Tag: fear

2075 07-20 I want to lick it so bad… but what will the Queen think?
2076 07-20 Actually, I’m not quite sure I HAVE learned my lesson yet, Domina
2077 07-20 Um… Mistress? While I’m down here, may I lubricate the top of your boot?
2078 07-20 CAUTION: Penny’s thoughts aren’t always as sweet as she looks…

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, Chastity, and Penance are honeymooning at Channah’s secret tropical paradise.  After becoming concerned Chastity was playing her (and afraid she was being gullible), Channah is angrily and rigorously testing Penny by pushing her limits.  Right now, she is maneuvering Penny to do something she hates, admitting Channah is smarter than her.  NOW:

Penny’s disappointment at failing to please her was warming Channah’s pussy, even if the heat hadn’t reached her heart yet.  “Please, please can you remind me what your question was?  I hate—that doesn’t matter.  What matters—I hope—is that I’m so sorry that I was so stupid.  Could you please repeat your question for me?”

“Is it really so hard to be a good servant?” she asked, disappointed in herself for not sounding as sharp or mean as she’d intended to, reaching down behind her chair, for what she had concealed there, and bringing it up to rest across her shoulders.

“Oh!”  And Penny didn’t even need to clarify that she meant she understood the question and knew the right answer now.  Despite her slight irritation at Penny’s top-girl exultation at knowing the answers again, she couldn’t help but let it slide as she continued:  “No, Domina, no it isn’t hard, or it shouldn’t be.  It’s only hard for me.  I’m sorry for being such an inadequate servant.”

“I should think so.  What are you?”

“I’m—I’m—I’m a stupid slut,” Penny confessed, guessing the right answer, or at least, one the judges decided to accept.  “I’m such a stupid slut,” Penny moaned emphatically, doubling down, managing to work her tongue deep along the floor under the arch of Channah’s sole.

“So stupid you can’t even answer an easy question?”

“Yes, Domina.  Please, please don’t discard me for being stupid.  Please train me to be better.”

“I can train you to be less ignorant, although with a silly cow it may not be worth the time.”  Then, making her voice more patronizing, she continued:  “But I’m not sure it’s actually possible to smarten you up if you were born stupid, is it, you simple little ninny?”

“No, Domina, I’m sorry I didn’t think of that—”

“Then what am I to do with you?  If I can’t make you smarter, and you’re too stupid to learn from my words, what can I do with you?”

Again Penny was still a second, as she tried to figure out what to say that would please her master.  “I—please, Domina, perhaps you could give me only the dumbest and meanest tasks?”

Channah nodded to herself, pressing her lips together thoughtfully.  That was a fair answer, if not what she was herding her hucow towards.  “Not the worst idea,” she admitted.  “I definitely think a little wanna-be smarty-pants should be taken down a few pegs with the dumbest and meanest work.  Perhaps supervised by someone you really despise… like Roger!”  she laughed, liking the physical reaction that produced in Penny, who practically recoiled to hear it. 
“Oh, no, Roger’s actually smart—” and then, inspired with insight into her creature, she whispered:  “Isn’t he?”

“I—is he—” suddenly some of Penny’s tension ebbed from her shoulders and hips and she admitted the obvious truth:  “Yes, Domina.”

“Yes, what?”

“Roger is smart, Domina.”

“He’s smart, and he’s a natural leader, and he has a big hard cock, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, Domina.”

“Yes, what?  Don’t make me say that again!”

“Roger is smart, Roger is a natural leader, and—and—Roger has a big hard cock, Domina.”

“And how about you?”

“I don’t, Domina.”  And then, realizing what was expected of her, she burst out:  “I’m a silly ninny cow, I’m a—a natural follower, and—and I have a soft… little… clitty, Domina,” she admitted, each word spoken more softly than the previous one.

“You really do, Puddin’,” she laughed.  “But maybe it would be even funnier if I made you work for somebody truly stupider than you.  Somebody impulsive and ignorant and weak.  How would you like that, Puddin’?”

“I—I—I would do whatever you want, Domina,” she confessed miserably.

“No, I want to know.  Answer my question, bitch!  Who would you rather work for, someone you hate but still, as much as you hate them, you can’t help respecting?  Or someone you have complete contempt for?  Like Cutter!”  She laughed even harder.  “Or Martin,” she could barely get the name out, exaggerating the ‘ar,’ which somehow turned the name into a mockery of the boy’s intellectual capacity.  And when Penny didn’t answer immediately, she snapped:  “I told you I expected an answer, but I suppose—between your being stupid yourself, and how much you hate Roger—it’s actually a difficult question for you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Domina, it is!” she burst out immediately.  “And I’m afraid—” she cut herself off.

