Tag: dominatrix


1708 06-83 Fear of Falling
1709 06-83 Into the Abyss
1710 06-83 The Fear Unto Death
1711 06-83 Helplessly Entombed
1712 06-83 Sweet Dreams of Scarlet Salvation
1713 06-83 Can You Be Saved by a Fallen Angel?

Explicit version containing anal themes at 06-83 The Unconditional Surrender of Penance Batonnoir at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny has been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, disoriented with her hands tied behind her back.  Walked to a waist-high guardrail along the edge of the castle parapet, she has just been pushed over it.  NOW:

Penny screamed ineffectively, silently, unheard even by herself and alone in her silence, as the combination of the shove in her back and the yank down on her leash propelled the top half of her body forward and down, and her center of gravity out beyond the rail, out beyond the relative safety of the edge, over the abyss.

As her head and shoulders plummeted down, gravity and the bar at her hips lifted her feet from the solidity of the platform and she went flying!  Inside her guts, the blind eel that dwelled there somehow connected to her emotions, and spasmed violently.

Until a moment later a sharp pull on her ankles stopped her from falling further.  It was so solid, so unyielding, her mind recognized she had not been caught by human—or even demon—hands.  Her bonds must have caught on something!  But that half-thought was about all she had in her and her body was out of control already, her deliberate mind having shut down and ceded control to the basest and most animal instincts, things so deep and distant she could not even recognize them as parts of herself.  Like foundry workers around an exploding furnace they were shouting soundless orders and alarms, flashes of sweaty muscles and hurrying silhouettes and panic-filled eyes rolling in trapped sockets, they made her body jerk and twitch in every direction, trying to free a hand, trying to catch on something else besides her ankles, trying to fall feet-first, trying and failing to do something, that would make a difference long after her will and intentions had shut down and closed their eyes, bracing for impact.

She flopped and jerked and twisted like a fish tumbling out of a net onto the deck of a boat.  In her absence, her body was trying to exert any slight degree of control that would allow it to survive and choose, if not with any specific haven in mind, simply to change what was happening already through no decision of its own.  Her body would take any fate other than the one her mind had told it to expect.  And her body would not give up, even without her mind to help.

It was several seconds before her reason could realize she still wasn’t falling, and work out they must have chained her ankles to something when they spread her legs.  With another lost expression, Penny sobbed and fell limp and ragged, her waist and her very life held by a solitary narrow iron bar, her momentum over it checked by her ankle cuffs, her arms still bound behind her back, emphasizing their uselessness and Penny’s own ineffectiveness as a living thing.

Penny screamed.  Penny screamed and wept, shaking and sobbing, her sense of balance telling her gravity still roared and slavered for her, wishing to snatch her away like the jaws of a wolf.

At first, Penny hardly registered, hardly had the room to register, that her dress and underskirts had been thrown over her head, before she was shocked and focused by something cold and hard and wet.  And the instant it touched her—

She felt absolutely nothing at all.

Nothing.

At.

All.

Not her own weight, lying on the narrow bar and tugging on the ankle chains.

Not voracious gravity, trying to devour her.

Not the hot and humid air pressing tightly around her.

Not her own heartbeat.

Not her own breath!

Not even the darkness and silence of her world.

A-B-S-O-L-U-T-E N-O-T-H-I-N-G-N-E-S-S.

And so Penny learned what complete and utter forlorn terror really was.

Was she dead?!

She must be dead.

But even death shouldn’t be so lonely and isolating.  So… naught.

She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would go mad.  And not slowly:  soon.  Maybe she already was.

Her mind was certainly thrown to mad thoughts without anything real to anchor it in any way.  Thoughts like these, that were real because they were the very world she was experiencing, raw and immediate, nothing esoteric about them:

What was happening to her body?!  Inside her own body?!  Her mind knew because it remembered.  When it was aware, it had rarely even realized how thoroughly it knew it was alive every second.  It felt its own breath, felt its own heart, sometimes even heard them or felt the rise and fall of its chest; sometimes smelled and felt the slick moisture of its own sweat.  Now, she could not even tell if her body—if she—was still there, or had ever really been there.  She didn’t know if she had ever even had a body at all.  Perhaps it had all been her imagination.  Or was her body being destroyed, inside and out, continuing the assault every sense she’d had, had been screaming at her to report?  It had to be; her senses were gone, unless reality was actually gone—and she had no way to tell.  Was she even now, falling towards the sea of devils and demons below, who would tear her to pieces for all eternity, over and over again?  Or had she died, and these were the last seconds of her consciousness, mere seconds stretching and lasting in a final desperate effort to cling to life?

She couldn’t say which was more disconcerting, more upsetting and unreal:  the loss of her body, or the loss of her world.  Because without her senses, she had nothing.  She had imagined she was lost with the mere departure of her sight, hearing, taste, and smell.  What she wouldn’t give to return to even that half-state of being!  To be without even touch, even balance?… Without anything, really.  Without the senses she had taken for granted, and the things they brought to her, reality itself did not exist.  She felt no gravity, and it was gravity that had connected her to this world all her life, like an umbilical cord to her mother, without her even realizing she felt it:  a sense of up and down, right and left, solidity.  Without the pull of the world she was utterly untethered.  There were no people.  There was no sun, no wind, no earth, no wind, no fire, no air, the very elements themselves dissolved, if they had ever existed at all.

