Tag: femmefatale

2176 07-35 Behold the Power of the Dragon King
2177 07-35 Unchallenged–The Better Man
2178 07-35 The Hellish Power Behind the Earthly Throne
2179 07-35 The Dragon King’s Unspoken Challenge
2180 07-35 Will You Challenge the Dragon King or Submit to Him?
2181 07-35 Go on, cuck
2182 07-35 Clear-sighted
2183 07-35 Their Rightful Place.  Their Natural Level.
2184 07-35 What do you imagine is going to happen here, cuck?
2185 07-35 But only if you admit it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of
2186 07-35 Even worms have a place.  This is yours

CAUTION:  Contains themes of heavy degradation and bullying some readers may find disturbing

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah’s best friends, concerned about their liege lady’s well-being and the rumors beginning to circulate in hell, decide to crash her honeymoon with Penance and Chastity, bringing her First Husband, the Dragon King, and two other prize pieces of beefcake along for Channah to ride, and forcing her two brides to help cook breakfast for the lovers upstairs.  NOW:

On their own honeymoon, the girls cooked and assisted with other chores for about an hour enduring the loud cries and moans from above them that proved conclusively Miriam and Rivqah had been right to bring real men for their Domina to celebrate with, before Haruka finally dismissed the girls into Esmeray’s care.  At this point they had helped her make coffee, pour cream, pile dates on plates for sweetening the coffee, set the dinner table, chopped vegetables and cold meats, steamed rice, and warmed bread, listening carefully as she explained exactly how to prepare each item and ingredient the way Channah liked it, and enduring her harsh criticisms and corrections of them every time they made a mistake. 

Now she relaxed on a stool beside the kamado—the traditional Japanese oven in Channah’s Mesoamerican hacienda that, Haruka had explained, reflected their Domina’s preference for the meticulousness and rigidity of Japanese aesthetics in her home—idly bobbing one foot, at first casually and then with more deliberation as she noticed Penny’s stare, frowning with concentration like a cat experimenting with a mouse.  She slowly sipped her own coffee, enjoying watching as Esmeray bound their wrists, hobbled their ankles, leashed them, piled their trays with food and drink and utensils, and led them away to and awkwardly up the stairs, forced by their bonds to balance their trays on their forearms while desperately clinging to the outer edges with their shackled hands.

Esmeray turned off the stairs on the second floor, which the girls had never explored before, and led them to two unfamiliar but well-appointed rooms.  The first, on the right, overlooking parts of the garden they had never seen before, and the rain forest under the cliffs, was the parlor.  It was dominated by curved tables arranged in a ring with curved sofas just outside them, and four giant multi-pipe hookahs spaced around the circle.  The other, the saloon or celebration room, on the left—which was occupied now—overlooked the garden, the springs, the gazebo, and the great valley beyond them.  It contained broad divans arranged around the perimeter of the room with a large area comprising, essentially, an oversized bed formed by divans that had been pushed together in the corner immediately to the right of the entrance.  All the divans in the corner were flat.  The other divans, and a number of chairs,that were scattered elsewhere around the room offered a variety of intriguing and unique shapes for playing on, and were piled with pillows of every shape, size, and firmness.  Tiferet sat on a chair near the middle of the room behind an easel with paints, brushes, and pots of water set on two low tables to either side of her, painting swiftly and intently, while Esmeray sat on a stool beside and slightly behind her, watching in fascination over her shoulder.  Their chairs were facing the divans in the corner where the six lovers relaxed, eyes closed, naked and entangled in postcoital bliss:  Channah and Húanglóng lying sideways with Channah’s head resting on Húanglóng’s soft, fat stomach; Rivqah spooning Jacob with her hand holding his member; and Miriam curled against George’s side with her head on his arm, running her fingers idly over his chest.  Only Tiferet and Esmeray were still dressed; on the bed, the celebrants had cast aside all their clothing and shoes, and a large portion of their gold jewelry.  As best the girls could tell, their decisions about what jewelry to leave on, and what to take off, were completely arbitrary.  If there was any rhyme or reason to the selections, it eluded them.

After the girls had served everyone else coffee and breakfast, Channah sent them back downstairs for spiked wine and spirits.  Upon their return, Channah made them stand just in front of the divans and fill two goblets apiece with a blend of spiked wine and clear spirits, then choke down the nauseating stuff while everyone watched and cheered them on with laughter.  Miriam and Rivqah then instructed them to fill a large, deep bowl on the floor with a mixture of white spirits, mint, and water, and finally to serve all the lovers and their qahramanah with spiked wine.  Channah, laughing, made Penny bring her one of the wine bottles and held Penny face-up on her lap while she poured more wine down her throat, while Rivqah and Miriam did the same to Chastity.

Finally, Channah commanded them both to crawl before Húanglóng, who was now sitting on the edge of the group of divans, drinking wine, while Channah sat behind him with her head on his shoulders and her arms as far around his chest as she could reach.  “You missed my weddings, beloved,” Channah reminded Húanglóng, immediately provoking Rivqah and Miriam to laugh:  “uh-oh!” “Oh no!” as if someone had done something wrong.

Húanglóng shrugged.  “What man can keep up with the weddings of such a healthy, lusty succubus?” causing everyone else to laugh while Chastity and Penny looked nervous.  Noticing, Húanglóng pointed to the ground at his feet, commanding them:  “Don’t be shy.  Crawl closer, let’s see my wife’s homet-nuswut.”  The phrase was ancient Egyptian, and was another way of expressing their status as Channah’s lesser, secondary partners, compared with Channah’s and Húanglóng’s status as primary partners to one another.

As they hurried over on their knees, provoking laughter from the others, Channah admonished them:  “I know I don’t have to tell you girls to treat my First Husband as you would me, your god where I am your goddess, do I?”

“No, Domina,” they assured her, looking scared, aware the atmosphere in the room had changed and everyone else was now watching them intently with a sharpened interest the girls didn’t understand.  At least some of their uncertainty was reflected in the eyes of George and Esmeray, but at least those two had the instinctive comfort of knowing whatever was happening, didn’t involve them.  But everyone else in the room seemed to be in on it, whatever ‘it’ was.

“Stay on your knees.  But put your heads on the floor with your arms stretched out under the bed in front of you,” Húanglóng ordered them, calmly and with a sense of self-possession, “and turn your heads to the sides, away from one another.  I want each of you focused on me now, not distracting one another.”

The girls obeyed, and next felt the Emperor’s large, heavy feet descending to rest on their heads, pressing them down uncomfortably into the stone floor as he relaxed and allowed their weight to rest on the girls’ skulls.  With their shackled wrists in front of them, the Emperor’s posture allowed him an easy and—for them—humiliating way to keep them under his control.

“You married my wife,” he stated, gruffly and bluntly.  They heard Channah make a noise somewhere between a growl and an approving moan behind him.  “But you didn’t even so much as ask my permission first, did you?” 

“No, Master,” they responded in unison, knowing he would be displeased with their angle..  “I’m sorry, Mast—”

“Hush!  You’ll have a chance to show how sorry you are in a minute, and possibly all day.”  The celebrants on the bed all made warning calls and hoots of anticipation, while Penny’s half-squished face (Chastity’s was invisible to the group, facing the wall) just looked more anxious and worried, provoking secondary laughter.  “Right now, you listen to me and you answer me.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.” 

“From now on, you will address me as ‘First Husband,’ although when you’re serving me sexually—”

Miriam laughed:  “I wish you could see the panic in this little girl’s face!”

He acknowledged the comment with a slight, momentary grin, continuing “You should call me ‘Daddy,’” he decided, rolling the balls and heels of his feet over their temples and cheeks, perhaps because it felt pleasant to him or perhaps simply to reinforce their helpless subservience before him.  Then he responded to Miriam:  “When you marry a married woman, you marry her husband as well,” he pointed out reasonably.  “If they didn’t want to be both our playthings, they shouldn’t have married us, should they?”  And then, pushing down a little harder and squishing the girls’ faces a bit more, he emphasized:  “Especially without asking me first.  Should you?”

“No, First Husband!” they yelped.

“But you chose to marry us, anyway, and now you are bound to us as our ceshi or shu-wives.  Do you deserve my wrath, wretched girls?”

“Yes, First Husband,” they quavered fearfully.

“You certainly do.  But fortunately for you, I am a very tolerant and forgiving master.”  Sliding his feet from the tops of their heads to rest immediately in front of each girl’s face, he pressed the soles of his feet into their faces, speaking soothingly.  “Breathe, chattel.  Be calm and breathe.”

They obeyed—they could scarcely do otherwise, in their positions—but he emphasized:  “Deeper.  Breathe deeper!  I want to hear it!  I want to know you’re breathing in, deeply and calmly, breathing me into you….” And as they practically hyperventilated, everyone in the room could hear, and enjoy.  “That’s the way… Even in this plane, in this borrowed body, my body is at peace, and brings others to peace with me.  Are you starting to feel docile and calm, now, in my presence?”

“Yes, First Husband,” they answered, Penny’s response tinged with the faintest hint of surprise.

“Good girls.  Roll over onto your backs,” he commanded, lifting his legs while they scrambled to obey.  “Keep your hands above your heads!”  he reminded them; and as soon as they were in position, he settled his feet back onto them, this time right on their faces, pressing down.  “Breathe and worship me.  Go on!  Kiss my feet and clean them.  Get your tongues out!  Good girls…” They heard applause, and claps of approval, but no longer cared.  Or rather, they cared only whether their actions pleased Him, and their Domina.

“That’s so hot,” Channah moaned, scrambling around her husband to sit on his lap, facing him, and kiss him.  “I never get tired of seeing it.  Or of envying it.”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 He roared with laughter.  “Look who’s talking.  Mmm…” he paused to kiss his wife back.  “You brought them to me already caged and humiliated and pledged to your service, did you not?  I’ve yet to meet the succubus who couldn’t domesticate an animal on sight.”

“But it’s so… effortless for you!” she protested, gnawing affectionately on his lip before pushing her tongue back against his.

After a moment he protested—his grin making his protestation unconvincing:  “Sitting on my thighs, you’re making it much harder for our little wives to show their respect!”

“Good!” she murmured huskily, pressing herself up against his hardening member and bouncing on his thighs to send concussive shocks down his legs into her chattels’ faces.

“I’ll bet it’s every bit as good for them,” Miriam added wryly.  “They know where they belong now.  And it’s probably what they need, they’re such compliant little girls.”

Tearing herself away with a sigh, Channah backed off the bed and squatted down between her wives, feeling them, and crowed with delight, provoking laughter from her companions:  “‘They shall lick the dust like a serpent.’  And they are most definitely trying to ‘move out of their holes like worms.’”

“So, Jacob,” Húanglóng snickered, rubbing his feet across his playthings’ eager tongues and lips, unable to completely conceal the enjoyment he felt from such an easy demonstration of his power, protracting it with casual conversation.  “We have met before?”

Channah snorted, “Boaster,” as she rose back to her feet, idly kicking Penny’s little scrotum and watching her flinch and whine without pausing for one second in her devotions.  “Incredible,” she hissed with disgust, shaking her head and going to the table where the girls had set the liquor, picking up a bottle of wine and offering refills to her companions.

“Come now, surely our girls should have a moment to acclimate to their new station before we put them back to work,” Húanglóng suggested loftily, as if he were doing them a favor, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Jacob answered.  “I have had the honor of meeting you in Lytos, at your Palace of Indolence, upon the occasions of several anniversaries.”  Channah’s and Húanglóng’s anniversary celebrations, held in Lytos primarily to make it likely he and the other dragon participants would show up, was one of the few occasions when demons from different hells interacted other than through political embassies.  And although the guests were only dragons and succubae, the uniqueness of the event made it legendary in hell.

The Dragon King looked pleased.  “Ah, yes, I remember you now.  You enjoy chasing the dragon?”

“Everyone enjoys chasing the dragons, Master,” Jacob allowed.

“Ha ha, good answer!  As everyone dreams of being visited by the succubae.  I can see why you are invited, of course!”

“Not my conversational skills, I’m afraid, Your Majesty,” he admitted with a faint undertone that was difficult to place, but sounded almost ugly and hard.

Húanglóng raised an eyebrow, but didn’t care to pursue it, asking instead:  “You’re a cambion?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, the son of the succubus Michal.”

“Of course,” he nodded, turning to George.  “And you?  You seem—new to me?”

“We have never met before, Your Majesty,” George responded.  “I am George Manning, th-the carpenter at Duchess—er, Queen Channah’s Fensmere estate in Cambridge.”

Húanglóng’s eyes narrowed.  “But surely, if your life and soul are safe from the succubae, you can’t be fully human?”

George looked surprised.  “Yes, Your Majesty—I am!  Or… I thought I was…”

“Hmm… also not invited for your conversational skills.”

“Your Majesty?” George asked uncertainly.  “It—it’s an honor to have been invited—”

“Oh, dear.”

Channah, back by the sideboard, further fortifying the spiked wine by pouring what was left from the bottle she had used to refill everyone’s glasses into a flagon with a couple of fingers of spirits left in it, snorted and exchanged a wry glance with Esmeray before interjecting:  “He’s the son of one of my very brightest operatives.”

“Really?” Húanglóng asked drily.

“Really.  The woman who tutored the two, I can assure you, very-well-educated girls licking the dust and shit from the soles of your feet at this very moment, darling.”

“Really?” he looked surprised.

“Really, darling,” she assured him.  “We all thought he was human, but George darling, tell him what happened to you when our whorish little Penny got you overexcited?”

“I, er—” George blushed.  “Turned green.”

“More than just that, darling.  He revealed himself as a dragon cambion.  He might even be one of your great-something-grandsons.”

“Really?!” Húanglóng grinned, now interested and approving, clapping George on the shoulder.  “Good lad!  And I see you take after me in some ways!”

“I do?”

“Eh—in the ways that got you invited to this party!”

“Duchess Miriam said I would make a nice surprise for Her Majesty the Queen,” George admitted proudly.

“And you will!” Húanglóng encouraged him, patting him on the back reassuringly.  And, seeing he was still not following:  “We’re talking about the size of your cock, son!  You’re a big chip off the old block.  Succubae like a bit of demon cock now and again.  Nobody likes to fuck where they eat all the time.  Sometimes they like to focus on their own experience and just let go, instead of worrying about managing and corralling and consuming prey.”

“Oh,” George answered, turning red, politely continuing:  “Thank you for explaining, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t fret,” Jacob interjected tightly.  “You’ll get used to it.”

“Oh, I’ve always known my cock was—different,” George replied earnestly, forcing Jacob—who clearly knew his own place in the pecking order all too well—to look away until he could control his expression of derision. 