Channah pounced on it like a hawk:  “What are you afraid of?  And don’t you dare lie to me.”

“I’m afraid whatever I answer, there will be consequences.”

“What consequences?”

“I don’t know.  I—can’t imagine.  You’re more creative than me.”

“Creative?  Or do you really mean ‘cruel’?”

After a pause, she burst:  “Both, Domina.  You’re both.  Especially in this area.”

“What area?”

“Boys.  Men.  Males.  Sex.  Hierarchy.  Control.  There’s no game-playing about that.  I can’t possibly keep up with you Domina.  You really are smarter than me, in every way, about that stuff.”

“Fuck,” she cursed, her pussy and her heart bursting into genuine flame, taking her feet away and putting them back up on the bed.  “Look at me, bitch.”

Penny looked up, her big eyes filled with unadulterated submission and adoration, until they reached her shoulders and reacted, sharply and fast, her pupils growing huge as her body fairly stiffened and recoiled with her fight-flight-freeze instinct.

Channah knew she looked good, too, even as she looked terrifying to her little girl.  Naked, voluptuous, decadent, sensuous, and rotten as the medlar fruit she had taken as her symbol, reclining on her lounge chair, her breasts large and firm enough to remain prominent even in that position, her strong, fleshy legs crossed at the ankles on the edge of the bed, her face practically alight with sadistic joy and a less-familiar, deeper excitement… and her strong, round arms draped over the opposite ends of Penance’s Bull-Daddy, the heavy, wicked, personalized bat that perhaps more than anything else than her collar and cage, celebrated and emphasized Channah’s power and control over Penance, and Penance’s subservience to Channah.  Everything about the Queen’s posture was relaxed and, even more, supremely confident; the threat of the bat all she needed to make Penny want to shrivel and shrink herself to nonexistence at her Goddess’s feet. Channah enjoyed her cowering—and even more, her obedience, if it was that (rather than pure, instinctual paralysis).  Frowning slightly, she decided to find out which it was.

Literature Section “07-20 The Dangers of Toadying”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 20 of Chapter Seven, “Channah’s Slavegirls:  Pawns of the Court of Lust”—1093 words—Accompanying Images:  2075-2078—Published 2025-07-20—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Literature Section “06-121 Led Astray”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 121 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1101 words—Accompanying Images:  1949-1950—Published 2025-05-20—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.


1713 06-84 Abandoned after serving her purpose
1714 06-84 Poor Chastity:Used, discarded, and forgotten

1715 06-84 Death is the only angel coming for you
1716 06-84 You’re one of us now

PREVIOUSLY:  Chastity has been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, disoriented with her hands tied behind her back and left lying on a platform knowing only that there is no way off it without risking death or serious injury.  After provoking Esmeray beyond reason, and being rescued and temporarily restored to hearing by Channah, who explained Esmeray would be allowed to spend her rage on Penny, Chas is put back under.  NOW:

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now they had her, good and proper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if that was right now?

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

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

They were going to throw her off the edge!

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


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.

1637 06-72 The Master and Apprentice whisper and plan…
1638 06-72 … Their jawari can only wait and worry
1639 06-72 We have to trust our Domina and Qahramanah.  I do…
1640 06-72 It’s going to be okay, Penny… we have each other

PREVIOUSLY:  Queen Channah has decided to take an opportunity to teach Hanim Qahramanah about how to train her girls, and combine the occasion with an early start to her honeymoon.  NOW:

The Art of Control

“Let’s get these girls dressed for the dance,” Channah began.  “Knowing how careful Fang is, there should be two of everything in the box.  We should start with the blindfolds.  Can you find them?”  And when Esmeray handed her one, she continued:  “In a situation like this, with two girls trapped between us, at our mercy…” she flashed a wicked grin at Chas, as she reached up and spun him around to face Penny.  Esmeray, on the far side of Penny, followed her example.  Since the women were taller than the two girls, barefoot or in heels as they were now, they could see one another over the girls’ French Hoods, and Channah could now see Penny’s eyes over the back of Chas’s shoulders.  “And in most situations when I am playing with more than one pet,” meeting Penny’s eyes and relishing his uncertain, worried look, she continued, “I like to keep them herded close together.”

“For control?”  Esmeray asked.

“Yes!  Very good.  For control…” she snickered.  “And especially, with trans girls, because it embarrasses them.”  She used her hips to bump Chas forward until she and Penny were touching, trying in vain to keep their crotches from bumping and turning their heads slightly so they weren’t kissing. 