Oh, Domina!  She thought, her mind crying where her body no longer existed to weep.  Her Domina! 

For the first time in her life, she felt a perfect clarity, a perfect certainty:

Penny knew, absolutely knew, with every shred and fiber of her being, that only her Domina could bring her back from… if she had had shoulders, she would have given up and shrugged.  She was nowhere.  There was nowhere to bring her back from.  But only her Domina could pluck her out of this absence and bring her back to reality, the world, her sweet smell, her soft skin, her warm love, bring Penny back to Penny herself, from this awful nothingness.

Oh Domina!  Please please please please please please bring me back to you!  PLEASE don’t let go, I know there is a golden spiritual umbilical thread between us, connecting us always, unbreakable and forever!  There has to be one because I need it, I need it so badly I can still feel it, because it’s the only thing that exists for me here!  The certainty you care about me is complete.  I don’t know why, I can’t understand your ways and wiles, and—and maybe I don’t need to.  A part of my soul knows I probably don’t want to.  But do need the fact that I know.  That you cared about something you perceived in me, with senses I don’t even possess, senses that must be able to find me now!  I just need to know you are going to bring me back to you!

You’re going to bring me back!  And that’s what I want, more than anything, to be back in your world, back at your feet, back where you want me.  Back where I BELONG.  I know it now!  Please hear me!  I’m sorry for having been so slow and suspicious.  I’M SORRY!!!  PLEASE!!!

I love you!  I need you!  I am NOTHING without you!  Not without you!

Please….

Literature Section “06-83[X]-The Unconditional Surrender of Penance Batonnoir”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 83 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1374 words::Explicit 1538 words—Accompanying Images:  1708-1712—Published 2025-05-05—©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.

1704 06-82 You can always kill him for the affront later
1705 06-82 So stupid!  He brought his junk to a knife fight!
1706 06-82 And then, she starts tugging on it!
1707 06-82 Sympathy from the Devil

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

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.  But now her tormentor is choking her.  NOW:

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.


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.

1681 06-80 Perpetua and Felicity bring down the Colosseum
1682 06-80 Joyous Martyrs or Perverted Servants of Hell?
1683 06-80 With the fierce passion of St. Perpetua
1684 06-80 Gladiatrix and Martyr

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.


1666 Ring around the rosies, A pocketful of posies
1667 06-79 Ashes, ashes, We all fall down

1668 06-79 Beltaine! Beltaine!  I think I’m in twubble
1669 06-79 I trust you. Kinda.

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.

1662 06-78 It’s WAY too late for anyone to save you…
663 06-78 You belong to us now… plaything
1664 06-78 Oh, I’ll MAKE it fit…
1665 06-78 And then, I’m going to…

PREVIOUSLY:  For reasons of their own, Channah and Fang seem intent on training their qahramanat to degrade their jawari in front of legions of the damned.  Penny and Chas are already handcuffed, blindfolded, and gagged; but Channah and Esmeray are just getting started with them….  NOW:

Reliving the things that had been done to her, Penny made a quiet, desperate whining noise the rest of the world ignored, if it carried outside her body at all.  She had promised to trust.  She had to do that—had to trust in her Mistresses, and do what she had pledged to do.  Surely, that would get her through.  But why would it?  A traitorous part of her brain screamed that she had put herself into the hands of demons and madwomen.  A larger part told her she’d never had any choice in the matter.          

Heaven help me!

She made a whining noise nobody heard.  But she didn’t even know if heaven could hear into hell.  She sobbed, the sound immediately lost in the screaming din of the shouting devils and demons from below, eating sand again because Channah had stepped away for a moment, trying to tell herself she was grateful at least that being blindfolded, she no longer had to worry about her eyes.

Suddenly she jerked, feeling Channah’s fingers pinching her ear. 

“Be still!”  her Domina commanded her, an intimate whisper in her ear, as she pushed something through Penny’s ear canal inside her head.

As she did, that ear just… stopped.  More absolutely, more completely than Penny had ever experienced.  Unlike the thick, vague, bass sounds one could still hear in earmuffs or with hands over ears—suddenly, her left ear heard nothing.  The whole left side of her body felt—nothing!  Not a whisper.  She knew she still had sensation in her arms, legs, fingers, toes—but the totality of the silence on that side of her body caused her body to wonder, to demand, that the whole side of her had been numbed because nothing else made sense to it.

I promise I promise I promised….

When she felt Channah’s hand on her right earlobe, she jerked away, reflexively, even more strongly than she had before, crying out involuntarily, around her ball gag only to hear Channah laugh, quickly move her left hand under Penny’s chin, and pull her backwards and up into Channah’s shoulder. 

“Oh… it’s way too late for that, young lady.  You’re ours.  Body and soul.” 

And with that, she settled her hand against Penny’s neck to hold her tight, bit and held her ear in her teeth, enough to make Penny squeal in a painful protest, and used her right hand to press the second earbud in tight. 

Penny wailed in ineffectual, girlish protest, shocked as every scrap and hint of sound was eliminated from her world.  Her universe became instantly and totally silent.  It was as if she had been sealed away in a vault.  She was sure she was whimpering, but if she was, she could not even hear any hint of it through her own ears.