“I’m sure you do, son,” Húanglóng exchanged a wicked look with Channah, but managed to suppress his reaction better than either Jacob or Channah, who was snickering as she moved back over to Penny, squatting down to rest on her metal cage, the burning warmth of her fireplace surely as obvious to her toy girl as the pressure she was exerting. 

Sliding back and forth to tease the girl, and herself, she snapped:  “Toes!” as she began purring and dripping the doubly-spiked wine onto Húanglóng’s toes so it rolled over and off them onto Penny’s worshipful tongue and into Penny’s adoring mouth.  Penny, for her part, made Channah’s experience perfect by obeying her, choking and sputtering in shock at the strength of the brew, without interrupting her assigned task.  “My love, as much as it may irritate me how easily seduction and domination come to you, I’m most grateful you have such a way of shutting up my little Meoto here.”  Then she switched to her baby-talk voice:  “That’s the way, little Meoto, shut up and drink up for Mommy, while you please your Daddy.”

“‘Meoto’?!” Húanglóng asked.  “That’s… Korean?”

“Japanese.  For effeminate chatterbox.”

“It’s very funny.”

“Particularly because it fits her to a ‘T-girl,’” Channah assured him.  “A bigger blabbermouth you have never met.  And yes, I mean including Lucifer!”

Húanglóng raised an eyebrow skeptically, then looked back down at Penance’s nearly-naked body under his foot, serving him.  “Are you really a little blabbermouth, footsucker?”

Penny nodded earnestly, by now so far under the spell of Húanglóng’s powerful pheromones she could no more lie than disobey the dragon, or conceal her feelings from him.  “Yesh, First Husbnd.”

“Don’t you think we’re past ‘First Husband’ by now, Meoto?  You’ve been making out with my foot there for about five minutes now, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more passionately in love with my foot.  And that’s saying something.” 

Channah smirked:  “My girl has a bit of a thing for feet, darling.  Among her other… many… delicious little quirks.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Penny agreed enthusiastically, as oblivious to the laughter all around her as any audience member tricked into participating by a stage hypnotist might be.  “You’re right.  This is soooo sexy!  I love your big, strong, hard foot, Daddy.” 

“Yeah?  What do you like best about it?”

“It’s amazing,” she gushed.  “I’ve never been so turned on by a man’s foot before.  I don’t know if it’s the weight of it, Daddy,” Penny began babbling, slurring and pausing her words around the kisses and licks and sucks she was applying to every surface of Húanglóng’s foot she could possibly get her mouth on.  “The weight of it, which reminds me how big and strong you are; or the hardness of it, which reminds me of how masculine you are.  Or the smell of it, which is like…  I don’t even know what it’s like, Daddy; but it’s—it’s earthy and musky and sexy and—”

“Whoa!  You are a little chatterbox, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy, I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Oh, you’re not sorry yet, but you will be, when I punish you for marrying my wife without my permission.”

“I’m—I’m really sorry, Daddy,” Penance admitted, suddenly her voice sounding contrite and wavering, almost as if she were about to cry.  “I’m so sorry!”

“I’m sorry too, Daddy!” Chastity burst out, unable to stop herself.  “We respect you so much, Daddy!”  Chastity exclaimed.

“So much!”  Penny agreed.

“This pathetic display is better than any theater!” Jacob snarked, expressing what many of those watching were feeling and triggering a ripple of laughter throughout the room.

“Humans!”

“Livestock!”

And the ultimate put-down:  “Prey!”

“Which… actually… makes me wonder…” he looked around the room until he found who he was looking for and called her:  “Is it—Esmeray?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she conceded, looking concerned.

“Come over here and sit by me.”  He patted the bed just next to him.

Obediently, but without being able to fully conceal her reluctance, she rose and made her way over to him, trying to sit a foot or two away from him and stiffening to a porcelain rigidity when she felt his broad hand on her hip, effortlessly pulling her tight into his side, as he frowned in wonder.  Even punch-drunk-love-drunk Penny and Chas would have sensed Esmeray’s fundamental discomfort and hostility if they could have seen or sensed anything beyond their master’s feet, or been able to conceive of resisting him.  As it was, Esmeray’s strong reaction produced a ripple through the room, all of the succubae and their cambion immediately aroused with the narcotic-potent combination of their predatorial and sexual instincts her conflicted behavior aroused in them.

Esmeray felt her rage and resentment spiking and spiraling out of her control, trying her hardest to use the tricks she had taught herself over the years to maintain her calm despite her urge to lash out at him for ignoring her body language, her very identity and volition, so completely, a feeling she could only barely contain when it finally clicked with her that, far from being oblivious to her feelings—the usual problem with humans and demons alike—he was completely focused on them, and fascinated by them.  Only that belated realization enabled her to accept it when he rested his hand over her nose and mouth.

“Be careful, darling,” Channah warned him.  “She’s a powder keg.  More of a volcano, really.”

“Oh, I can tell,” he nodded, clearly riveted by what he was seeing.  “You’re… immune to me!  To us—”

“To all demons.  And humans.”  She laughed:  “And even pets, as far as I can tell, Sire,” Channah purred, still amusing herself on pathetic Penny’s body.

“This is incredible,” he wondered, meeting Esmeray’s angry, resentful, nearly-panicked eyes over the top of his hand, and suddenly, really recognizing how agitated a state she was in.

Hastily dropping his hands from her and raising them placatingly, he apologized smoothly.  “I’m so sorry my dear… this is such a rare thing… and you’re an extreme case.”

“It’s all right, Your Majesty,” she forced herself to say, no one listening to her likely to believe she actually felt that way—not least because of how the moment the Dragon King released her, she popped up to her feet and moved back from him, regarding him as one might regard, well… a dangerous serpent.

“Does it surprise you, the reaction I produce in most hucows?”  He asked, gesturing at the two adoring girls happy to be under his feet.

“Those two… weakling little perverts?  Not as much as it would with normal huco—people,” she huffed, trying to breathe more slowly and deeply to calm herself.  “But… yes.”  And she managed to pack all he scorn of the world into that one single word.  “Do they—’we,’ I suppose—all act like that around you?!” she asked, incredulously.

“Pretty much,” the Dragon King shrugged, indicating it was nothing; simply another day in his world.  “All of them except for you.  You’re quite… disagreeable.  But I apologize for causing you stress nonetheless.  I don’t like causing stress.  I normally don’t.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Esmeray curtsied slightly, trying to express what she felt, which was that she actually appreciated what he was saying.  It was a different kind of magic, the oldest in the world:  simple courtesy and respect.  But not something she had learned to expect from either humans or demons.  Shrugging again, the Dragon King continued:  “I prefer… getting along with people, the way I usually do.”  Then, looking down at his feet, his voice dripping with contempt, especially at the contrast their behavior made with Esmeray, he asked:  “Do you ‘girls’ even remember what it felt like to want to be a man?”

“Oh, yes, Daddy!”  Penny assured him.  “I want to be a man now!”  And then, sounding despondent, heedless again of the roars of laughter from around her:  “It’s still inside me always.  I wish so much I could be a man and I’m so ashamed to be a little girl!”

“Every minute?” he asked, his eyes lighting a bit at the thought.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Every second of every day!”  Chastity cried out her pain.  “I like being a girl, a lot!  Not like Penny.  But at the same time I—I’m confused—I don’t know, I was supposed to be—maybe I am supposed to be a man—I wish I could just be a girl and be happy about it!”

 “I’m not!  I’d give anything to be a man!  A big, powerful, sexy man women want and love.  Just like you!”  Penny moaned, licking and sucking furiously, practically losing herself in the act.  “But I’m not what I want to be!    I’m just not!  I didn’t—I don’t want to be a girl.  But I just am!  A weak girl.  I can’t help it!  I’ve never been any good as a boy, I was never allowed—never deserved—to have my breeching ceremony, and all I can think about are women and how much I wish I could make love to them!  But I can’t even get hard any more from normal sex.”

“You’ve never had ‘normal’ sex in your life,” Channah mocked her contemptuously, cutting her down as easily as a scythe sweeping through a field of flimsy wheat stalks.

“I mean—I mean to say—I’m so embarrassed, Domina!  I mean…” she whispered, not wanting anyone else to hear, maybe not even wanting to hear it herself:  “From touching myself.”

“You’ve touched yourself?!  Like Onan?!”  Channah roared accusingly, well aware she was leading a performance for the entertainment and arousal of her guests.

“In the dark, in my bed—yes, Domina.  I’m so—I used to be so horny, thinking about women and their bodies, their hips, their bottoms, their legs, their feet—”

“And you can’t get hard anymore, can you?”

“Not—like that.  Never when I’m in my cage.  And now I—since you began training me—it seems I can only orgasm like a girl, when I’m on the bottom—”


“The receiving partner?”  Channah suggested.

“Yes, Domina,” she whispered, covering her own eyes in shame without pausing in her ministrations to the Dragon King’s feet.

“Pathetic!” Channah spat, almost literally, touching herself with her free hand and hissing as if she’d touched fire.

“I know!” Penny started crying, without slowing down, grunting as Channah stepped on her cage and observed: 

“Don’t lie to me, Penance.  Don’t lie to your Daddy.  I can feel how much you like being a girl.”  She emphasized her words with more-aggressive, presumably quite painful, jabs and rolls and tugs on Penance’s little cage.

“I don’t, Domina, I’m sorry!  I don’t!”

“Then why is your little clitty so hard?”

“It’s so awful!  I—I can’t possibly say, Domina!  Please don’t make me say it!”  And then she whispered:  “I don’t even want to hear it!”

“Oh-ho-ho, but I do.  And I’m what matters, aren’t I, Meoto?”

“Yes, Domina, you’re all that matters.  You and Daddy—”

“Tell me!” She demanded, working her toe in between her cheeks and up towards her little girl’s hole.

“I—I feel like… It’s hard to say it, exactly… I don’t even understand it!”  She wept.  “How can I explain it?”

“Just do your best, sugar bear.  Trust us.  Well—trust our experience.  There’s very little we haven’t seen before and even less we don’t understand.  Go on,” she encouraged her girl with her probing, teasing toe and her taunting tone of voice, finally getting what she wanted.

It came out as the quietest whisper:  “I’m—I know I’m such a lowly worm, lower than dirt, it’s such a relief to just—to just be what I am I don’t know…”

But they most definitely did.  The room roared and reverberated with cruel laughter as the vulnerable girl’s deepest and most-shameful truths came out.

“I told you you were a shit-eater, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Domina, but I didn’t understand it—”

“Do you understand now?”

“I don’t—maybe!” she howled in pain, before dissolving into sobs.  “It’s so unnatural—I can’t—it can’t be that—I don’t understand…!”  She bawled.

“But you’re beginning to,” Channah diagnosed her condition with a spiteful, liberating delight.  “Don’t worry, my little Pleaser.  We’re going to explore this in depth.”

“Sooo much depth!”  Rivqah whooped delightedly.

Channah, barely able to contain her smile enough to keep talking, assured Peny:  “You’re going to earn your name even better now, Pleaser, now that I can see better what I’m aiming it.  I’m going to drag you through your misery and shit until you look like a muddy golem under my feet!  It turns you on to be able to finally give up all that exhausting, hopeless, ineffective pride and hope and craving to be something more than you are, something you’re absolutely not, and just admit to us—show us—what a worm you are, doesn’t it?”

“I think so, maybe—Domina!  I’m not sure—”

“Oh, I am,” she laughed richly.  “And the better I understand you, the better I can tear you apart, sweetheart.  Thank you for this key.  Admitting who and what you are—to us, maybe even to yourself because only by admitting it to us, are you forced to face it yourself?—Doing that is what makes you happy because you can actually be yourself for once!  What a relief that must be!”

“Oh, it is, Domina, it is!  But it’s also—terrible—”

“It certainly is mortifying and, I’m sure, painful and humiliating.  As it ought to be.  Especially when you’re surrounded by big, real men like my First Husband and other fuck buddies here.  But you just can’t help who you are, sweetie,” she mock-comforted her girl, reaching back to wrench her tiny scrotum painfully with one hand, as she put her other hand on her neck in a chokehold, demonstrating her mastery of her slave physically as well as mentally.  “And nothing feels better than being who you really are, baby…” she cooed encouragingly, shivering with arousal.  “Even though you fucking hate it, don’t you?  I bet you’d give anything to be different—to be a man!”

“I do!  I do so!” Penny bawled.  I wish I could be like Daddy instead of like me.”

“Well… admit that to your Daddy, bitch.  You’ll feel better.  We’ll all feel better,” she chortled.

“Yes, Domina.  Oh, Daddy, truly, I wish I could be like you—I wish I could be you, instead of me!” 

Chastity wailed, starting her own waterworks:  “Me too!  YOU’RE a man my lord!  You’re the real thing!  I know I’m supposed to be like you, but I want to be a girl!  I’ve always wanted to be a girl, for as long as I can remember!  Ohh!  I can never face my father again.  Or my brothers!  Not even my own mother!”

“I can’t even face myself!”  Penny bawled.  “I have to try sooo hard to remember I’m a girl and to act like I’m a girl and to accept my place as a girl and put up with so many pawing men who want to play with my body, especially now that it’s a girl’s body, when all I wish is that I’d been born with the spirit of a man!  My hate my penis!  I mean I love my penis but—but—but all it does now is remind me of what I’m supposed to be, and what a failure I am!  Oh how I wish I could be like you!”

“Wait—now you think you can even compare yourself to me, little pussy?!” Húanglóng asked, sounding surprised but doing nothing to conceal the amusement and contempt he felt. 

“I’m sorry!  I apologize, Daddy!”

“Because you know you’re not a man, as disgraceful as that is?  Is that right?”

“That’s right, Daddy,” Penny confessed, as both girls kept weeping and worshiping and working on pleasing their Master.

“Chastity, I understand,” Húanglóng allowed.

“Oh, thank you, Daddy!” Chastity gushed.  “Thank you for understanding and tolerating me!”

“Shut up and stand up in front of me!” Húanglóng barked.  “Penny, don’t you dare move or interrupt what you’re doing!”  And the moment Chastity was on her feet in front of the Dragon, he grabbed her arm and yanked her across his left knee, pushing her neck down with his left hand and trapping her legs under his right knee before spanking her furiously, a staccato series of blows from his mighty hand that immediately reactivated all her bruised, oversensitized flesh and sent her into tears of pain, multiplying her misery and humiliation.  “Dear,” Húanglóng smirked at his First Royal Wife calmly, not even breathing heavily, and without slowing down the motion of his hand.  “I’m impressed.  You’ve made mincemeat of these girls’ bottoms, haven’t you?”

“I surely have,” she admitted, guffawing with the rest of the room.

“They’re so blue!  How weak they are, to have accepted that.  I can’t imagine how you thought you could endure a week out here alone with them for company!”

