the slightest by an insult that in some cultures was considered quite severe. “Like a dog. Even being like a man is better than… this,” she added, as the girls blushed three different shades of red.

“I would do the same,” Channah admitted, causing Hong to redden in turn, as Fang glared at her. “And I am in no way like a dog.”

“Certainly not, Domina!” Hong agreed insistently, in a strangled voice, and even Esmeray had the presence of mind to murmur her agreement, without taking her eyes off the packages.

Turning her corrective gaze on Esmeray, Channah continued: “But you are both right, we have worked very hard to support Chas’s and Penny’s development into the demure and proper young ladies they were meant to be. Girls, I selected Esmeray for you for many reasons, but none of those reasons were to unwind your ladylike decorum and deportment. You are my wives and I wanted you because of who you are, including the sweet and feminine young ladies you have become.”

“Yes, thank you, Domina,” they agreed, still pink.

“I know you’ve endured worse from your… stepbrothers, who have never understood your path. Worse, because they meant it hurtfully. And while I understand their contempt, and Esmeray’s amusement, and even share them to some extent, I never want you to change. Promise me you will always be my sweet young girls.”

“We promise, Domina,” they murmured, staring fixedly at the contents of their packages but making no move to remove them, their ears burning.

Finally turning her gaze on the girls, she continued: “Esmeray has not had the opportunities and training Hong has enjoyed all her life. And I find her inappropriate candor delightfully refreshing, at least among us ladies and girls. Never in the Show, where all my operatives have important parts to play.” Her face softening slightly, she glanced back at Esmeray. “To the extent they can. But her views on your young womanhood are not among the reasons I chose her for you. You will of course accept her insults, because she is your Qahramanah. Try even to enjoy them as part of your training.”

And when she paused, the girls, thus prompted, managed to choke out: “Yes, Domina.”

“But let her be the man. I think part of her soul is one, as much as yours are female. Her male part is necessary for your proper training, but being men—or even boys—is not for you.” Esmeray, managing to look slightly discomfited herself, nodded as if trying to memorize something important. Then Channah grinned, becoming jocular again: “So get on with it, you big girls!” As Esmeray clapped delightedly.

The Arts of the Spring

“Classic of the White Madam, and Other Spring Palace Illustrations,” Penny read the title of the elegantly-bound book in front of her, in confusion. “Arts of the Bedchamber,” Chas read hers, her squeaky speech suggesting considerably less confusion.

As soon as they read the titles, Channah burst out laughing as Fang and Hong tittered politely. “You had them translated into Latin, of all languages?!”

“I understand Latin is becoming a liturgical language in the West. It seemed more amusing—and marginally less barbaric—than English,” Fang explained. “Also, knowing barbarians lack subtlety, I asked my corrupted Jesuit missionary to render the words so vulgar and explicit even your girls would be able to understand them.”

“You’re bad,” Channah snickered. “Look at their faces!” she broke into peals of laughter as the girls, reaching the cover illustration inside, looked like they would crawl into the little packages and wrap themselves up in the used red paper if they could. “I love how sweet and polite they are! Esmeray, surely even you can see how charming they are.”

“Perhaps—in moments like these,” she conceded, also enjoying herself. “They’re so embarrassed!”

“You’d think they were more innocent than they are! A week ago, yes. But in the past week…”

“These are translated from the older texts, pre-Confucian in origin. I’m confident they haven’t tried a twentieth of what is discussed in them,” Fang replied.

“I’m sure you’re right! Oh, these are perfect wedding gifts, Fang. Close them up, girls.”

“For such modest girls, they’re very attentive, Domina,” Hong observed.

“They certainly are! Good students, I should think.” She clapped her hands sharply. “Close them! I don’t want you seeing anything quite yet. We shall explore these thoroughly all week!”

Channah, Fang, Hong, and even the four Hongettes from their crouched positions, laughed at the idea, while the girls reluctantly obeyed their Domina and set the packages back in the boxes.

“We have a book like this,” Esmeray admitted. “I have never seen it, but I have heard it mentioned.”

“One Thousand and One Nights!” Channah nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I should look into getting them a copy of that, which they should be able to read in the original. And perhaps the Indian and ancient Egyptian texts on the subject.”

“Now, girls,” Hong continued, “Rise, set the books by your Domina, and each of you take one of the remaining gifts.” When they had, Hong, with barely a pause, said: “Chas, kneel before your Domina with the package. As close as you can get without crowding her.” Hong paused, looking questioningly at Fang, who asked:

“With permission, majesty, although the last gift is for your benefit, we had it in mind parts of it might be used, and all of them at least shared, by your girls’ qahramanah. Would you prefer to open it…?”

“Not at all! By all means, Penny, kneel before Esmeray as Chas is kneeling before me.”

“But—this is the largest gift of all!” Esmeray protested as Penny maneuvered it in front of her. And then, weighing it with one hand without taking it from Penny: “And the heaviest by far, I would guess.”

“You go first then, child, while I watch,” Channah decided.

“Then hold tight, girlie!” Esmeray cautioned, before ripping the paper with a single swipe of her fingernails, then using her hands to tear open one side of the package instead of opening the top, while the other women laughed at her raw enthusiasm and earnestness.

“Her genuineness does have a… refreshing quality, Domina,” Hong conceded politely.

She started pulling gorgeous, gold-studded, tooled purple leather straps covered with gold buckles and rings, from the box which she and the girls at first stared at in confusion, before Esmeray suddenly tightened like a watchspring, gasped in recognition, and threw them violently back in the box, looking horrified.

Literature Section “06-70 Dance of the Qahramanat V”—Part 70 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1197 words—Accompanying Images: 1623-1626—Published 2025-04-22—©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.

Milestones

06-68 Easter Lessons

2025-04-202025-04-17 admin

*1627 06-68 Domesticated bunnies don’t recognize predators*

*1629 06-68 Know your predators:*
*NOT the Easter Bunny*

*1631 06-68 Girls pose respectfully with their Qahramanah*

Literature Section “06-68 Easter Lessons”—Part 68 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Accompanying Images: 1627-1632—Published 2025-04-17 to -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.

Tag: crazy

Operant Conditioning

Trying Out the Wedding Gifts

About Men, Girls, and Dogs

The Arts of the Spring