Her feet hurt, holding her weight in her high heels.  Her wrists were held tightly in the cuffs locked behind her back, her sight blinded by the blindfold, her mouth stuffed by the ball gag.  She was hyper-aware of the saliva gathering in her mouth, trying ineffectually to digest the heavy ball between her teeth; and of the fact that soon, very soon, she was going to start drooling, helplessly, like a dog. 

Smell!  She could still smell!  And Channah’s intoxicating, seductive succubus smell was perfect and brilliant, as if the scent of her managed to slip through the membranes of Penny’s nostrils and sinuses and seep straight into her brain, bathing and soothing it like a mother whispering to her baby at night…

Could she smell the sulfur of hell?  Yes, it was there, faintly; but like the sour under-note of a perfume, complemented and pushed to the subtle background by the sweeter and more-powerful notes of Channah, and Channah, and Channah…

There, down, far at the bottom, Penny found the subtle and vaguely-decayed smell of earth:  desert sand and black stone, perhaps mingled with a slight whisper of fungus lodged deep in the stones and their grout.

And she thought she smelled another, the scent of a person, hidden behind Channah’s at first, like a shy maiden in shadows behind her mother’s back, a musky smell demanding it be craved, a smell Penny couldn’t consciously remember ever smelling before, but suddenly identified because it was human and feminine and fiercely distinctive and she had been denied the benefit of most of her other senses:  Esmeray.

Now, still trying to recover some sense of normalcy and control after being deprived of hearing, Penny was turning her head from side to side and sniffing, trying to notice if there were any differences in different directions, and to confirm her memory of where she stood based on those differences.  But with Channah near—merciful as that was—there was no swirl of air or dust around them, nothing to bring more distant but localized smells to them.  If devils and demons had a smell separate from the brimstone and decay, she could not use it to locate herself.

It was at exactly that moment she felt it, fabric being pulled over her head.  A hood?  Really?  Wasn’t that overkill?  She already was unable to see or hear a thing—and as it came over her nose her shoulders slumped with the obvious realization.

It was a strong smell, a good one, nuanced and heavy and loaded with pheromones targeted straight at Penny’s deepest and oldest urges and memories:  Esmeray.  Esmeray’s panties, hung on her head.  She flushed as deeply red as she ever had, realizing what a stupid, helpless, pathetic idiot she was, and now looked like, dressed like a belle of the ball—the kinky bondage ball—in the middle of hell with a pair of another woman’s panties hung on her head like a scold’s bridle. 

She started crying, even before the next change, as whatever magic Channah had been talking about, or working, went into effect and she could smell nothing.  Nothing—immediately insisting to her brain she was locked in a clean, odorless, clinical space or Earthside desert.  In a way the silence and the darkness had not done, it fought; it persistently jarred, her senses fighting with her memory, the one insisting she was in a peaceful well-kept place on Earth, the other that she was on a sand-swept brimstone-stinking platform of Castle Chang’an in Hell, surrounded by her Mistresses and an army of demons and devils. 

Literature Section “06-78 The Sensory Deprivation of Penny”—Part 78 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1071 words—Accompanying Images:  1662-1665—Published 2025-04-30—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

1657 06-77 I like making them pee their panties...
1658 06-77 …so quiet she could hear her own heart beat…
1659 06-77 Isolated as the womb
1660 06-77 I said fucking MAYDAY!!!
1661 06-77 TOO LATE… Too Late… too late…

PREVIOUSLY:  Queen Channah has decided to take an opportunity to teach Hanim Qahramanah about how to train her girls, and combines the occasion with an early start to her honeymoon.  The girls are blindfolded and gagged with their hands secured behind their backs and their legs cuffed.  For reasons of their own, Channah and Fang seem intent on degrading their jawari in public, before legions of the damned.  NOW:

“The next question for you is where you want to go.  I’ve seen you staring at your fellow qahramanah….” Channah began.

They both looked at the glass panel where Hong had taken her jawari to begin their dance.  They remained staring for a moment, mesmerized, at what Hong was doing to her jawari, and what her jawari were doing for their qahramanah.  Indeed, one could hardly resist the urge to gawk at something like that.  Esmeray finally tore her eyes away and looked back at Channah:

“I admit Hong… may be able to teach me something.”

“You think?”

“But… comparing myself to her may be too much… pressure the first time.”

“I’d tell you it’s not a competition, but, well… you’ve made it one.  You can’t avoid her for long.  However, I agree with you:  you need to focus first on your own hive.” Channah shrugged.  “And in fact, if you need extra practice time with your jawari, you may have it whenever their other duties permit.  I will inform Fang the normal limitations on hetaraslakos time are not to apply to you and your girls until Hong agrees you are qualified to instruct them.”

“Until she—” Esmeray began, eyes flashing at Channah until she saw the logical trap there.  Her shoulders relaxed as she backed down from trying to challenge something she had first taken as an insult.  “Yes, Mistress.”

Channah nodded approvingly and swept her arm towards the opposite edge of the platform, the jungle gym.  “May I suggest…?”  Esmeray nodded her assent.  “But before we take our girls to the edge…”

“Is that where we’re going?”  Esmeray asked.  “Perhaps the first time—”

Channah made a sound of negation.  “We always take them to the edge.  The very edge.”