“Honestly—now—I don’t either,” she admitted, standing and playing with herself, leaning forward over Chastity to make out briefly with her husband while their little side-piece took her spanking below them.  “I should have known better.  Fuck I’m so wet right now!” she admitted, straightening up and stepping back, teasing herself with one finger as she looked back and forth between one crying horny girl desperately worshiping her Master’s foot, and the other one helplessly being spanked like a two-year-old.  “Wow.”  She shook her head, appreciative and a little appalled.  “Thank you for intervening on my behalf to save me from… this freak show, girlfriends!”

“That’s what friends are for!” Rivqah laughed. 

Literature Section “07-35 BULLying Cucks for Kicks”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 35 of Chapter Seven, “Channah’s Slavegirls:  Pawns of the Court of Lust”—5616 words—Accompanying Images:  2176-2186—Published 2025-08-26—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, stupid choices, evil, harm, danger, death, mythical creatures, idiots, and criminals. Don’t try, believe, or imitate them or any of it.                                     

2168 07-34 Asuka supervising housecleaning
2169 07-34 Asuka supervising housecleaning
2170 07-34 Sakura supervising gardening
2171 07-34 Sakura supervising gardening
2172 07-34 Haruka supervising washing
2173 07-34 Haruka cooking
2174 07-34 Haruka cooking
2175 07-34 Haruka cooking

PREVIOUSLY:  The second long, perverse, intense day of Channah’s, Chastity’s, and Penance’s honeymoon is over.  They sleep as they feel:  closer to one another than ever before, and more unequal, the internal power dynamics of their relationship further strengthened by Channah’s erotic assertive hunger, Penny’s suffering service, and Chastity’s eagerness to please and belong.  NOW:

They awoke to another perfect morning at the top of the world, a chill in the air perfectly counterbalanced by their tightly-snuggled warm bodies, and the Sun’s indirect light from behind the surrounding mountains a promise of coming warmth.  The flowers in Channah’s garden were as revived as they, blooming to greet the Sun, the air fresh and innocent as Eden, the joyous songs of birds celebrating the world’s rebirth.  All three of the lovers felt invigorated and eager for the day. 

Giggling, the girls carrying their Mistress’s sandals and dress, she led them hand-in-hand to the bath where she watched Penny pick up the jar of soap and stare at it.  Intuiting what Penny was thinking, she asked:  “It tastes awful, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Domina,” she agreed unhappily, reaching her fingers resignedly towards the jar.

“Here,” Channah interrupted her, “Let’s do this right.  Chastity—” she handed her the jar while reaching into the water to remove Penny’s chastity cage, enjoying the way her wife gasped and her eyes widened.  Then she took Penny’s hair in her hand and yanked her head back and down so Penny collapsed on her knees leaning backward in the water, feeling Channah’s legs pressing into her side.  Smiling sexily, Channah scooped up the soap and and barked:  “Open wide, bitch,” giggling and looking turned on when Penny immediately obeyed, even knowing what was coming.  Humming, she smeared the powerful soap around the inside of Penny’s mouth, scrubbing and semi-choking her.  Their eyes were locked on one another’s the whole time, intimate enough to make Chastity feel a pang of jealousy, and Channah began breathing heavier as she watched her prodding fingers force tears to form around the edges of Penny’s eyes.

When she was finished, she held Penny there, half-choking on soap, reaching under the water to confirm with a wider smile that Penny was fully hard.  “You’re coming along well as a wife.  But I’m afraid there’s not enough soap in the world for a girl as dirty as you,” she whispered, giggling as she pushed Penny’s head forward and down, half-drowning the girl as she finally let her rinse her mouth out.  When Penny finally seemed to have gotten as much of the soap out as she could, Channah kept hold of her hair and dragged her backward to the edge of the spring beside a flat rock where she had directed the girls to set her things.  Penny was again held near surface level gazing up at the beautiful blue sky and the even-more-beautiful demoness towering over her.  Fishing out a Persian hard candy, Channah put it in her own mouth, then leaned forward and down to kiss her girl, pushing the sweet and pleasant mint confection into her mouth as they made out.

Without interrupting what she was doing, she stretched her empty hand out towards Chastity and snapped her fingers impatiently.  Figuring it out, Chastity came closer to them with the jar of soap, at once glad and uncomfortable with the strange feeling of still being outside their bubble no matter how physically proximate they were. 

Channah pulled her lips off Penny long enough to murmur:  “You know how to float?”  And when Penny nodded, she commanded:  “On your back, then, bitch!”  getting more soap and laughing as she began working on Penny’s little nub when it came into view at the surface of the water, pleased with how hard it was.  Sniggering, she released her victim suddenly, making her flail to keep her head above water, and teased her:  “I’d tell you to take care of that but you might misinterpret it as permission.”  Suddenly adopting an innocent expression, she asked:  “Do you want me to hit it until it gets soft?  Or can you think good, pure, decent thoughts while you bathe the rest of your body so you’re ready for your cage before we get out?”

“I’ll try—I’ll think decent thoughts, Domina,” Penny promised hoarsely.

“Good girl.  See you do so.  And if I were you, I’d look out over the valley.  The way you’re looking at me now, your little stubby won’t be getting any better-behaved.  If you won’t fit back in your cage when I’m ready to lock you up, I’ll make it wilt.”

“Yes, Domina,” Penny agreed, embarrassed at her sharp laugh and the even sharper one when Penny turned away sharply to look out over the valley and clean herself, trying to tune that out and the noises of Channah flirting with and washing Chastity.

Eventually, when her companions quieted down, the warm spring water and the paradise around them were too peaceful and powerful to ignore and she floated silently in the water, marveling to be there.

“The birds… don’t come into the house,” Penny observed, when there was silence behind her, watching an eagle soar above the valley in front of them. 

“No, they don’t,” Channah agreed happily.  “Not birds, not insects, not rodents.  Only humans and demons—beings with souls—come into the house.”

“Do demons have souls?”  Penny asked curiously, looking over her shoulder at Channah, and then reddened at Channah’s surprised expression.  “I’m sorry Domina, I wasn’t thinking—”

Looking both amused and slightly challenged, she answered:  “I… think so.  Don’t we?”  And then, embarrassed in her own turn when she saw their surprised expressions, asked pointedly:  “How confident are you about humans?”

The girls laughed before realizing she was serious as well as challenging them in turn.  Looking at one another, Penny answered slowly:  “I… think so, too.” 

Meanwhile, Chastity opined:  “Most of us for sure.  I can’t speak to all of us.”  Then Chastity looked at Penny in shock.  “You think so?!  You aren’t sure?!”

Now it was Penny’s turn to look embarrassed.  “Probably,” she allowed, turning her gaze back upon the eagle.  “I think… I feel… I see, I experience… I must have a soul, mustn’t I?”

“If that huge heavy burden you carry around everywhere with you isn’t a soul,” Channah suggested, “You might want to figure out what it is.  Or even better, simply let go of it.”  And then, with an evil laugh:  “And maybe let it go even if it is.”

“NO!”  Penny protested, shocked, whirling around and then seeing her lazily gazing back, amused.

Rolling her eyes, she said:  “Are you ready to get back in your cage now, St. Augustine?”

“Yes, Domina,” Penny admitted meekly, moving back towards her Mistress in response to her lazily beckoning fingers. 

Only after they were both locked back up did she lead them out of the bath and tease them by making them dry her off and dress her, sighing with pleasure as she felt their need for her returning and could tell they were feeling the tightness of her bejeweled grip below. 

Just as they turned toward the house, Channah paused with a surprised expression.  “Hang on… I think we have guests!”

Striding to the door barring the entrance to the honeycomb, she pointed to the ground behind her and snapped her fingers, not bothering to wait for them to kneel before she approached the door and opened it, revealing Miriam and Rivqah, dressed to the nines in tight sheer white linen kalasiris that only emphasized, rather than concealed, their voluptuous forms; high-heeled gold mules; and exquisite gold jewelry that was as striking as a whole, as the individual pieces were subtle individually.  They encircled or were draped over or dangled from every part of their bodies, from the tiaras on the crowns of their heads, to the rings around their toes.  They were both hanging on the arms of a huge mountain of a man, fully a foot taller than most men, with broad shoulders, heavy musculature covered with softer subcutaneous fat, and a wide fat belly.  But who was most notable for the charismatic force of personality that radiated out from him like a shockwave.  Complementing the two succubae, he was wearing only a tight sheer white linen shendyt, gold sandals, and his own complement of gold jewelry.  All three of them wore clothing the girls associated so narrowly with ancient Egypt that it seemed incongruous on a man whose features and skin were so obviously East Asian, and his air of danger and reckless self-assurance so clearly those of some barbarian kha-khan. 

To the girls’ shock, Channah positively squealed with delight, rushing forward and crying out joyfully:  “Húanglóng my love!” before embracing the man, wrapping her arms and legs tightly around him and allowing him to whirl in a circle while she clung to him as if she were a cotton doll. 

“My beloved Channah!” he roared back, before kissing her on the lips, while Miriam and Rivqah watched and applauded, sparing only brief smirks of withering contempt for the two red-faced humiliated girls kneeling nude and caged on the ground behind their Queen.  Clearly not all of her husbands were broken and chastised.  Certainly not her first and primary husband, a demon as powerful and distinguished as Húanglóng, King of the Dragons.

When they were finally done, Húanglóng set Channah back on her feet and she asked excitedly:  “However did Miriam and Rivqah pry you away from your Palace of Indolence?  It’s been…”

“Years,” he shrugged casually.  “Possibly decades.  I’m not sure.  But in truth, I see little reason to stir from my own paradise.  No reason, in fact—besides you, of course, my dear.  I’ve hardly even noticed much difference being banished to hell.  Human vice and weakness still bring legions of the vermin to us seeking dragons, gold, and glory….  and we dragons like the dry heat.  And since we, literally, breathe brimstone, we don’t even notice the smell.  Lilith and Cain, it’s been… centuries since I’ve smelled the air of Earth,” he marveled, looking at the beauty around him and drawing in deep breaths of fresh air.  “Maybe I ought to be a little less of a homebody… but finding the right body for a man such as me?  One even fractionally worthy of my presence?  Fortunately, your extraordinary and devoted handmaids found me this body, which even has a…” he shrugged, “somewhat adequate approximation of a cock, to wear to the mortal world.  A rare find indeed!  Miriam and Rivqah, my dears, you have outdone yourselves,” he beamed at them.

“Honestly, happening upon the fellow in Central Asia is what persuaded us to crash your honeymoon!”  Miriam admitted.

“It seemed almost like a sign,” Rivqah interjected.  “Especially knowing how much progress you want to make with your girls!  It occurred to us you could use your husband’s… unique powers.”

Channah considered for a moment and conceded:  “You have a point.  I have every confidence in my little ceshi.  But I’m sure my poor dears don’t stand a chance against the mighty mighty Húanglóng—either in competing for my attention, or resisting him.”  Penny and Chas exchanged a nervous, worried look, but didn’t dare interrupt.

“And I admit, when they told me you had locked yourself away for a week with only a pair of eunuchs for company, well, I… I don’t know,” Húanglóng admitted, looking embarrassed.  “I did feel rather like I’d let the side down with you.  I mean… next you’ll be joining a nunnery!”  The demons collapsed in laughter at the idea, but Channah looked worried and anxious enough, the girls could immediately sense how little she liked the image her honeymoon apparently being painted of her by the wags of hell.  “I had to come and jolly you out of your funk before the other demons started gossiping that your rebellion had already failed!”

“Nonsense!” Channah stamped her foot with outrage at the idea, trying not to show how shaken she was by the suggestion, with thoughtfulness outliving the outrage and lingering behind.  “But you’re right, it is too dangerous to risk making them even start to believe a pair of lowly jawari matter a whit to me.  Let alone speculating why.”

“Of course, it’s nonsense!” Húanglóng agreed, waving his hands dismissively, “but locked up in hell, in their own miserable little realms—nothing like my beautiful pleasure palace—all the rest of them can do is gossip jealously!”

“Well, it’s ridiculous.  I’ve been returning to exploring of my own, remembering my masculine side for the first time in… years, certainly,” she conceded, before acknowledging again:  “But anything that attracts notice to my affairs… especially my wives… is unwanted.”  Frowning, she continued:  “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“Certainly, my dear!”  And they had another long, languorous kiss before separating, Húanglóng almost stepping back onto Chastity by accident.  Looking down, he frowned.  “Are these your little cucks?  I’ll look forward to seeing what you’ve trained them to do!”

“Oh, it’s early days yet,” Channah admitted, looking slightly embarrassed for some reason.  “That was one of the reasons I planned the honeymoon, to catch them up on their training before I put them to work!  Without imagining I might be with you!  Rivqah and Miriam, my sisters, what a perfect gift this is for me.”  Then, her voice becoming harsh, she barked over her shoulder:  “Girls, fall on your bellies and suck the toes of your Master and Brother-Husband.”  They looked up at her with shock, and then immediately fear to see the intense insistence in her voice and eyes, before blushing, forcing themselves to the ground, and pushing their tongues under his toes to lift them enough to suck.  Above them, they could hear Miriam and Rivqah sniggering and clapping with delight as Channah hissed:  “That’s the way.  You know he’s your better in every way that would matter to a male, don’t you?”

“A little slow for my taste,” Húanglóng opined judgmentally at the girls.  “I can see why you don’t think they’re ready yet.  But I expect we can help you discipline and train them better while we’re here, if you don’t want to keep all the fun to yourself.”

“So…” Channah smiled mischievously.  “Did you have a plan for your visit?  Or are we simply winging it?”

“Planned?!  Oh, have we ever!”  Miriam burst.  “But you have no need to worry about it.   Why don’t the two of you celebrate your reunion and let us take care of everything else?”

“Awww….” Channah gazed at them fondly.  “You two are my heart,” she exclaimed, hugging them both tightly before stripping off her robe and kicking off her shoes, an action Húanglóng immediately copied.  “Do you remember where the bedroom is?” she asked her husband.

“It doesn’t matter… I want to follow and watch your sinuous and spellbinding walk, my goddess,” Húanglóng confessed.  “Please, lead my way so I can follow!”  And giggling, she sprinted for the house, with Húanglóng eagerly—and her wives’ eyes despairingly—following her wide buttocks and long legs propelling her towards their marital bed.

The girls’ view was interrupted before the happy couple disappeared around the corner of the garden path by Rivqah’s high-heeled sandals, as she stepped forward and then bent down, smirking into their eyes as they sheepishly looked up to meet hers.  “You two must really feel like emasculated sissies now, mustn’t you?” 

And when they didn’t speak, her brows knitted together and her face darkened until the two girls nodded frantically.  “Yes, Domina.”