“It really does!”  Esmeray laughed appreciatively, watching and imitating as Channah raised the blindfold over Chas’s eyes, with the padded silk side towards her, adjusted it, and then strapped it behind Chas’s head.  “She looks afraid!”

“They both do!  Wouldn’t you be?”

“Don’t they know you well enough to trust you, Mistress?”

“Maybe.  Maybe not enough, yet.”  She met Esmeray’s eyes and winked.  “Maybe too well.”  And they both laughed.  “Seriously, girls, we’re married.  How many times have I told you, I have plans for you?  Plans to have you by my side, serving me, for a long time.  You should know by now I’m never going to hurt you… too badly.  Certainly not injure you, you know, permanently.”  She rolled her eyes and sighed.  “Both of us will even protect you from anything that’s worse than what we have planned for you, when you’re in our control.  But Esmeray and I—and every succubus and qahramanat set over you—reserve our rights to torment you and test you…. To push you, even a little bit past what you thought your limits were.”  Then, after a final adjustment to the blindfold, she turned Chas’s head and showed Esmeray her little finger under the strap at the back of Chas’s head.  “See how my pinky fits under Chas’s blindfold, here where it’s tightest?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You might think the straps should be super-tight, but that’s not so.  And it can even damage your girl.  If you make anything too tight, your girl may not be able to mind you any more because she’s so focused on the pain from an overly-tight bond.  Or to serve you properly because she’s lost feeling or use of an extremity.  And somehow, the bonds can make the blood move unevenly through the body, making some parts too sanguine, and some too dry, injuring your girl.  A broken girl is a joy, but an injured girl means more work for you.”

She nodded approvingly, as Esmeray checked Penny’s blindfold.  “Obviously, you want to make sure everything is secure, and certainly that your jariya is not able to escape anything you choose to bind her with.  But secure is different from tight, especially with leather and metal restraints since they’re harder to stretch or fray than rope.  If these were wild boys or girls, it would be different.  But with tame girls like these, you can even ask them.”

“Ask them?!”

“Here, like this:”  And she leaned close to Chas, running her hands down the girl’s sides, raising goosebumps.  “Chas, honey doll, how does your blindfold feel?  Too loose?  Too tight?”

“Neither, Domina,” Chas answered.  “It’s well-fit.”

“And how about your eyes?  How much can you see?”

“Nothing, Domina.”

“Not even a sliver of light from around the edges?”

“No, Domina.”

Channah raised her arm, as if saying “ta da!”

“How do you know if they’re lying or not?”

“You have to know your girls.  Really pay attention to them and get to understand them.  If they’re really tame and trustworthy, they’ll tell you the truth.  If they’re a pleaser.”

“What’s a pleaser?”

“Oh dear, you are new to this.  A sub who actually wants to please you.  It doesn’t mean they can.  They may be too small, or too nice,” she pointed at Penny and Chas, bringing a smile to Esmeray’s face.  “But at least they’re minded to try.  Some of these girls will lie, but it’s usually because they’re trying to keep you happy.  When it comes to their own safety and comfort, or their own limits, they’ll over-promise what they’re ready for, and underestimate your demands.”

“So… if Penny lies about the strap, it’s because it’s too tight and is going to hurt her, not because she’s trying to escape?”  she asked, doubtfully.

“Head of the class!  Which means you have to be alert to signs your pet is overheating or shutting down, more than getting ready to bolt.  Especially if they have a relationship with you:  They want to please you, even if they’re too ashamed to admit it, even to themselves.  Also, unless they’re especially stupid hucows, they have to know their top is going to figure out whether or not they’re playing games, sooner or later.  Ultimately, the better you know your slave girl, the more accurately you can predict her, anticipate her, control her, and—when necessary—defeat her.”

“We—the succubae—have been training these two for years.  And they’re not stupid.  Can girls panic and make mistakes?  Yes.  Trans girls, especially, when they’re embarrassed by their feelings.  And when they do, you absolutely punish them, severely,” she reached around Chas with both hands, squeezing and wrenching her cage in one hand and Penny’s in the other, to demonstrate, as they each flinched and cried out.  “They’re so at our mercy, it’s easy to make them bitterly regret it every time they don’t trust you with their total truth and obedience.  As their superiors, we need to teach them—and they need to learn—to trust us completely, with every one of their most-private dreams and fantasies, and their very-deepest and most private secrets.  Every so often, you should make it a habit to pull them aside, individually, and ask them about what they’re feeling and thinking—so you know it.  “Yes, Mistress,” Esmeray answered thoughtfully. 

Literature Section “06-72 Dance of the Qahramanat VII”—Part 72 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1092 words—Accompanying Images:  1637-1640—Published 2025-04-24—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.