“So the damned can see them?”

“That’s a consideration,” Channah agreed, “Although they hear, smell, and even feel everything we do here at a very visceral level, it’s even better if they have a direct line of sight as well.  But it’s as much, or even more, about the experience of the girls.  The first lesson they need to learn is how utterly, completely, and totally they depend on us.  We are their mothers” (both boys stiffened and gasped, reacting instinctively and viscerally to that shocking suggestion, one they never would have imagined) “in the fullest meaning of the word:  their protectors, their caretakers, their helpers, their managers, their teachers, their guides, their bond, their apron strings, their heart, their masters, their very world.  They must learn that first.”

“How?”

“By taking away almost everything from them, reducing them to helpless, almost senseless, creatures.  Having only enough control to hurt themselves if they do anything other than obeying us completely, and only enough sensation to feel and anticipate the consequences of their own actions.”

“By using these.”  She produced four small, red rubber pellets from a small leather pouch, holding them out so Esmeray could examine them curiously. 

“Red?  Like the blindfolds and—”

“Exactly,” Channah agreed approvingly. 

“But not in Fang’s gift?”

“They were in the fourth box.  Too valuable and too vulnerable for hucows—except you, once you’re shown how to treat them—to be messing about with them, because unlike the others they’re heavily magicked.”

Esmeray looked at Channah, frowning, then half-smiling.  “And…?”

“And what?”

“There’s something else.  Something…” her face faltered.  “Something you’re wondering how to tell me.  Because… I’m going to hate it.”

“Not after you understand,” Channah dissembled, but admitted:  “At first, you may be startled, but truly, you don’t need to be agitated.”

“I’ll—fuck.”  Esmeray’s hands subconsciously moved to her waist as Channah gave a wintry smile.  “The scarlet panties.”

“The scarlet panties.  You’ve been wearing them three days?”

“And nights.  It’s been disgusting.”  She made a revolted face and shivered.

“Then you’ll be happy to be rid of them, won’t you?”

Esmeray turned crimson herself and strangled:  “It’s mortifying.”

“It’s magic.  Everything has a price.  You know that better than most.  And you’ll need to do it all over again next week.  But first, attend carefully.  We are about to make these girls ours—utterly and completely.” Channah held up her palm with the four plugs, picking up one with her left hand and using her right hand to catch Penny by the ear, startling her.  “Be still,” Channah hissed, again intimidating the younger girl into compliance.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

Penny, will you trust me?

I will, Qahramanah.

Do you promise?

Yes, Mistress.  I promise to trust you.

Do you promise?  I promise….

Blind, gagged, with her arms now bound behind her back, the words echoed through Penny’s head like a mantra, or a security blanket, she could only hold onto desperately.   Panic tried to rise like bile from her gut if she would let it, so she repeated the phrase desperately in her mind, flipping back and forth like her own stomach was doing, sometimes feeling comfort, at other times, realization of her own anxiety.  She had given up every bit of control she ever had, to move, to speak, even to see.  Helpless, almost senseless, creatures.   Channah’s words resonated too in her mind.  The awareness of her situation settled around her like a stiff, chilly blanket taken from a freezer, that she could do nothing but wait:  Wait, to be commanded or forced to the will of another—by her Domina, her Qahramanah, or anyone in whose hands they might choose to put her.  Taking away almost everything from them… if they do anything other than obeying us completely.  

Trust… she had promised to trust… It felt at the time like the exchange had been a mutual pledge, as Channah had talked about it:  It was Penny’s place to trust, and Esmeray’s to protect.  Only… Esmeray hadn’t actually promised to protect Penny.  Had she?  And even if Penny hadn’t promised to trust Esmeray, she didn’t have the ability to do otherwise anymore, did she?

Penny was helpless, utterly helpless as a newborn lamb who could barely even hold her feet, in front of a tigress who had asked her:  Will you trust me?

What kind of lamb would say that to a tiger?  And have meant it?  What had she been thinking?!

I promise…

She had to trust; she had made sure to put herself in that position.

Only… now, in the worst moments, she wasn’t sure.  Did she really?  Or were her thoughts those of a child whistling to reassure herself against the dark?

Memories crowded her and crowed at her, pointing her attention toward the satanikoklus where she had been married, the futon in the private chapel, even the nettle field and the pigsty:  A bed-wetting tour of all the places she had been taken advantage of, helpless to stop what was being done to her, what Her Grace the Countess of Warwick had wanted for her, demanded of her, commanded others to do to her.  But I love her… she loves me… doesn’t she? 

I promise…

Literature Section “06-77 Dance of the Qahramanat XII”—Part 77 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1152 words—Accompanying Images:  1657-1661—Published 2025-04-29—©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.


1653 06-76 Which sacrament is this, father? (Chas)
1654 06-76 Inexperienced but not quite innocent (Chas)

1655 06-76 I’ve never dressed like that before, sir (Chas)
1656 06-76 Oh my, what is this for, Domina? (Chas)

PREVIOUSLY:  Queen Channah has decided to take an opportunity to teach Hanim Qahramanah about how to train her girls, and combines the occasion with an early start to her honeymoon.  The girls are blindfolded and bit-gagged with cuffs on their wrists and ankles.  NOW:

Last Chance to Run

“Last chance, girls, to prove you’re still wild and free things before we bind you,” she offered archly from her squatting position by their sides, looking up at them, curious to see how they reacted, while Esmeray looked at her like she was crazy.   “What?” Channah asked innocently, standing and walking to the box to look through it for what was left.