“Yes, Domina, what?!”

“Yes—yes, we feel like emasculated sissies, Domina.”

“Too slow again, but better!  How much she must be coddling you!  I’m so relieved we intervened before you two completely unlearned all your manners and skills.  Why do you suppose you feel that way?” She then asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly while they exchanged a worried look, uncertain of their lines, before Penny figured it out and whispered, turning scarlet:

“Because we are emasculated sissies, Domina.”

“Quite!” she announced triumphantly.  “Pathetic!  Now gather up your Masters’ clothing and follow us to the house!”

The girls had been aware there were other figures in the honeycomb behind the three demons, but had neither the time nor the permission to pay them much attention before.  Now they—seven people, loaded with boxes and crates and equipment—emerged to follow Miriam and Rivqah without so much as a glance behind them, all their senses focused on not tripping in their haste to keep up with Rivqah and Miriam.  Four of them were male, three of them female.  Three of them were very pale—too pale to be human—and four of them were of human pallor and appearance, although the girls had learned not to make too many assumptions about what they might expect or find.  Two of those with a human appearance—Penny was sure—looked familiar. 

The girls scrambled to their feet to obey Rivqah’s command.

In fact, when they set down their burdens, the girls could confirm two of the recruits brought here by Channah’s Ladies’ Maids were known to them.  The first was none other than their qahramanah, Esmeray, who appeared to be about as discombobulated and anxious about being here instead of training her other jawari as the girls were to have her.  The other was, even more surprisingly, Big George, the carpenter of Fensmere. If anything, George was even more surprised to see them than they were to see him.  “You—you’re beautiful women now!” he managed, staring waay to long and not quite as delighted as Roger, Cutter, and Martin had been.  “What’s going on?”

“Channah has helped them realize their innermost desires, and become the things they have always yearned to be,” Miriam explained.

“Hallelujah!”  George proclaimed, immediately and automatically followed by Penny’s and Chas’s responses.

Taken aback, Esmeray asked:  “What was that?!” 

They looked embarrassed, but George answered:  “I don’t know, it just seemed to fit.  It sounded like she was praying or—”

“Like a benediction,” Penny offered, when George couldn’t find the right word.

“Yeah, like that.” 

The couple they did not recognize had swarthy skin and dark hair, perhaps Turkish like Esmeray, or Persian, or Arab.  The woman, distinguished from her colleagues by the fact she was not staggering under her burdens, carried only a long narrow bag in one hand and an elaborately inlaid lacquered case in the other.  She carried both of them protectively, it being obvious they were prized possessions she would not have wanted anyone else to carry for her, and seemed interested in everything around her as if she were having the experience of a lifetime.  The last was an intense, slim but well-muscled young man, who somehow managed to look amused, bemused, eager, and resentful as hell, all at the same time.  Both of them were dressed much as Húanglóng, Rivqah, and Miriam had been, the young man’s sheer loincloth leaving no doubt as to why he had been invited to this particular party, or that he would be a popular guest.

The other three were gwailou, pale demons:  a beautiful woman, a beautiful young man, and a fussy old man, all of them, as the girls would learn, Japanese; and all of them appearing…. ‘Pale’ wasn’t really the right word.  But it fit insofar as it made sense to everyone who set eyes on one, and there was certainly no better way the girls could think to describe them.  ‘Washed-out’ would have been too harsh.  ‘Insubstantial’ would have been inaccurate.  And ‘white’ would have been outright misleading.  Yet there was something about them that gave them the hint of death or absence, and not being quite full-dimensioned creatures of the mortal world.  All of them seemed resentful of the pitiful girls they had first found kneeling caged, nearly-naked, and largely ignored on the ground; a mystery that was slowly solved as it emerged they had been brought here to do the tedious domestic chores Channah had planned for her girls, so the girls could be impressed to serve Miriam’s and Rivqah’s wicked, and presumably less boring, purposes instead.

The woman, who they would learn was actually a succubus named Tiferet, followed the happy couple up the stairs, still carrying her bag and case.

Miriam instructed the humans and gwailou while Rivqah disappeared into the supply room.  After they had put the kitchen supplies in the kitchen, and the other supplies in the storeroom, Miriam commanded:  “Asuka, clean the house!  And stay away from the succubae.  None of us want to be bothered with servants today.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the old man bowed, something unpleasant and resistant shimmering across his face but almost immediately suppressed, before he half-slunk out of sight, half-winked out of their awareness.

“Sakura, tend to the garden and also stay away from the guests—make it perfect!” 

“Yes, Mistress,” the beautiful young man bowed, his jaw set, disappearing with much the same strange combination of normal movement and magic as Asuka.

“Esmeray, the girls are already in their leathers but we want them leashed, with their wrists bound in front of them and their legs hobbled, before you bring them up.  But first, you girls, help and obey Haruka prepare drinks and food for us.  Unquestioningly and immediately.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the beautiful pale woman and her crew of helpers curtsied before their Domina, having nowhere to go from the kitchen they were already standing in.

“When Haruka has given you everything to bring up to us and tells you you’re done in the kitchen, Esmeray, lead your jawari up to us and kneel with them, watching and learning in respectful silence until and unless you’re called on.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Domina!”  The three of them responded.

“Excellent!” 

“And, needless to say, Haruka, nobody wants to see you, either,” Rivqah added as she breezed back into the kitchen, carrying the two lacquered boxes from among Fang’s wedding presents to Channah and smirking significantly at the girls.  George, sounding confused, asked:  “What would you like me to do, Mistresses?”

The two succubae exchanged an excited glance and broke out laughing as they took his huge hands in theirs.  “You’re coming with Jacob and us to join the adults!  We’ve heard some rumors about you that we’re most eager to confirm!”  And they began leading him up the stairs, followed by the other young man, it taking a minute for George to work out what they were talking about and start grinning.  Behind them, Esmeray looked relieved to have been left behind; while Penny and Chastity looked crushed.

Until Haruka, already crabby with the two girls for what was—from her point of view—their privileged status, walked between them, grabbing and holding their ears in unecessarily tight pinches that made them whine, and led them to the stove.

Literature Section “07-34 An Intervention to Rescue Channah from Accepting Sexual Mediocrity”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 34 of Chapter Seven, “Channah’s Slavegirls:  Pawns of the Court of Lust”—3764 words—Accompanying Images:  2168-2175—Published 2025-08-25—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, stupid choices, evil, harm, danger, death, mythical creatures, idiots, and criminals. Don’t try, believe, or imitate them or any of it.

2155 07-33 Queen of Blood
2156 07-33 Rich, Raw, and Rotten
2157 07-33 Decadent as Sin
2158 07-33 Channah’s “ScorpiosKiss” profile on eHarmony
2159 07-33 Channah’s “Verybadgirl666” public profile photo on Tinder
2160 07-33 Channah’s “Man’s Ruin” public profile photo on Match.com
2161 07-33 Channah’s “DevoutSubmissiveMary” profile pic on ChristianMingle.com
2162 07-33 Channah’s “HardWorkingObedientBreeder” profile pic on SecondWife.com
2163 07-33 Channah’s “UsefulObedientUnicorn” profile pic on SecondWife.com image

2164 07-33 Fang’s “FreeLovePartyGirl” profile on Jiayuan.com
2165 07-33 Fang’s “ZeroBridePriceAllWorkersCompanion” profile photo on Jiayuan.com
2166 07-33 a succubus catfishing as “BayouBassBeauty” on PlentyofFish.com
2167 07-33 a succubus catfishing as “SouthernComfort” on PlentyofFish.com

CAUTION:  Contains themes of sin and self-destructiveness some readers may find disturbing (even the abridged version).

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, chastity, prostatestimulation, cleanup, orgasm, and consensualnonconsent, themes at 07-33X The Kiss of Shame at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, Chastity, and Penance are honeymooning in Channah’s secret tropical paradise.  An otherwise pleasant, fascinating, and companionable dinner ends with a sharp reminder of her wives’ status as her abject slaves—and heats up as Channah persuades Penny she was made and born to be the adoring slave of an evil bitch princess like her.  NOW:

Penance’s surrender to Channah’s will, as always, followed her surrender to her own passions, which Channah commanded and orchestrated with the skill of a grand maestro.  Soon, kneeling between Channah’s legs, on the floor before her seat, Penny, vulnerable and naked but for her bonds and slave tack, hugged her tightly with her face buried in Channah’s belly and crotch, kissing her through her dress and professing, over and over, her hopeless exaltation of and affection for a demoness Queen of Hell; while Chastity, Penny’s companion, similarly vulnerable, knelt behind Penny hugging Channah’s legs and Penny’s shoulders.

Recognizing opportunity when she saw it, and desire when she felt it, Channah gasped involuntarily, deliberately inflaming both girls’ already-alcohol-lubricated passions with her touch before daring the momentary interruption required to withdraw her hands, lift Penny’s shoulders slightly off her, and stagger to her feet, growling:  “Come!  Follow me, pup!” while grabbing Penny’s hair and pulling her mercilessly, forcing her to scramble in her hands and knees to keep up, with Chastity trailing like a lost pup behind her.  Obediently crawling behind Her, on hands and knees over the hard stone floor, unable or unwilling to ask for or demand any better treatment, instead accepting the hard yanking of her hand gripping Penny’s long hair and setting an unreasonable, biped pace for her meek, servile, crawling slave, made Penny blush with the reality of how pathetic and abject a thing she had become for her pushy, demanding Master.  She felt her cheeks burn with the shame of allowing herself to be degraded, and indeed participating in her own degradation, for her Domina’s glorification or simple convenience.  And behind her, semi-neglected, trailing behind because she had nowhere else to go and just hoped for any stray attention she could get from either one of the deeply-entangled people her heart ached for, afterthought Chastity felt like the lowest and loneliest loser in the world. 

Channah walked to a wide, comfortable lounge chair piled with pillows against a wall facing the garden, throwing a wide pillow practically large enough to be a mattress to the ground in front of the divan and dragging Penny to kneel on top of it before her as she plumped down with a pleased sigh onto the lounge proper, continuing to hold Penny’s hair in one hand, head tipped up to look straight at her, feeding her girl’s desire and whipping it to a frenzy through the connection between them.  With her other hand, she swept the panels of her dress to the sides, snorting at Penny’s surprise and obvious arousal at suddenly facing her bare, warm body.  “Both of you look,” she commanded, using her other hand to spread herself.  “Look!  Don’t be slow and make me interrupt us with a lengthy lesson.  Penance, you know you are ignorant of all things female; even of your own new body.  But I’m sure you want to learn, everything you can, don’t you honey?”

“Yes, Domina,” Penny nodded earnestly, her eyes wide, miserably embarrassed at being called out on her inexperience, which she worried her two companions looked down on her for.  As if they didn’t already have enough reason to despise her for her weakness and softness.  But around her Domina, especially so close to her magnificent, warm body, the physical manifestation of she who Penny adored so much, she couldn’t even think straight.  Like a planet shaken to pieces or a star shredded by a more-powerful, larger-gravity body in space, the tidal force of her was greater than Penny’s own sense of self, so overwhelming her in proximity, Channah destroyed Penny’s own ability to know herself, eclipsing her very identity with her greatness and splendor.  Penny understood, as never before, that someone as ephemeral and insubstantial as herself could not even exist in such proximity to a greater existence; let alone shine or be seen in the light-shadow of her radiant, overwhelming magnificence.  How, Penny marveled, could nothing resist everything when it negated and absorbed and outshone Penny’s very existence?  Manifestly, it seemed to Penny, it could not; why would it even try?  She felt almost that she shouldn’t exist, something as paltry and ghostly as she was; a mere shadow of her Domina.  How dare she insult her goddess by even thinking of herself as something separate or unique?  At the same time, as her very identity was occulted, her passions and awareness narrowed and sharpened, taking her first clear, fully-awed, considered look in full light at her Domina’s—or any woman’s—sex.  Even as her conscious mind, such as it still was, tried to comprehend the holy shrine she had been given to gaze upon, what it was, what it meant, her animal brain and instincts raced into it at the speed of a galloping horse, shuddering and literally even salivating at the very sight of it whether she understood anything about it or not.  She was barely even aware of how electrified she was by the faintest, faintest whiff of her aroused Domina’s orchid, and the moisture gathering like dew at the root of her.  Penny’s eyes and lips fell slack and passive with a sense of connection and importance that overwhelmed them and rendered them as passive and accepting as Channah rendered Penny’s very soul.

Behind Penny, the sad nearly-forgotten shadow of her two companions, came Chastity.  If Penny was pulled in too closely and tightly, Chastity was ignored; a distant planet, beyond even the orbit of Jupiter, not even visible to two sets of eyes locked upon one another.  A lonely planet or asteroid with so little significance, it tumbled invisibly and undetectably in the unimaginable depth of space, wishing if only it could be embraced and torn apart by the tidal force of love!  If Penny was shredded and annihilated by her union with Channah, Chastity felt the incomparable pain of irrelevance, so far removed from her own center of gravity she was neglected and might as well not even exist.  But staring, helplessly and desperately, at the same Sun as Penny, each of them powerless and disempowered by their sun goddess in their own way.

The Sun was speaking, and her captive bodies hung helplessly on her very words:  “So I know you will attend carefully and remember every word.  Chastity—you are not such a stranger to women, but even so, people—especially young people like you’ve probably lain with before the succubae—are stupid and ignorant and dishonest, and sometimes they’re different from one another.  So listen to me well because I will hold you accountable for knowing the truth, and what works for me—not whatever little bits of wisdom you may imagine you may have gleaned from your previous partners.”

“Yes, Domina,” Chastity agreed, swallowing nervously and understanding her message.

