Tag: earplugs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Your Grace.  Th—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Your Grace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hongzhi, Your Grace.”

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

“Yes, Your Grace.”

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

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

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

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

Literature Section “06-104[X] Triggering Chastity”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 104 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1330 words::Explicit 1415 words—Accompanying Images:  1856-1859—Published 2025-06-01—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.


1727 06-85 In the Realm of the Senses
1728 06-85 In the Realm of the Spirit
1729 06-85 With a Devil on both shoulders…?
1730 06-85 The Maddening Discordant Orchestra
1731 06-85 Frenzy

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.


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.