“You’re practically daring them to run away,” Esmeray protested.  “Implying they’re… domesticated little rabbits if they stay.”

“Ooh… I like that idea.  But they are my domestic little pets.  If they love me.  If they respect me.  If they trust me, they will stay and wait for whatever their Domina decides is best for them.”

“So much for ‘establishing control’ and ‘limiting variables,’” Esmeray exclaimed, exasperated.

Channah laughed, deep in her throat, perhaps a faint pink of embarrassment touching her features.  “You’ve got me.  I’m sorry, you’re right.  This is definitely a case of doing what I say, not what I do.  Do you know how long I’ve been controlling girls?”

“Some say five thousand years.  Others insist you were born at the dawn of time itself.”

“Is there a difference, darling?” Channah asked loftily.  “A long time.  Sometimes I long for something… anything! New and challenging.  And you are hardly one to complain about people who are too impulsive and defiant to follow good advice!”  Apparently in a mood, she looked up and snorted.  “Penny, dear, I would have expected you to offer some valuable and insightful riposte here.  Oh, wait, you can’t because we’ve gagged you!”  Both women seemed to think that was hilarious, and even Chas grunted behind her gag, while Penny, chagrined as she was, could only shake her head.

The sight of the brass crosses distracted Esmeray from her giggling, and she held one up.  “I want to use these, er…. Whatever they are?”

“The fact you can’t figure out what they’re for, dear girl, should suggest to you they’re rather advanced equipment.  I promise I’ll teach you how to use them… when the girls are ready.  We can keep them here and see if we feel ready next weekend.  If we tried them today, the girls might bolt after all!” 

“They didn’t think that was quite as funny as we did,” Esmeray observed.

“They won’t think it’s as funny when we use them, either.  But let’s just start with these.”  She handed Esmeray several pieces of heavy gold jewelry, each a good-sized ring with a spring-loaded hinged segment.

“I haven’t seen these before,” she frowned.

“Carabiners.  My operatives discovered them recently in the Holy Roman Empire.  I like to wear them on my wrists so I have them whenever I need them,” Channah demonstrated, stacking three on her right wrist and keeping the fourth ready in her left hand before walking behind Chas again, tugging her wrists behind her, and pulling the clasp back long enough to interlink it with the smaller gold rings attached to Chas’s wrist cuffs, securing her hands behind her.

Esmeray smiled and did the same to Penny, but said doubtfully:  “These are very convenient, but not very secure.  If they were left alone for a bit, they could probably escape.”

“Oh,” Channah laughed.  “You’re right.  We have locks and more-secure rings for leaving slaves bound.  And heavier ones still for unwilling partners and other prisoners who are more masculine.  These are made for one of two situations.  First, situations where you’re paying enough attention to the girls to prevent them from escaping.  That’s something these cuffs give you ample opportunity to accomplish, even with two brats on your hands.  Or second, to secure your bitches in a position where they can’t reach the rings no matter how hard they try.”

“How would that work?”

“I look forward to showing you, love,” Channah smiled happily.  “But the purpose of these is to allow you to actively control your partners, and to easily reposition them for your pleasure.  You’ll be amazed how effortless it becomes.  For you.”

Channah pulled two more brass frames from the box, these simple straight rods with rings at each end and periodically along the length.  She set them over her right shoulder as a soldier would carry a polearm to march, while she stepped beside Chas and took her by the arm with her left hand.  Esmeray again followed her example, but a little more impersonally, holding Penny’s upper arm in her hand and using her sleeve as added leverage, rather than intertwining their arms.  “Because they can’t see, you have to guide them and keep them safe, and they have to trust you, completely and implicitly.  In all things.”

“They’re helpless and dependent as infants,” Esmeray grinned.

“Like this, they are.  And they have to be as trusting as infants.  Whereas we can do anything we want with them.”  The girls shuffled nervously as this conversation transpired.

“Or to them,” Esmeray’s face darkened as her expression hardened.

“Breathe, Esmeray.  Breathe.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

“You’re ready,” Channah assured her, holding her eyes and calming her. 

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re ready for…” Channah shrugged “whatever you’re ready for.”

“What does that even mean?  Mistress,” Esmeray added, recognizing her skepticism came dangerously close to sassing.

“I mean, you’re the one in control, sweetheart.  You get to decide what you and Penny do tonight.  Or don’t do.  Or if you do anything at all.  Look at poor Penny.”  Channah made a pouting face.  “She’s blindfolded so she can’t see, she’s gagged so she can’t speak, her arms are locked behind her back so she can’t do anything with her arms or hands… She’s not going to be deciding anything, is she?  What she wants or doesn’t want from you doesn’t matter at all.”  Esmeray perked up a bit, nodding thoughtfully, as Channah continued:  “You’re the one who brought us here. Otherwise, my housegifts and I might already be celebrating in paradise.  And you were right to do so.  I’m already overflowing with… all sorts of ideas.  Penny’s possibly the gentlest, most innocent girl her age in England.  She would positively bore women looking for adventure and a challenge—sorry, sweetie,” Channah patted his cheek, maybe sounding a little bit sorry even as she sounded a great deal spiteful, “But that makes her the perfect first plaything for you.  Even so.  If you just want to enjoy the feeling of her stockings?  That’s up to you.  If you decide you don’t want to do anything with her?  It’s your prerogative as her Qahramanah.”