“Everything down here, every part of my body, like yours, is sensual and erogenous; and worthy of your reverence, just as every woman’s body is worthy of every male’s reverence.  A woman decides what her body is.  And I insist my body is sacred to all males.  Sacred and profane, pure and filthy, consecrated and desecrated, all at once, perfect and balanced, all things I want it to be.  For you, it will be heavenly and hellish but always sacred.  You will never disrespect it or dishonor it.  It will be a heavenly focus of your deepest dreams and desires and male spirit, as it is for all who desire women.  Hellish enough it is for men, who I allow and indeed seduce to try and claim it, so I may damn them.  Yet it will be even more hellish for you girls because with both of you, always, it will be for my pleasure only, with my most-special place:  off-limits to every kind of pleasure you might desire to take from it, ever.”  Licking her lips with pleasure at their pained expressions, absorbing and knowing the painful truth of her words, she continued to taunt them:  “You will never ever enjoy this the way I routinely command, seduce, and even beg for men to enjoy it.”  Both girls groaned desperately and sadly, practically flinching from the force of the truth.  Her Truth, now theirs as well, their hopeless miserable devotion pleasing her more.  “And for the two of you, it is more special still:  sacred, because it belongs to your Domina, and your Domina is worthy of her title:  a dominant, demanding bitch.”  She shook Penny’s hair, a little roughly, jutting her jaw out, challenging her to object.  “Just the way you like it, submissive little bitch.  You see—” she indicated with her middle finger.  “Pay attention!  Here, at the bottom, this is the most unholy place where men go.  To please me you will be expected to attend to every part of my body allowed to you with reverence and adoration; but you—your bodies—are and always will be denied access to this most sacrosanct space.  This is for men.  The most sensitive spot inside me, as Chastity may imagine she knows, is on the top of my passage, a little bit in.  Every woman and succubus is unique, so you must always pay attention to your assigned Mistresses and Masters and learn them, exactly and intuitively, the way a musician learns her instrument.  For succubae, because we are thrice blessed,” she smiled coquettishly, “the sensitive area stretches…” another smirk “much further.  Neither of you will ever touch or see any part of it; and even if I allowed you to try, you wouldn’t be able to reach it with your little things.”  Seeing their agonized but helplessly wanton expressions, she shuddered and groaned with satisfaction.  “You miserable little losers.  But you need to remember where things are in case I command you to fetch me a toy that can please me in the way you never could—” she snickered.  “When you find the sensitive place, you will know, from my reactions.  When you care for it and attend to it properly, you will definitely know.  So remember to always be attentive to my reactions and commands, verbal or otherwise.”

“Yes, Domina,” they responded automatically, emotionless in response to her humbling words, but eyes never departing her demonstration, both of them breathing heavier when she moaned suggestively.

“You always have to start gently, outside on the skin, and then move in slowly towards the more sensitive places, unless I jump on you or tell you otherwise.  Only once I—or your qahramanah, or anyone else you are required to service—is well-prepared and excited, should you consider using a toy here.

“This place—” she moved her finger slightly up “just above it, in the middle, Is my urethra.  Sometimes girls like you have trouble finding it.  But for you two girls specifically, who are to stay away from my most precious flesh, this is the closest you will ever get to it.  Sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly contemptuous toward my submissives and your weaknesses, I may use this on you.  Or when an actual man is being rough with me, I may have to call you to clean me up as a side-effect of his attentions.  At all other times, it is off-limits to you because it is too close.  You may only touch it when I call you to attend to it.”

“Finally, here—” she raised her finger a bit more, to the top.  “Is my tulip.  Do you know what makes it so special?”  And when neither girl had an answer, she continued:  “It is the only organ of the human—or demonic—body devoted exclusively to physical pleasure.  Your little parts—such as they are—play important roles in practical bodily functions, but my clitoris has only one job, and exists for only one reason:  to give me pleasure.  In these respects, it is like a sister to the two of you chastened girls.  My pleasure should and must be your only imperative, your entire world.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Domina,” they nodded, Penny swallowing and starting to pinken a bit; while Chastity looked like all she wanted to do was to start practicing.

“It will be the center of your attentions when I allow you the privilege of worshiping me.  You should eventually—not at first, but eventually—make this your sole and total focus.  Again, you will know by my reactions when you are worshiping the right place, and when you are worshiping it with the skill and reverence that it deserves.  Do you see?”  And when Penny started to nod, before either of them could say anything, she growled:  “Then kiss me properly, slave,” using her grip on Penny’s hair to pull her in tight.

Her other hand was now free; and she raised it toward Chastity’s face.  Sniggering at the girl’s nearly-crosseyed expression, Channah put the same fingerbetween Chastity’s lips.  “Can you taste me, villain?”

“ymph,” she answered, nodding reverently.

“Stand up and hand me the oil from the table.  Good girl.  Now spread your legs apart… mmmm…. And shuffle forward.  Come on!  Closer.  Don’t be shy, work your way forward, right over your girlfriend, until your knees are pressed between her rib cage and my knees.  Penny!” she barked, trying to contain her laughter.  “Don’t you dare stop!  No matter what you may feel or hear happening up here.  Do you understand, girl?” 

“Yms dmmn” she nodded vigorously, her voice muffled and garbled. 

“What did I tell you?  Or have you forgotten already?  When you are servicing me that gorgeous tulip becomes the epicenter of your world!  The meaning of—for—your life!  Now show me what a good and serious student you are while we play up here.  Don’t tell me you think there’s some better use to which we could put your tongue or your time?  Is that what you’re suggesting?!  That I’m wrong?!”

“Nmn dmnh!” came an urgent yelp, as Channah reached down and swatted each of Penny’s bruised cheeks playfully, but sharply. 

“You’d better not!”  she huffed bossily, just before twitching and grunting with a gasp.  “Better!  Keep at it!”

And then, with a devilish look up at Chastity, she reached forward and expertly removed her most-restrictive item of tack, enjoying Chastity’s amazed and delighted gasp, and the sudden look of excitement in her eyes.  Without breaking their eye contact, Channah—using her legs to squeeze Penny in place—played with Chastity with one hand, -0and poured oil all over her, careless of the oil dripping down onto Penny’.  “Three guesses where this is going, lover.”

“Penny?” Chastity answered hoarsely.

“Oh no don’t you dare move or even pause!” Channah barked down at Penny, laughingly, raising her legs and folding them over Penny’s back, driving her high heels into the girl’s flesh like spurs to a horse, even as she shifted her hips forward a bit under Penny, ooching to the very edge of the lounge and getting more comfortable.  Returning her attention to Chastity, she answered as if surprised:  “Well of course!”  Channah laughed sharply.  “We both know what a protesting little prude Penny likes to pose as, but have you ever seen her react like one?”

“Well… no,” Chastity laughed, half-nervously, half-excitedly.

“Of course not.  She’s a girl!  Just like she’s always wanted to be!  Now I can’t reach anymore—” she handed Chastity the bottle.  “Slather this everywhere.  Be generous!  Oh!  That’s good, Penny!”  She waved her hand at Chastity, nestling back on the pillows piled behind her so she was half-sitting, half reclining, and relaxed, pulling open her dress and touching her body as she stared into Chastity’s eyes.  “Mmmm…. This all feels sooo good,” she purred, arching her back just a bit.  “Well go on!  I want to see the show!  Wait—hand me that cup of pineapple!”  And when she had it, she picked up a slice with two delicately-curved fingers and pushed it sensually into her mouth:  “Mm!  Good!  Showtime!”

The moment Chas’s hand touched Penny, the younger girl bucked in surprise and Channah laughingly bullied her again:  “Don’t pretend you’re a virgin, girlie!  Or that you don’t enjoy this!  We’ve both seen the proof otherwise!  And besides, you should be too busy thinking about your duty to me for you to be worrying about what’s going on behind you!  Show me—show us—you want this by spreading your knees out wide like a good little bitch.  Go on!  I’m going to be veeerryy disappointed if—yes!” she interrupted herself, clapping with delight, to see Penny’s knees move and sharing a conspiratorial glance with Chas as she raised the bottle of oil high in the air and tipped it to drop a thin stream of oil to spatter below. 

Under them both, concealed from them by Channah’s skirts, Penny felt her cheeks burn with humiliation as she spread her legs for her best friend at the command of her master:  not from a proper manly rage at the suggestion, or outrage at being forced to do something against her will, but from the utter embarrassment and shame of voluntarily—willingly—surrendering her own power and autonomy and dignity to her Mistress by spreading herself in this way.  And the absolute certainty that Channah’s sex was so sweetly overwhelming, her skin so soft and fragrant, her personality so forceful, and Penny’s feelings of desperation and adoration so powerful, that Penny would willingly—eagerly—do much more than this for her.  That Penny could not imagine, in this second, anything she would refuse to do for her Domina.  And in that moment, Penny, to her shame, knew and understood what it meant to be a lowly, hopeless, irredeemable slave, defined and limited by the status assigned and allowed to her by her Unholy Master.

“Good girl,” Channah praised Penny with the tone and excess cheer one used in addressing a pet, making circles with her fingertips and purring.  “Such a good girl… and your mouth!… oh, Penny, I think you’ve got a talent for this….  Chas, silly girl, take your time!  I want to see your hand massaging that oil into Penny’s soft skin and spreading it  “Mmmm!  Yeah, just like that, slow and sensual… it will make Penny hotter, too!  Oh!  Penny, baby, I’m so hot… a little harder and slower]—ungh!  Chas, honey, slip your fingers in Penny first, running them like tongues around the inside!  Help spread her for you like a flower begging a wasp to make it give up its nectar!  Yes!  Just like that, Pleaser… oh, baby, that’s the way to earn—and own—your nickname….  Now, stay focused on me, keep your mind and your body calm and relaxed, a meditative and worshipful state, that’s what I want for you right now!  Meditative and worshipful and passive and open and perhaps most importantly of all, accepting!  It’s not enough to not-resist us, slave!  You need to invite and welcome and actively admit us!  Join in our domination with your own submission to prove your loyalty and devotion with every breath!  Be as active and enthusiastic in your submission as we are in our domination!  This is what I expect and in fact, demand for you!”

“Meanwhile, allow Chastity to focus on you and do whatever she wants—and I want her to do—with your body.  It’s Chastity’s job to pleasure you both; but it’s your job to pleasure me, all the way, with all your heart and soul!  Your job is so important, but so simple, I’m going to leave you to it and trust you, baby, trust you to keep your mind and your heart on me, no matter what your sisterwife and me are doing to your sweet, soft little body.  You’re hardly going to feel her back there after the last two days so don’t even pretend to be distracted from your duties!  Can I trust you, Pleaser?  Can I trust you to love me right?  To make me your top and only priority and ignore all those naughty, dirty little feelings Chastity and I are giving you down deep in your belly?”

“Yexshnm dmnuh!” Penny managed to sob without any appreciable interruption in the performance of her duties.

“Actually, fuck!  Fuck!  That’s—ah!—not enough!  Penny, that’s not all I want from you!  I want all of you, every bit of you—your body and your soul!  While I treat you like a rented mule.  I need—I demand!—your complete and total surrender, Pleaser, in return for my utter contempt.  Give it to me, your total and complete devotion—your damned worship!—while I use you up for my pleasure like the evil bitch I am!  Can you do that?  Will you do that, for me?!”  And whispered, cruelly and most passionately of all:  “Isn’t that—amn’t I—what you want?  Everything you’ve ever wanted?”

Penny wanted to shake her head at the sheer preposterousness of Channah’s words!  The absurdity!  They were mad!  She was mad to imagine—to think—Penny couldn’t even believe the effrontery of this—this wicked demoness—to even give word to what her fevered, diseased, cursed mind imagined.  What she asked….  It wasn’t right.  Penny knew this!  Anyone even hearing what she said would know it.  And it was so stupid!  Because—because—

Penny was already kneeling between her legs, under her legs, as eagerly as a stray dog who felt she had finally found a home, free to do so precisely because she had forgotten herself!  Allowed—no, to be honest, striven to let herself—forget who she was and who she expected herself to be—what God had once hoped for her.

Tears stung her eyes at the cheek!  It was… Penny realized, as she breathed in and through the powerful, intoxicating smell of Channah’s hot, sweaty body, her tired tongue sore from all her worship and devotions, her own tiny, inadequate bound thoughtlessly in steel, aching and crushed by Channah’s casual mechanical cruelty while both Penny’s partners expected to—were—taking and using her body for themselves, for their own pleasure and satisfaction, at Channah’s command, while Penny was given nothing except insults and orders…

Penance wanted to scream.  Had she not even changed who she was, altered her very body, shaped her very identity, to match and please this temptress?!  It was, in a word, unnecessary to ask her this!  To ask her to give it a name, to describe it—to hold up the unfairness and the atrocity and the scandalous, scandalous disgrace and wrongness of it to the light for everyone—especially the smug and privileged taker Channah—more especially the stupid, weak, needy, desperate girl who couldn’t even remember who she used to be or what her name had been before, because it felt so distant when she was here where she belonged and needed to be—to see and have to face it!

It was… so unnecessarily and deliberately cruel!

That was the outrage of it!  The evil genius of it… Making her weigh, and hate, and consciously, verbally, in the presence of others in the last but lingering light of day, choose the outrageousness and unfairness of her demand!  Who—who would be so vile as to ask?  And—she knew.  She knew, the even bigger and more-obvious question as:  who would be so wretched as to give—such a thing?

Penny paused her worship just long enough to bellow and roar like a gored ox, in a terrible, wounded, outrageous-realization-of-dying kind of way, as she felt the pain of Channah’s rapacious needle push through her soul, tearing it to pieces and turning it into some trophy like a pelt.  And felt simultaneously, the release of it:  the soaring freedom, the peace of surrendering to her better, admitting, most of all to herself, that Channah was her better; and crucially, that she was nothing, that of course she wanted to let go of everything she had been and thought she could have been or should have been, because who wanted any of that?  And knowing… knowing the awful truth of it that a proper man, or even a proper woman would never have to face:

She.

Was.

Damned.

By.

Love:

Her own fierce and passionate heart, torching and overwhelming her own weakness and desire.

It was just a fact.

She knew it.

Channah obviously knew it, a thought that still hurt, to imagine what contempt she must feel when she looked at or thought of Penny.

And so what, if Channah was making her own it?  Using her own grubby hellish fingers to stuff her vile shit into Penny’s mouth, filling it and overwhelming her, every one of her senses rebelling and collapsing in Penny’s utter failure of will and self, knowing, God help her—no, nothing could help her, least of all herself:  Knowing, worst of all, she wanted to choke down the demonic filth of what Channah was feeding her and only. forcing her to take to make her confront the truth of them both, and how and why they went together so perfectly. 

She felt Channah gasp, the two of them so connected her better top half understood, immediately and completely, the significance of Penny briefly dropping her mouth further, before returning to the place she had been commanded, dissolving back into tears again, her natural and wretched state before—no, beneath—this—this fucking cunt—that made her tongue feel all the sweeter and more tender to her demoness-goddess’s electrified flesh:  “Yes, Domina!  You fucking cunt!  You evil fucking bitch!”  She screeched.  She wailed.  She screamed and wept:  “I do!  I will!  I give myself over to you utterly!  I SURRENDER!  Use me, please use me, I beg of you never stop using me, Domina!”