Staring into space and swallowing, Esmeray took a deep breath, and looking Channah in the eye, reached down into the box and removed an item made of leather dyed black.  She breathed:  “Is this….”

“Oh, yes,” Channah confirmed.  “Like the cuffs:  for you to use on the girls, not to be used on you.  Unless you want to—”

“No,” Esmeray shook her head decisively and matter-of-factly.

“I certainly don’t need to use it,” Channah smirked.  “Unless you really want to punish Penny hard—and I won’t let you do that right before my honeymoon!—you’re also going to need this.” “I guess,” Esmeray shrugged, unconvinced, but accepting what Channah had proffered to her.

Literature Section “06-76 Dance of the Qahramanat XI”—Part 76 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1212 words—Accompanying Images:  1653-1657—Published 2025-04-28—©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.


1649 06-75 Pleaser (Penny)
1650 06-75 I trust you unconditionally, Qahramanah. (Penny)
1651 06-75 Is this one suitable, master? (Penny)
1652 06-75 I stitched all night.  It’s for you Qahramanah! (Penny)

PREVIOUSLY:  Queen Channah has decided to take an opportunity to teach Hanim Qahramanah about how to train her girls, and combines the occasion with an early start to her honeymoon.  They are practicing trust-building.  NOW:

“Do you trust me, Chas?” Channah asked next, and again.

“I do,” she pledged like an eager bride, to all appearances grateful for the chance to repeat it.  Like she’d be happy to repeat it all day.

Esmeray considered, and then nodded to her girl:  “Penny, will you trust me?”

Penny swallowed.  “I will, Qahramanah.”

“Do you promise?”

Penny nodded.  “Yes, Mistress.  I promise to trust you.”

“Good.”

“See how easy that was?”  Channah concluded.  “Now reward her.  Show your appreciation.”

“How?”  Esmeray asked suspiciously.

“Pet her hair, hold her hand, run your fingers down her arm… some gesture of intimacy,” Channah demonstrated by resting her hand on the side of Chas’s neck, making her gasp.

Esmeray looked Penny up and down, and finally placed her hand on Penny’s dress, along her side, just at the base of her ribs, forcing a small but unconvincing smile.

Channah snorted.  “Buy gloves.  Before we return.  I want you to have a pair when we meet you here again.”

She met Channah’s eyes and nodded her agreement.

“Now stand up, Chas.” 

“You may rise, Penny,” Esmeray pronounced, deliberately ostentatiously, goofing around.

Turning Chas around, Channah replaced her blindfold as Esmeray imitated her with Penny.  Then the two women returned the girls to their back-to-back positions.

Donning the Purple

When she met Channah’s eyes, the Queen smiled and held her finger over her lips.  “Pick another item from the box,” she said, while with her hands, she mimed placing a bit in her mouth.  Esmeray nodded, smiling slightly.  “Now that the girls are blind, they will feel extra vulnerable.  It’s why we started with the blindfolds.  Being able to see is one of the most important forms of control, especially for a trans girl.  But it applies to everyone.”  With an impish look, she gently pushed Chas into Penny, and the two women laughed at the way they struggled to avoid touching one another again, reacting to any touch as if they’d been shocked with static electricity.

Channah took one of the two gags, lifting it over Chas’s head without touching her, then leaning in tight to the girl’s back, startling her, with her lips inches from Chas’s ear.  Esmeray imitated her.  Almost—not quite touching Penny anywhere, but getting close, looking very serious and thoughtful about it.  “Open wide, girls,” Channah commanded, popping the horse bit between Chas’s teeth and tugging back.  “This one you don’t want to be tight in the back—you want that little bit of distance.  But in front, it’s another matter.  It’s okay to stretch those lips a little bit.”  She laughed deeply in her throat as Esmeray surprised Penny by tugging harder so she could ratchet the strap far enough to reach the next hole.  “Their lips shouldn’t be so tight they’re white or stiff.  But a little bit of discomfort is okay.  You can test for extra stretch in their lips, too, if you’re willing to stick your finger in their mouth.”  And she demonstrated, tugging the corners of Chas’s lips a bit to demonstrate they still had room to extend further, her voice becoming more sing-songy.  “I like them to remember they’re suffering for our pleasure.  Something bearable so it doesn’t distract them from us, but intense enough to assure me I’m on their minds constantly.”

“Yes…” Esmeray nodded slowly, pleased with the idea.  “Are you uncomfortable, little girl?”

“Yeph, khawamannath,” Penny murmured around her bit, nodding her head while the women laughed at her pronunciation.  “Pleeff nopsahbite!”

“Well, I couldn’t understand that at all,” Esmeray protested and shrugged, meanly but not quite convincingly, clapping her girl on the shoulders and reaching back into the box, frowning and looking askance at Channah.