And the second she said it, Channah was gushing and roaring, her eyes rolling up in her head and the whole world dimming around her as she reeled with a delirium near losing consciousness, and delivering her own merciless, devastating answer that would have been disjointed rambling to anyone other than her own heart and lower half that in matters of the two of them, knew her as well as she knew herself:   “Oh!  You’re—you know you’re—the fucking bitch, girl—boy—you piece of shit!  Yes!  MINE!   Body, mind, and soul!  Iiiieeee!  The things I’m going to make you accept—you—you—you fucking know it, don’t you, you perverted little cunt?  You’re the cunt, you fucking little shit-eater!  Now, Chastity darling!  Seize your heart’s desire!  Take what you want!  Ah haa haa haa…..” her cries faded into sensual, almost stereotyped moans as her mind and body floated further and further apart, without losing the vitality of their complete connection, ecstatic in the knowledge of the completeness with which she had destroyed, absorbed, possessed, and owned the pretty, pliant, pathetic thing down between her legs. 

And made her victim acknowledge and in fact proclaim it!

There was simply nothing left in the world, not in this moment, not for the two of them, not in that tiny point of space where she and Penance had merged and collapsed from two separate beings into a single dynamic.

Channah hung there, at her plateau, for an impossibly long time.  At some point, around the same time her girls reached their own climaxes, Chastity wailing, Penny just sobbing and shaking her own head in disbelief, Channah drifted back to herself long enough to realize she was crying.  Her cries of passion had morphed into tears of joy and freedom and letting go of everything because none of it mattered.  Nothing else mattered for now.

With a cry of a satisfaction and completeness she may never have quite experienced before, she finally kicked the pillows off the divan and rolled onto her side.  “Get up here!” she barked.  “I demand it!  The—your—Osculum Infame, cunt!” Delighting to hear the shocked sound Penny was able to make even as low as she was, to accept and embrace that, so far from the devoted little good girl she had once been, how far she had fallen in just a matter of days under Channah’s relentless, rapacious influence.  “Damn yourself with your own degradation.  I want my true bitch, my little demon-slut, the one who knows how thoroughly she has given herself to the Queen of Hell, to give me her Kiss of Shame!” 

And she was not surprised—her girls were not surprised, least of all Penny—to find that it was Penny who instantly, almost without a thought, almost desperately, scrambled up on her divan behind her—below her—to yield and throw herself into it, knowing she was the one, and that this was her unholy office.  

For no reason other than to give it even more force by spelling it out, for Penny’s abandon was already complete, she growled:  “That’s it, you utterly-damned loser.  Pull apart my buttocks, sink your face between them into the cleft of my ass, and worship my unholiest of roses!  NOW!   And you!  My afterthought—afterbirth—of a sisterwife, get behind my dirt-eater and use your own tongue to lubricate her the same way she is soothing me, so you can sodomize her again, double-damning both of you while she seals her pact and status!   And bitch-Penny, don’t you dare stop licking and kissing until I’m snoring and your little friend has spent herself again!”

Feeling Penny’s abject, villainous tongue, pushing against and slighty into her, as much as the girl could manage with her inadequate human tongue, Channah shuddered with another, entirely emotional orgasm.  “That’s right.  That’s right.  No—that’s wrong.  You’re wrong.  As bent and twisted as a White Mulberry tree—a fucking corkscrew!  You’re—we’re—so – bloody – wrong!   You filthy, vile, dire, nasty little boys.  Don’t you dare wash yourselves until I give you permission.  I want you to sleep and think and feel and in Penny’s case, literally breathe me, breathe the stink of your own filth, and mine, all night!”  Stretching her legs out and curling them behind her on the long divan where Penny lay, she enjoyed feeling Penny’s soft warm skin and breath pressing up against her backside and the backs of her legs, with the counterpoint of cool, hard steel pressing into the soles of Channah’s feet like some obscene tease or promise. 

Sighing with what she realized must be happiness, the demoness jiggled her foot, a thoughtless, nervy twitch to her, but pure torture to her victim, against Penny’s cage, rattling it and shivering it over the tightly-constrained flesh within it, imagining how tightly Chastity’s face must be pressed up against Penny’s backside in turn, feeling Penny stiffen and hearing her gasp as she briefly felt the same devotion she was giving to her Mistress.

“Is your little cage sticky and wet, slave?” she whispered, smiling, her smile widening at Penny’s murmured, delirious, ashamed response:

“Yes, Domina.  Goddess.  Bitch-Goddess!”

“I thought so,” she smirked with contemptuous satisfaction, melting into the feeling and the thought, her words slowing and becoming disjointed as she began to sink into her sensual, rapacious, revivifying kind of sleep.  “After I’m well and truly asleep, deep and still, miles from here ranging the world, Penny can lie behind me, back-to-back with her head against my ass; and each girl can kiss the mess between the other’s legs before you fall asleep.  I want you both good and crammed between my back and the cushions against the wall, without polluting a single inch of me with your obscenity.”  And she fell, gently and slowly as a babe in a swaddling blanket, into dreamland with the soft, wet, pleasant lapping of Penny’s tongue on her dirty rosebud, and the slight sensation of Penny’s face being pushed and pulled against her by Chastity’s own desperation.

Literature Section “07-33[X] The Kiss of Shame”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 33 of Chapter Seven, “Channah’s Slavegirls:  Pawns of the Court of Lust”—Abridged 5305 words::Explicit 5617 words—Accompanying Images:  2155-2167—Published 2025-08-17—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, stupid choices, evil, harm, danger, death, mythical creatures, idiots, and criminals. Don’t try, believe, or imitate them or any of it.

1874 06-108 Allll riiiight!  This is some good shit, man!
1875 06-108 Wait a second.  I feel funny… IT’S GOING BAD!  NOOO!!
1876 06-108 HEEELLLPPP!  Somebody let me out of here!
1877 06-108 Now I’ve got too many fucking fingers!  AAUUGH!

1878 06-108 Wait.  WTF are YOU doing down in here with me?!

1879 06-108 Et tu?!  SURPRISE!  Are you peeping in on my DREAMS?!
1880 06-108 NO!  Absolutely not!  Get OUT you old perv!

PREVIOUSLY:  Chastity, bound, blindfolded, and earplugged, her world shrunk nearly to the things she could feel against her skin, had been teased and then—triggered, taken away with shocking abruptness and in outrageous totality.  Esmeray, breathing carefully to stay calm, had been gently released and now was held, tenderly and respectfully, by Hong as she watched.  NOW:

“You’re going to bring her back from the edge and take her to the mattress,” Kadidia commanded, her voice oddly strained.  “Near the Queen.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Hong’s girls nodded and scrambled to obey, then paused as Kadidia continued, a sheen of sweat beginning to appear on her brow.

“You’re going to take the smaller of the two harnesses from the bag, truss her in it, and put her face-down on the mattress.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” they repeated, glancing momentarily, and with curiosity, at Hong as she gasped in recognition of something, then struggled to suppress a smile, all without saying a word.

“I want her involved,” Kadidia clarified, jabbing a finger toward Esmeray.

Hong curtsied and nodded.  “Of course, Your Grace.”

“And throughout all of this,” she turned her attention back to the four jawari, “you will keep your sister close beside me, within an arm’s length.  Treat her like a baby.  Do not drop her or handle her roughly or do anything to hurt her, jar her, cause her pain—nothing that could cause a reflexive response from a conscious person.  Also, do not talk to me or ask anything of me.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”  They looked at one another, uncertainly and uneasily, recognizing that something quite unusual and perhaps… risky?  Even dangerous?—was happening, but not understanding exactly what it was.  Only that it had something to do with what appeared to them to be an unconscious girl, but who in fact was much further away than that.

“You two—help me into my harness.  The larger one.  I want to do as little of the work as possible so I can concentrate.  Make it tight.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the two qahramanat chorused, scrambling forward, then paused when Kadidia raised a hand.

“Make it tight.  And make sure your girls make Chastity’s tight.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” they agreed, resuming their course.

The eight of them made for an odd parade, marching across the platform in some kind of complex rhythm intertwined with the jarring notes of the orchestra.  They walked slowly, the qahramanat and the four jawari looking constantly and carefully at Kadidia, to match her steady, but somehow tenuous, progress so they could stay close by.  Hong hovered with an eye on both Kadidia and her own jawari, as if to be ready to jump in and either protect Chastity from being jarred or dropped, or help Kadidia stay on course.  Kadidia and Chas were both snug and a bit savage-looking in their harnesses.  Esmeray followed slightly behind them, feeling oddly disgruntled and skeptical, not quite able to feel left behind and excluded, but equally unable to feel relieved at being on the periphery of whatever was happening, instead of an agent of action the way she had been.  Or could have been—whatever.  Either way, she was unhappy.

When they reached the mattress, Channah was just shifting Penny to the slicker stone beside it.  As the girls settled Chas gently down on the mattress, a scarcely-dressed member of the coven—thin, wiry, dark-haired, with deep brown eyes and skin like a subtle but beautiful shade of autumn leaves—crouched beside her and gently touched Chastity’s skin.

Almost immediately, her eyes met Kadidia’s and they nodded in synch, one, two, three times before the newcomer became unnaturally still, hands remaining on Chas; while at the very same second, Kadidia came back to full presence with a slight sigh of relief. 

Immediately, Kadidia went to help Channah and murmur in her ear, while Hong, considering, steered Esmeray to a point on the mattress less than eight feet from where Penny was sliding.  The two of them held hands for stability in their high heels on the squishy mattress.  It was firm and thin, as mattresses went, but still a challenge.  As they moved slowly across it, Hong asked:  “You were upset earlier when Chastity, and then my girls, got… excited near you.  If I’m right about what’s to happen….”

“What is about to happen?”

Hong laughed.  “It will be a lot easier to understand watching, than trying to explain; but basically, I think Kadidia is going to play with both girls—Penny and Chas,” Hong clarified unnecessarily.  She then impulsively leaned over, put her hand to Esmeray’s ear, and whispered.  Esmeray’s eyes widened and her cheeks turned slightly pink, surprised enough to forget all about Hong’s proximity, as Hong stepped back, giggling.  “I think.  Nobody consulted me, but that’s my best guess.  IF it happens that way, it’s going to be sloppy and vigorous and messy.”  She looked Esmeray carefully in the eyes.  “If that happens near you—now that you know to expect it—will you be able to stay still?  Or will that be too much?”

Esmeray considered before replying, reluctantly:  “It’s not too much.  I can do that.  If necessary.”

Hong shrugged.   “Her Grace asked me to involve you.  Some participation by you would seem to be required.  I was thinking… it will ruin your dress of course, because they’ve sprayed so much oil over Penny… but if you could sit—about—” Hong frowned, measuring off distances in her mind.  “Here!  Exactly here, facing that way, with your legs wide, perhaps we could set Penny between your legs with her head and shoulders on your lap.  Then you won’t actually… be involved, involved… but you can encourage Penny and bond with her.  She’ll be lost and needing support.”

“Really?”  Esmeray considered, suppressing a shudder.  “You think she… would trust me more?  Be more submissive to me, if I…?”

“Yes,” Hong nodded decisively, leaving no room for doubt.  “Both your girls.  They’e having a rough day and they feel isolated and scared in this place.  Even horny uppity little Chastity, no matter how much bravado she tries to show.”

Esmeray looked at Hong, startled.  “Bravado?!” she asked incredulously.  “You think—what she did—”

Hong nodded.  “Oh, yes.  I’ve seen it before.  Sometimes a girl with a boy-clit can forget herself and try to act like she’s a male back in human society.  They can be silly show-offs.  And of course, you punish them and teach them better.   But that’s what’s happening.  They’re mad at themselves, and they take it out on the world.  But my point is, feeling vulnerable and isolated, the way they must do today, you can imprint on them very heavily and positively with the smallest amounts of support.  Kind talk.  Encouraging talk.  Even silly soothing baby talk.  Anything showing your humanity will make a profound impression on them.  If you can hold their hand, or pet their hair, or lay an arm across them—” and noticing a slight stiffening in Esmeray’s posture, laughed gently.  “You’re hopeless.  It’s nothing.”  And she touched Esmeray softly, her expression going from challenging, to flat and dead illustrating how completely immaterial the touch was to her, to smirking amusement.  “If you can, that will go even further.  If you can’t,” she shrugged “it’s fine.  There’s always tomorrow.  Being a qahramanah is about training them for the long game, to serve our masters, and…” she whispered naughtily “to serve us.  Now, Her Grace is an impressive woman.”

“She certainly is,” Esmeray had to agree.

“If you start to feel crowded or trapped, first try lying back on your elbows.  This gives you a reason for not using your hands on them, because you need them yourself.  And if that’s still not enough space, lie all the way back and look up at the sky, or at the castle, anything—take yourself physically out of the equation, maybe even listen to the sounds from below, or of the orchestra, without physically separating your legs and lap from them.”

“I understand,” Esmeray nodded, managing to keep most of the revulsion and amazement out of her voice.  “They’re interesting ideas.”

“I’ll sit close—not too close!” she laughed “Behind you so I can coach you or you can ask questions.  Would that be all right?”

After a pause to think, Esmeray nodded with more confidence.

Literature Section “06-108[X] Bracing for Impact”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 108 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1338 words—Accompanying Images:  1874-1878—Published 2025-06-06—©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.

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.

1852 06-103 I love you! f you love me, you’ll be a good little white rabbit
1853 06-103 Good white rabbits stay in their cages
1854 06-103 You DO want to be my good little white rabbit, don’t you?  Un-huh, yes, ma’am
1855 06-103 You want me in THERE? Alice giggled.  I’ll barely fit!

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, chastity themes at 06-103X Consent Violations at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah and Penny have just had the experience of a lifetime, more than either of them could ever have imagined, touched with magical forces neither of them fully comprehends.  Penny is still lost in a daze.  Channah is consumed with a desire for more and cannot bring herself to let it end.  NOW:

Always grateful for her existence—once as an angel, now as a succubus—Channah loved herself, and her life, without suffering from either humility or disappointment.  And the combined flavors in her mouth—first, of the top drop, almost hangover-like in its intensity following the burning out of every single one of her nerves; and second, the crestfallen woe of being separated from Penny, were as unacceptable as they were unfamiliar.  Refusing to accept the intolerable situation, she did something she could not recall ever having done before, simply because she had never felt the need to:  She capitalized on her nature by using her powers to feed her own heat, feeling the low, struggling flame within her ripple dangerously before bursting into a full raging inferno.  Penny groggily began moving her head back and forth, her human body so much more shredded than Channah’s by the forces that had ripped through them, she needed more time and heat to come back.

Frantic for Penny’s consciousness to come back to her, and irrationally irritated with Penny for not responding faster than her species was capable of, Channah saw the girl’s soft, sticky little pastry curled between her legs, as delicious and unthreatening as a snail cooked in butter, and decided on a wicked plan to interest her and punish Penny for—whatever it was she wanted to punish for.  Promptly, considering it only from the lens of her own desire without even considering any negatives or what Penny would feel beyond what Channah wanted her to feel, Channah converted her intentions into action, snatching up Penny’s cage from where she had tossed it aside and locking it again.