“Did you find something… interesting?”

“Yes, Mistress,” she agreed, holding up two hollow brass bars shaped like Latin crosses, with rings at the end of each side arm and at the end of the long bottom arm, while the top arm curved like a scorpion’s tail, ending in a glass bulb.  They clanged slightly against one another, catching the girls’ attention.                     

Channah shook her head, containing her urge to smile.  “Let’s stick with purple for now.”  And she nodded with approval as Esmeray handed her one arm cuff, and then a second.

“Hold your arms up for me,” Channah ordered Chas, using her own hands to guide his where she wanted them, and nodded to Esmeray, who told Penny: 

“You too, Penny.  Hands up to your waist.” 

Channah shuffled counter-clockwise so she was looking at the girls from the side and began cuffing Chas’s right wrist, while Esmeray did the same to Penny.  Penny made a slight whimpering sound.

“Hot,” Channah responded, leaning in and kissing him lightly on the cheek.  “So glad you girls are gagged so we don’t have to contend with your words and ideas anymore.  Just your raw feelings.  Be good and stay still, sweetie.  You don’t really have any choice, do you?”  she taunted her.  “You’re in hell, my hell, surrounded by the damned and my guards.  Accepting bondage is just a way for you to prove you trust me.  So romantic…” she sighed, rooting through the box for the remaining wrist cuffs and handing one to Esmeray.  “Let’s swap girls,” Channah giggled, fairly confident she was the only one in this small group who would understand the joke.  Maybe Chas… maybe.  But she was only a libertine by England’s tight-laced standards.

“Same little-finger test, Mistress?”  Esmeray asked, checking Penny’s right wrist before turning to Chas’s left.

“Always, child.  It’s still tight enough they can’t slide them over their thumbs, but you can always double-check if you’re concerned.”  And she demonstrated, making sure the cuffs were narrower than Chas’s wrists.

Next, after finding the four purple leg restraints, the woman squatted down beside the girls and bound their ankles.  Channah ran her hand over the girls’ calves and ankles, drawing a curious stare from Esmeray.  “I love the way the stockings feel on their smooth legs.  All silky and slippery.”  Hesitantly, Esmeray ran her own fingers up Penny’s leg, liking the way she could make the girl shiver when her fingers slipped up behind her knees to her thighs.  Channah paused and watched until Esmeray became self-conscious of her observation and stopped.  “Do you like it?”

She thought, and admitted:  “I like the gags because I can tell them what to do but they can’t engage me back in any way.  No questions from Little Miss Bigmouth—what?”

“That’s exactly what Fang called her,” Channah chittered.

“It fits.  As you warned me.  But now:  No questions, no complaints, no protests, no arguments….  And,” she set Chas’s ankle cuff down for a moment, running her hands up and down both girls’ legs, a little more relaxed than a moment earlier.  “I like the stockings for the same reason:  I can feel them, even imagine them, but I’m not actually, you know…”

“Touching them?”

“Exactly.”

Literature Section “06-75 Dance of the Qahramanat X”—Part 75 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1155 words—Accompanying Images:  1649-1652—Published 2025-04-27—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.


1645 06-74 Will you trust me?
1646 06-74 I’ve got you, baby.  I won’t let you fall

1647 06-74 Boss Esmeray.  The same chains bind us all
1648 06-74 Was that defiance?  I didn’t think so

PREVIOUSLY:  Queen Channah has decided to take an opportunity to teach Hanim Qahramanah about how to train her girls, and combines the occasion with an early start to her honeymoon.  While discussing trust and discipline, Channah surprises Esmeray by reminding her of a time she thought she had run away undetected.  NOW:

A Trip Down Memory Back-Alley

“Of course I knew, my little runaway,” Channah laughed musically.  “You were a clever teenager, and clearly a wild one, but we’ve been wrangling hucows since before human history even began.   What was so important about that flight, do you think?”

Esmeray opened her mouth as if to answer, then snapped it shut, eyes darting around as if searching for the right answer in the air around her.  And then, amazingly, they seemed to find what she was looking for, widening, and flitting briefly past Channah’s, before she looked intently down at the floor.

Channah stared at her silently until she whispered:  “That was the last time I left.  And the first time I came back on my own.”

Channah beamed.  “And have I asked you to take risks since then?”

Esmeray laughed.  “I should think so!”

“So why are you here, helping me now?”  Esmeray looked anywhere but at Channah.  “Because you’re not stupid, Esmeray.  Because even with everything you experienced, all the times your trust was violated, you still know that trusting someone, sometimes, is unavoidable.  And have I ever betrayed your trust, Esmeray?”

“Not yet,” she admitted hoarsely.

Channah rolled her eyes but otherwise let it go. 

Trust Games

“Now I want Penny and Chas to learn to trust you.  While I train Chas, I want you to begin the process of teaching Penny that she belongs by your side, or at your feet before you.  Schooling her so she’ll never run away from you, even when she’s back near the places she grew up, because she’s learned that she’s better off and happier with you.”  Channah smiled thinly.  “Even when you’re a total bitch.” 

Esmeray met her eyes for a long moment, and finally nodded.  “I’ll try.”