Then Channah resumed her undulating motion, rolling her hips against Penny’s.  Her supernatural energy pulsed through both of them like an electrical current, even as Penny’s twister pulsed and squeezed, animated by Channah’s will to resume what it had been doing before, enveloping them in a pulsing rhythm more intense than nature could have achieved unaided.

Channah groaned before Penny was even back present with her, aroused to a fury by Penny’s tight little booty, and her peaceful feminine features. 

Penny’s peaceful feminine features…

Something about the phrase tugged at Channah’s mind until she gasped in amazement, incredulous at how long it had taken her to get past her own shell shock to register the obvious.

And just as Penny shook her head, blinking rapidly and focusing on Channah with a dreamy, loving, seductive smile that made Channah’s heart jump in her chest, Channah proclaimed, as genuinely as any pathetic human punter: 

“Penny!  I knew it!  I’m so happy!  You’re beautiful!!!  I’m so happy!  You did it!  And you’re MINE!!!”  She picked up Penny’s hands and laid them gently on her girl’s firm round breasts, urging her to feel them and marvel, praising Penny’s beauty and femineity, doing everything she could to help Penny assent to what had just happened to her.  Penny had to accept it, her new body and appearance, at a minimum—she must!  And ideally she would see the beauty and opportunity in it, which would turn Channah on even more, and would certainly improve Penny’s life and disposition from this point forward.

Penny gasped, looked shocked, and then turned fiercely, brightly, practically a luminescent red, her hands moving gently and automatically over her own breasts and nipples, hyperventilating again and squeaking:  “I turned into a girl!”

Channah wolf-whistled, aroused by her own magic but even more, she knew, by Penny’s distinctive, innocent speech and way of speaking, even as she embarrassed Penny and the Coven members laughed and applauded, understanding the importance of Penny’s acceptance and doing all they could to encourage it.  At the same time, they distracted Penny and drew her attention to them and caused her to squeak again, covering her new breasts with her hands.  At the same moment, both to control and distract Penny, and to satisfy her own soul if she had one, Channah rose up onto her feet, using her weight as leverage to kiss her girl forcefully again.

For a moment, Channah could see, Penny’s mind wanted to resist the swirling storm of natural and supernatural (and perhaps even unnatural) emotion around her and within her.  The Penny she had always been, wanted to cover herself, no matter the feelings roaring and raging through her, her eyes rolling around wildly in their sockets like those of a panicked horse, taking in the sights around her.  Miryam, Rivqah, Judah, Fang, and the other eight members of the Coven watched them with hungry, desiring, rapacious eyes and the tense posture of predators aroused by the sight of their alpha feeding on desirable prey, hopeful despite themselves and imagining taking their own turns.  Esmeray and Hong watched too, with their five blindfolded, bound jawari kneeling before them, Hong coolly appraising and evaluating with, Penny might imagine, just a hint of contempt in her eyes; and  Esmeray fierce and attentive, eyes darting everywhere, with the attitude of a parrot whose feathers have been ruffled reclaiming her dignity, half as unsighted to Channah and Penny in this moment as the blinded jawari before her.

With an incoherent noise of anxiety and alarm, Penny started to flail; but determined to make this moment last, and recover her equilibrium by fucking Penny again, Channah shook her head commandingly and murmured “hunh-unh!”, all with her mouth pressed against Penny’s.  Grabbing her girl’s hands, Channah pulled them up and set them to hold the back of Penny’s ankles, helping Channah pull on her own legs.  Channah shivered with delight at the way the sensations she was delivering overwhelmed her little girl, her eyes bulging.  Channah felt happy in her current, odd mood, even knowing her own magic was affecting her and, she realized (a much more serious risk, in her mind) trusting Penny—or herself with Penny—to let her guard down enough to allow herself to be affected by magic.

Literature Section “06-103[X] Consent Violations”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 103 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 993 words::Explicit 1247 words—Accompanying Images:  1852-1855—Published 2025-05-30—©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.

1848 06-102 My girls are trained to obey
1849 06-102 I can make my little bitches do whatever you want!
1850 06-102 Doubloons!  Doubloons!  (traditional Mardi Gras plea for gifts)
1851 06-102 Bitches are throwing holy water now!  RUN!

PREVIOUSLY:  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.  Hong is knowingly pushing the touch-shy Esmeray’s boundaries by holding her hands and pressing up against her back.  NOW:

“Can you abide… more?”  Hong whispered, a beat before shuffling even closer, slowly guiding—too gently to call it ‘pushing’—Esmeray’s hands forward and in front of her, and resting her head against the side of Esmeray’s, with her chin on Esmeray’s shoulder.  A bit taller, as she was a bit older, the two women fit well where they were, Hong on the platform and Esmeray on the bar her ankles were shackled to.

Hong settled softly into the embrace.  If she had wanted to clasp her own hands around the front of Esmeray, they were close enough to one another to do so; but she accepted Esmeray’s hands, holding hers almost like mittens, accepting the limitations Esmeray put on her.

“Are you matching my breathing?!” Esmeray asked suddenly, stiffening again.

But Hong laughed, softly and unthreateningly.  “Very good!  I am.  It’s a relaxation technique.”  And before Esmeray could go down that avenue any further, she began to explain:  “The damned, you probably know from your human religion—do you have one?”

“I’m… familiar with Islam.  Less so with Christianity.”

“The damned are in hell to suffer.  Their suffering is constant, unending, and unrelieved here.  Each of the demon races of hell are especially attuned to one human weakness, and expert in exploiting it.  For the succubae…”

“Lust,” Esmeray said, her voice as stiff and wooden as her posture. 

“Yes.  And when I say ‘succubae,’ you understand the term may also usually include incubi.  She gently moved her arms more tightly around Esmeray.  “If women bother you—try to ignore me,” she whispered softly.  “This means nothing to me, and I will be content if I can help it mean nothing to you.  Concentrate on breathing, slowly and regularly.”

Esmeray wanted to tell her it already meant nothing to her, but although she had learned to lie—with great facility—to survive, it still wasn’t in her nature to prefer it, or even adopt it unconsciously or unnecessarily.  It was a tool, not a rush.  And she teetered on the edge of too many precipices she couldn’t quite bring herself to look over, to seek mendacity in the things she could allow herself to experience.  So she said nothing, but instead, dubiously tried to breathe more slowly, fighting and overriding her own irritation at a suggestion that felt patronizing to her, but perhaps was not.

“Yes. The damned brought here by the direct intervention of the succubae—consorting within dreams, or in person; penetrating the succubus if male, being penetrated by it if female—often enough or intensely enough to be husked, are the red devils.  They are enslaved for all eternity to the succubae who seduced them.  If the succubus—or incubus, or if they were seduced by more than one succubae, any one of the succubae who seduced them—is in hell, they sense them and are drawn inexorably towards them.  The crowd here are probably all Fang’s, although they can get confused… their minds are not… reasonable the way ours are.  More instinctual and stupid.  Can you guess why?”

“Because they’re brainless morons, driven by their stupid dicks like all men,” Esmeray guessed.

Hong giggled.  “Essentially correct—they chose to surrender their reason and their souls to lust in life, and so they remain here, bereft of the former and enslaved to the latter.”

“And when their master is on Earth?”

“Lost.  Although they tend to stay where they are, or if they have the instinct to remember it, to collect where their slaver was last located in hell.  Doubtless legions of Channah’s conquests are shuffling and slavering their way towards us from every corner of hell right now.”  Hong, having a mean streak of her own, giggled again at the thought.  “When Channah returns here with her girls after her honeymoon, many of the devils who were within a week’s walk will have finally joined Fang’s in attendance here.”

“And the soldiers?  And you?  Are you… dead?”  Esmeray asked, her voice barely even rising in discomfort and willfully trying to ignore it as Hong repositioned her feet, so now her legs were pressing against Esmeray’s.

“In order—yes, the soldiers, my ladies’ maid (who you met at the brothel door), and the other denizens of hell who retain their human form here, are dead and damned.  But unlike their red counterparts, they were not husked in life. They were either damned by their own lust for, or fornication with, other Earth creatures; or they sinned in life at the behest, seduction, or command of succubae.”

“You’re talking about operatives.”  It was a flat statement, not a question.

Hong laughed softly.  “I think so.  Does that bother you?”

“I was born bad,” Esmeray whispered.  “I knew where I was headed before the succubae took me in.”

“Although the succubae are a bit cagey about it, they do consistently claim we have free will as long as we are alive.”

“And I’ve always exercised mine to be evil,” Esmeray growled.  “But that doesn’t mean I want to dwell on it.”

“Right you are,” Hong conceded, moving along.  “But no, the qahramanat, the jawari, and the mamalik—everyone with an operative’s job, is an operative.  A living soul, trained to serve the succubae on Earth, since unlike the succubae, none of their dead servants can leave hell.  I, and all my little boy-girls, are alive.”

“You serve her on Earth… but you’re in hell?”

“Like you.  Visiting.  For this.”  And Esmeray knew she meant the hetaraslakos, and… whatever it was that was going on here.  Before she could ask, Esmeray explained:  “Hell is a place of banishment and suffering.  Those are the only reasons it exists.  I don’t know if there’s… science, or magic, or simply the corrupted or complete absence of Dao—what you would call God—behind it.  The succubae are very cagey about it all.  But the way I can understand it, is that each hell exists to torture; and thus torture is the essence of each hell, its sustaining force—it’s fuel.  In this, the Hell of Lust, punishing the lusty for their lust gives this place, and its masters the succubae, their purpose, and therefore their power.  Every measure of a succubus is taken and given by the amount of misery they can twist from lust.”

Esmeray gasped with understanding.  “And somehow… this place intensifies what we do here, and what we do here… tortures the damned!”

“Yesss!”  Hong nodded, pleased with her student.  “Here, we enjoy everything they want most, the things their entire existence has been reduced to by their worldly surrender to lust, but can never, never, ever have again.”

“We’re whores,” Esmeray concluded bitterly.  “Dancing-girl whores.  I think I may be dead and damned, whether you are or not.”

Hong laughed gaily.  “Please!  We’re qahramanat—madames, circus lion-tamers, dominatrices, whatever you want to call us.  We may be part of the entertainment, but we’re not the ones putting out.  The jawari are the whores.  Remember, the purpose of whores—pornoi—is to serve men’s lust.  On Earth, that is physical, and women can do it despite their indifference.  In Hell, it is spiritual:  the devils—all, or virtually all, male at the castles of huskers like Channah and Fang—are reacting not to our female bodies, but to the amount of lust—that’s their desire, not their satisfaction—that we can wring out of our poor little boybitches.  We magnify the devils’ agony by magnifying the lust they can sense but never slake.”

“I understand,” Esmeray sounded surprised.  “But it still doesn’t explain why Channah chose          me as one of these—” she struggled and accepted the least-objectionable of Hong’s analogies “—lion-tamers.  Unless her real purpose is to humiliate us.”

“I didn’t mean to bury the lead.  The damned exist here to be tortured.  The only thing they are capable of in hell, is suffering.  They are more than their suffering, but suffering is the only action they can take here.  They respond to lust, and they respond to cruelty.  That’s why I’m good at my work:  I like sex, and I like torturing helpless little bitchboys who are stupid enough to let me know they crave me.  The jawari of the succubae, mmm…” Esmeray could feel her smile, imagine her closing her eyes as she reveled in her thoughts.  “They’re raised for this.  Like veal calves, or hothouse flowers.  Their lust, and their agony—physical but especially mental—interact to magnify the suffering of the devils, and thus the amount of power they send back.  Our purpose is not to sate the lust of our jawari, but to magnify, thwart, twist, and whip it into a frenzy of suffering beyond all reason.”

“And so the devils react to me…”

“Ohh, girl… I’m still working that out.  I’m not sure even the succubae understand it fully yet.  I suspect you’re an experiment.  But I think it’s the utter contempt, loathing, and hatred you feel for men, and our boys, especially when they become aroused.  I can feel it… I’m sure the devils do, too.  And you hate the devils directly, too, because you hate their lust.  It may be your hatred for your jawari and the devils, combined with their lust for you, that is setting the damned on fire.”  She shook her head, as if to clear it.  “If Channah brought you here to punish you, I assure you it is only because somehow by punishing you, she punishes the devils and extracts more power from them.”

At that very moment, Hong’s jawari chorused as one:  “Your Grace!”

And when Esmeray looked back over her shoulder, she saw the largest and strongest woman she had ever seen or even heard of.                                                                                                                 

Literature Section “06-102 The Lust and Misery of the Damned”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 102 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1623 words—Accompanying Images:  1848-1851—Published 2025-05-29 [slipped to 12:44am 05-30]—©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.

1844 06-101 Channah claims Penny as she has never done before
1845 06-101 Penny is Channah’s plaything now
1846 06-101 Pray all you like, Penny dear… it’s adorable
1847 06-101 MINE.  Questions?

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, orgasm, and prostateorgasm themes at 06-101X Consummated and Consumed (unabridged version) at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

INCLUDE PART IN PREVIEW FOR CONTEXT:  Channah is on top of Penny.  She couldn’t tell what Penny was babbling on about, and she didn’t care—doubting he knew, either.  She was doing what she needed to do, for her.  NOW:

Nor did anything that came out of Penny’s mouth thereafter, help to clarify anything except her surprise:  Penny’s speech was rapidly degenerating and sputtering into an incoherent, pathetic, inarticulate, jumbled mess of words and half-words and sounds that cycled between bafflement and submission and made no sense beyond that, conveying only one message, again and again and again:  how lost and confused she was in submission to Channah as Channah scrambled forward, asserting herself, her attentions to the weaker girl given a cyclical rhythm by Channah’s not-so-gentle efforts to protect Penny from chafing, repeating the sequence, Penny’s speech degenerating further and further, her wail rising to a higher and higher pitch, the unexpected intensity of exactly what Channah was doing, the very special place she had found and focused on preventing Penny from any traditional enjoyment, until—at the very second Channah reached her goal—

Penny made a screaming howl of mixed joy, surprise, and plaintive frustration, even as the privacy shield around them dissolved, immersing them back into hell.  The sights and smells were intense; the sound, overwhelming.  Of course, Penny did not know, but their solitude had begun to end when Channah started pouring oil on her, Channah’s coven bringing them swimming back into the visibility of everyone on the platform.  And even more importantly for the succubae’s purposes, at that same moment, the passion, intimacy, and degradation coming off them in waves like heat from asphalt in summer had begun forcing itself into the perception of the damned below.  By the time Channah had taken the next step, the chaos below had exploded into a maelstrom of sound and movement such as none of the ancient succubae on the platform could remember, staggering and shaking all of them to the core.

And in the moment Penny and Channah were done, together:

Pandemonium extremis maximus.