“I don’t think you have to try to be a total bitch, my dear,” Channah snickered cattily.  “But the really hard part for you is, if you want Penny to trust you, you have to learn to trust her.  Just as I trust you.”

“You—trust—” Esmeray looked down at Penny for a moment, startled by the idea, then startled that the idea of someone trusting her, itself startled her.  Finally she looked back at Channah.  Exasperated, she repeated herself:  “I’ll.  Try.”

“Good.  You’re already Penny’s world.  Can you see that?  How sincerely she’s been attending to you since I asked her?  She’s a good girl.  Now you focus on her.”

With a deep breath, Esmeray squared her shoulders and met Penny’s eyes, continuing to hold her wrists and wrapped fists.  She stood about a foot away from the smaller woman. 

“Ask her to kneel to you.”

“’Ask’?” 

“Yes.  Of course, as Penny’s qahramanah, it’s your prerogative to order her to her knees any time you want for any reason, or for no reason at all.  Penny knows that as well as you do.  Don’t you, Penny?”

“Yes, Domina.”

Channah petted Penny’s hair absently as she continued speaking to Esmeray:  “Remember, this moment isn’t about force.  This moment is about Penny acknowledging her place, admitting her acceptance of your dominance.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Channah caught her eye and mouthed “Pleaser,” as she ruffled Penny’s hair a second before dropping her hand.  Out loud, she said:  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to take that risk and see.”  Leaning forward, she emphasized:  “That’s the point.”

Staring solemnly down at Penny a moment, Esmeray breathed deeply again—and then looked back up at Channah:  “Ask?!  I—I don’t like to ask.  I prefer to tell.”

“I know you do,” Channah chuckled.  “And I feel similarly.  But the question that distinguishes us right now, is why?” 

“Because it’s easier.”

“But why?” And when she looked confused, Channah explained:  “I’ve been Queen of Hell longer than the Pharaonic dynasties ruled Egypt.  It’s almost always easier for me to order than to ask because I know from long experience, I can trust my own knowledge and judgment.  But is that why it’s easier for you?  You’re an impressive young woman, but you are just that:  young.  A mere quarter-century young.  Are you so sure you have all the answers already, or is it easier not to ask, because you’re afraid to leave the decision up to them?”

Esmeray stared at her blankly, eyes losing focus as she considered the question, and perhaps even how it might apply to her.  She didn’t seem to reach a solid answer, but she did look a bit frustrated.

Channah pointed at Penny from behind again, and repeated silently:  “Pleaser.”  Then Channah moved in front of Chas, took her hands, and silently commanded the attention of her eyes.  Not that Chas could see anything else with the vision of Channah before him.  Channah smirked back at her, pleased.  “Be sure to use Penny’s name when you address her.  Frequently.  Using her name, while she addresses you with your title, will both reinforce the natural hierarchy between you; and make you feel closer to one another.  Now, follow my example.  If you want to change the words, good.  The more unique and authentic your words are, the better.  But I want you to get similar commitments from Penny, that I receive from Chas.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Esmeray agreed.

“And when I say ‘similar,’ for example:  Chas already trusts me.  Don’t you, Chas?”

“Oh, yes Domina!” she assured her earnestly.  It was not yet the love Penny felt, but it was as close to that as it was to mere trust. 

“Whereas you do not trust that Penny trusts you yet.  You have just revealed that.”

Esmeray looked discomfited, and sounded almost accusatory:  “You’re going to tell me that’s somehow a sign of weakness, too, aren’t you?  Even though only suckers trust other people.”

“Correct!  Or perhaps more precisely, it’s a sign of a lack of confidence in your own ability to command the trust of your lessers.  Learn to act like you trust others, even if you do not.”  Channah gave her full, undivided attention to Chas, smiling softly and looking into her eyes.

“Will you please kneel to me?”

“Oh, yes, Domina,” she sighed, sliding down to her knees like a leaf floating to the ground.

Channah looked at Esmeray, who glanced at her before addressing Penny:  “Penny, I would like you to show your trust in me by kneeling before me.  Will you do that?”

“Yes, Qahramanah,” she answered, sliding to her knees without taking her eyes from Esmeray’s.  Esmeray smiled despite herself.

“Now, can you step closer to her?”  Channah asked, stepping forward so she was immediately in front of Chas, her legs pressed against the girl’s shoulders and arms, her crotch directly in the girl’s face, the two of them sharing a playful laugh together as she craned her neck to keep Channah’s eyes.  “Like this.  See how it forces her to strain for you?”

“Standing against her,” Esmeray intoned.  “Right up against her.”

“Or even further,” Channah winked at Esmeray, then down at Chas, stepping several more inches forward, pushing Chas backwards so she had to strain her muscles to hold her position.  “I’d push her all the way until she fell back on her hands, except I don’t want to scuff their lovely new mitts.  But it’s always a move to consider.”

Esmeray snorted, and made herself step forward, forcing Penny to rear back a few inches, just like Chas.  “It’s not so bad,” she reported, her tone leaving it open whether she was talking to Channah or to herself; her slight shiver making Penny promise herself to do her best.

Literature Section “06-74 Dance of the Qahramanat IX”—Part 74 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1252 words—Accompanying Images:  1645-1648—Published 2025-04-26—©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.