A madness like nothing any of them, human or demon, could have ever imagined.  Like nothing any of the succubae had even dared hope for.  The howls of the damned below topped out, interrupted by jagged screams of wildly oscillating pitch abruptly ending in popping and tearing noises, like popcorn popping and flesh being ripped away by raptors’ teeth, all at once. 

At first, Penny—and almost, almost Channah, as experienced and powerful as she was—were oblivious, lost in the moment and the intensity between them, their eyes locked, Channah’s burning with the power, hunger, and savage joy of the taker; Penny’s wide with the wonder and acceptance and dizzy peace of the giver.  Their shared sensations, and the pandemonium wave, were both so uniquely intense their bodies and minds had nothing to compare them to, and so at first they blended into a single sensation, changing in flavor but not intensity as it flooded them both.

Channah began to come back into some kind of focus first, whispering incredulous curses so vile and dark they could not be expressed in any human language, and therefore could not be spoken at all—only roared in a savage animal sound older and rawer than words, more dragon than human, as her hips slowed and her eyes closed, overwhelmed with the combination of afterglow and power refraction.  The waves tearing through her had the strength of a black hole’s gravity to spaghettify any sun or lesser celestial body within their reach.  A moment later Penny’s mind was able to begin its own return from its own bliss into something less pure and much more violent, savagely and intensely joyous, flowing through Channah and then Penny, a total connection that neither of them had experienced ever before, or could imagine experiencing ever again.

“The… Power!…” Channah gasped, stunned, sagging forward as Channah became something close to dead weight and Penny something close to unresistant and rubbery, the two of them so overwhelmed and full of pure light, water, fire, earth, and air rushing into them like all the energy and mass of the universe collapsing into a single black hole, they could do nothing—not act, not feel, not think, not even be aware.  Only by giving every ounce of themselves to it, they could just barely hold on and ride it out, surviving it with all the agency of an unconscious person carried racing through whitewater rapids.

Channah began returning to something like conscious, some kind of reasonable awareness, staring down on her girl’s closed eyes and open mouth, her heart pining in a way Channah was not familiar with; and she felt… lonely and devastated, human feelings she neither liked nor wanted.  She could tell her girl was still twenty thousand, forty thousand, and more leagues beneath the sea away from her.  Channah wanted to be with her now.  She ached for the connection they had shared when they went under the waves together, something she had never experienced before and wished she never had experienced, if the knowledge of what she was missing was going to make her this unhappy now.  Her heart, or whatever organ or part of her was capable of such neediness, insisted on—demanded to—have it back. She had to bring Penny back to her, surrounding her, enveloping and connecting with her and making her more than she could ever hope to be on her own.

With a cry, almost subconsciously, a pure reflex by her body insistent to reconnect rather than a conscious thought, Channah resumed her assault, wanting—needing—to be back where she had been a few moments before.  Her sense of incompleteness was total.

And she saw, instantly, the path for a succubus to achieve the connection she required.

Literature Section “06-101[X] Consummated and Consumed”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 101 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 936 words::Explicit 1026 words—Accompanying Images:  1844-1847—Published 2025-05-27—©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.


1840 06-100 Hong’s empathy, Esmeray’s truth
1841 06-100 Edging Esmeray

1842 06-100 What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger
1843 06-100 1,2,3! Point to the biggest bitch on this balcony!

PREVIOUSLY:  At Channah’s command, Hong has shackled Esmeray by the ankles overlooking the sea of devils and demons.  Now she stands close behind her, challenging Esmeray to take her hand, wanting something from Esmeray.  NOW:

Esmeray slowly put her hand into Hong’s, felt the dry warmth of her hand, and then, as a test, rolled her fingers around Hong’s fingertips, her palm wrapping around Hong’s knuckles.

Neither woman moved, not their hand, not their eyes, Hong encouragingly, Esmeray suspiciously, until Hong nodded reassuringly again, showing Esmeray her right hand and then shifting behind Esmeray until the younger woman could look over her other shoulder and see it.  Steeling herself to patience, she took hold of it, the same as the other.  A stupid test.

Perhaps sensing that anything that could be construed as smartassery by Esmeray, would be construed that way, Hong was very careful, simply making a soothing, approving noise, before explaining:  “I’m going to step closer behind you if that’s all right.”

“Why?  What do you want from me?”  Esmeray demanded sharply, and Hong stopped, considering her answer.

“Two things.  My Domina has commanded me to train you for something that I would have thought you were totally unsuited for.”

Esmeray snorted, shaking her head wryly and even managing a hint of amusement.  “Oh, you noticed, did you?”

“I thrive by serving my Domina successfully.  To do that, I have to understand you better—your feelings, your motives, your limits, and, yes, your clear but strange potential.  Then…” she considered “I felt it too, as strongly as you, the reaction when we met.  Very fierce and competitive.  On the surface, we have been given the same job, even the same title.  Obviously it is a test.  Obviously it is a competition.  And if it is a competition, I mean to win, as surely as you do.  But…” Hong shrugged.  “Competing with me, at least on my terms, in the way I understand… I think this is impossible for you.”

“You noticed,” Esmeray repeated, unable to keep the insecurity out of her voice entirely.

“Here my thoughts follow two paths.  The first is that if we cannot compete directly with one another, we could become allies.  Not friends.  But allies.  Every member of the Coven has, or will have, a qahramanah.  So we each have at least 12 rivals, and very little chance to get to know any of the 11 others.  You are obviously a lone wolf, and if you will forgive me,” she tittered carefully, “A crazy one.”

Yes, Esmeray conceded, thinking how mad her situation was, and that she felt quite sane by comparison.  She was only mad by the standards of people who were privileged to live sane lives.  But she responded:  “Who’s crazier, the madwoman or her tormentor?”  Almost, she let loose of Hong’s hands—almost, she threw them away.

Seeming to sense it, Hong squeezed back very gently and compellingly.  “I don’t want to be your tormentor.  It doesn’t benefit me at all, or give me any pleasure, because you don’t know how to enjoy being tormented by others.”

“No one enjoys being tormented.”

“You are wrong.  Some people live in torment.  Even if not of their own making, then they accept them, or simply cannot escape them.  Some—maybe you, maybe your memories—even torment themselves.  All my little boys-who-are-girls live in that dark palace.  All jawari—even yours—are chosen for this potential, and raised to fulfill it.  If you can understand this, you can master them better, faster, and more effectively.  The fact you do not know this yet is more proof, if you are willing to see it, that I have a lot to teach you.  But the job I have been given—we both have been given, me to teach, you to learn—Do you at least understand this is your job, to learn from me, whether you want to or not?”

“Yes,” Esmeray spat.

Hong huffed, whether from concern, arousal, frustration, or success, Esmeray wasn’t quite sure.  Hong chose her words with even more care than usual, balancing loyalty to her Dominas with candor to her putative future ally.  “This job I have been given—at first, it almost feels the job I was given is intended to provoke you.”

Esmeray relaxed slightly, ever so slightly, but it was there, and Hong sensed it, nodding with satisfaction behind her back.  “You speak truly.  I think we are enemies, but—”

“Unfair!”  Hong protested, smiling at the long, lustrous, wild hair in front of her.  It was beautiful hair.  “You think everyone is an enemy.”

“Everyone is!”

“You, too, speak truly.”  And, Hong thought, you seem to enjoy this sparring as much as I do, in your own tormented way.

“But I also understand the advantages of alliances.  The necessity for them.  In a world of enemies, allies are valuable.  And your second path?”

“I ask myself:  What is our real job?”

“To entertain our masters by clashing with one another, like harem gladiators?”  Esmeray guessed dryly.

Hong laughed merrily.  “Ooh la la, so cynical.  I adore it.  Again, you are probably right.  And I think we can give them a good show.  Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But… there is more.  And I think, if I’m right, we are meant to teach one another.  Our Masters’ minds work that way, layers hidden under layers, wheels working within wheels.  But for me to explain it, you need to understand what this place is for, and what a qahramanah’s real job is.”

Hong bent her head, a slight sign of deference, and asked again, thrilling Esmeray with the unaccustomed sound of her own name:  “Please, Esmeray.  I ask again, can you bear to have me step closer to you?”

And after a beat, Esmeray nodded sharply, steeling herself and trying not to be obvious about it.

She felt Hong’s proximity before Hong actually touched her back.  It was an electricity, a low buzz from her buttocks up through the arch of her back to her shoulders, sensing Hong’s field of energy before, with a gentle, accepting sigh, the perfectly-formed woman made contact with Esmeray’s scarred back.  The deepest pressure was of her breasts against Esmeray’s shoulders; followed by her pelvis against Esmeray’s haunches.  Esmeray kept reminding herself that, although deep, the touch was and had been soft, slow, and consensual.  And although she couldn’t see Hong, she still held the woman’s hands, perhaps simply to prove to one or both of them that she could; or perhaps to reassure herself the hands were accounted for and therefore, not up to any mischief.  Of course, Hong could bite her, her crazy brain reminded her unhelpfully—but she refused to think about that now, shaking her head to herself to dismiss the idea so she could learn whatever it was Hong was up to. 

As if to prove she had no such intention, Hong asked softly:  “Is this tolerable?”

“Yes,” Esmeray answered, almost but not quite entirely able to keep the edge of irritation out of her voice.  So she forced herself to repeat herself, not wanting to actually feel Hong’s flesh—she couldn’t think about it, so she focused on trying to learn what Hong meant to teach her, telling herself this would be worthwhile, and that simply earning Hong’s trust would be worthwhile, ignoring all her contrary urges and feelings—the ravenous, dark ones—as best she could. 

Then Hong pushed it by whispering:  “Can you abide… more?”

Literature Section “06-100 Edging Esmeray”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 100 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1212 words—Accompanying Images:  1840-1843—Published 2025-05-25—©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.

1836 06-99 Penny cannot believe the words coming out of her own mouth
1837 06-99 Penny begs for things she couldn’t have imagined

1838 06-99 Penny waits desperately for Domina’s decision
1839 06-99 I’ll do ANYTHING Domina

Explicit version containing penis, size, analpenetration, orgasm, piledriver, and masturbation themes at 06-99X Channah Knows How to Stretch a Penny at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny, lying open below her Domina, begs Channah to take her.  NOW:

“Wow, girl,” Channah snickered, impressed with her girl’s begging, pulling a jar from her pocket, removing the stopper, and dripping olive oil all over herself.  With every single drop that landed on her, Penny jerked and writhed and moaned with the need to release bottled-up energy.  “I’m impressed with you!  I sensed there was a raw, live-wire slut inside you, buried beneath all the layers of propriety and manners and civilization….  There were times when even I doubted my instincts about you, you buried yourself so deeply, but I shouldn’t have.  I knew it!  Didn’t I?  And now you’re my whore.  My slut.  My wanton, wanton girl.”  And then she snapped:  “Aren’t you?!”

“Yes, yes, I’m—I’m your t- your, I mean, Jezebel!,” Penny started bawling, her cheeks on fire, shamed and humiliated beyond all measure and reason, abasing herself and professing her disgraceful deepest desires as she had never done before.  And the worst part of all of it was being afraid, as the words came out of her mouth, that they might all be true.  “I’m a—I’m such a hussy,” she sobbed.  “Why why why I don’t know!  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I’m such a nymphomaniac.  But I need you.”  She looked and sounded shocked again:  “But-but I think it actually may be—I’m feeling a funny kind of way—Oh, Domina!  I—I think I really do!  I need you, Master!  I need to feel you warming me up inside, right to my heart!  Please Domina, make me complete!  Oh, please, please pleeeeeease…!”

Channah, meanwhile, was rubbing the olive oil into her skin, enjoying the feeling.  “Where—where do you want me to touch you?” she demanded, panting almost as heavily as her slave.  

“Where—where you did before,” Penny squeaked, hardly able to stand the sound of the words coming from her own mouth.  “Anywhere, Domina, anywhere you want, you know best!”  And she started moving her own hands lower. 

“Hunh-unh!”  Channah snapped, dropping an oily hand to slap Penny’s to one side.  “You had your chance, Ms. Modesty.  No more!  No hands!  You made your decision—keep your hands on your nipples, girlie!”

“I’m sorry, Domina, I was stupid!  Please, please let me change my mind, Domina!  Oh lord, please—I need—Please?!  You’ve got to—”

“ ‘Got’ to?  Are you trying to tell me what to do, bitch?”  Channah asked dangerously, raising her open palm as if she were going to slap Penny hard.  Penny moued, and her knees jerked as if she were fighting every instinct she had to keep them apart, but hold them apart she did, cringing while she did so.

“No—no of course not, I’m sorry, Domina,”

“No, ma’am, I thought not.” Channah shook her head, smirking commandingly, her voice at once much quieter than Penny’s, and much more authoritative.  “Good girl.  Try again. Do you command?”

“No, Domina, I—” and she realized she knew the answer already.  Channah had already told her.  “I beg, that’s all I can do, Domina!  I beg of you, please take charge of me!  I want it more than anything.  More than anything I’ve ever wanted!”  And in that moment, she was so deep in subspace, under Channah’s spell, that she believed it well enough to be true.  Penny whimpered and cried brokenly.  “Do what—what Roger did to you, Domina.”  She realized, with shock, that it was absolutely true, mortified to consider what it looked like, what it sounded like, and that for some reason she still wanted to be treated the same way.  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Mistress.  I want to be your baby-doll.”

Backing the rest of the way back so Penny’s feet weren’t under her knees anymore, and shaking out the rest of the bottle carelessly all over Penny, Channah shook her head.  “No. Not today… today I want it to be so personal.”

“Personal?”  Penny gasped.  Not understanding yet.

Channah laughed, a low, guttural sound.  “I’ll show you.”

Channah took hold of Penny.  “Please do!  Please show me!  Oh please do!”  Penny hyperventilated, as Channah dropped to her knees.

Penny flipflopped instinctively, panic piling back into her eyes as the reality of what was about to happen hit home, and wailed in a combination of need and fear.  “Oh please be gentle with me, Domina!”

Penny’s squeal rose to a full-fledged wail as she felt Channah touch her.   “Oh my goodness—PLEASE!!!!!”

Channah wasn’t sure what Penny wanted at this point and she doubted Penny had any idea, either.  But in any event, it was way past the time Penny might have had any say in the matter.  She was Channah’s totally passive receptive girl now, her entire existence defined by, even given by, Channah; her whole identity shrunk to the obedient, desperate, aching flesh being touched by Channah, even as she flooded Penny with another blast of the magical-sexual lightning that was the unique gift of the succubae.

Literature Section “06-99[X] Channah Knows How to Stretch a Penny”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 99 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 827 words::Explicit 1183 words—Accompanying Images:  1835-1838—Published 2025-05-24—©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.