Tag: flight

1596 06-63 The powerful, mysterious Duchess Fang^
1597 06-63 Duchess Fang catches Penny^
1598 06-63 Handsome Incubus Prince saves sweet sissy^

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls she is taking through the Hell of Lust on a flying chariot ride to reach their honeymoon destination.  Now comes the hard part—landing.  NOW:

Their minds realized, through the screaming senses of their bodies, that this chariot was going to touch back down on the ground, whether under Channah’s control, or that of merciless gravity.  The faint hope and desperate prayer of survival suddenly reminded the girls they needed to prepare for that absolutely certain impact.  They frantically stuffed their corks back in their bottles, set them in their slots at the front of the chariot, then braced themselves as tightly and desperately as they could, arms deep through the leather straps bolted to the chariot, bodies pressed tight against the outer edges and back of it, their free arms crossing one another’s at the wrists to clench onto the back edge of the chariot with knuckles whiter than their dresses. 

From their vantage point, the horse and chariot seemed to be coming in too low over a final, monumental two-story arch separating the road from the open ground, as if the horse’s hooves would hit the top of it and he would tumble through the air, crippled, throwing their chariot forward over him.  Gaining a final impression of a formation of guards waiting to their left on the sand, the girls’ faces tightened into closed-eyed, rictus-grinned masks of clenched muscle.  And at least one of them might have screamed, only the speed with which events were progressing preventing their bodies from attempting something instinctive and crazy like jumping over the sides of the chariot before it hit, knowing:

There was absolutely nothing they could do except pray—

And with a breathless panic their bodies felt weightlessness for a second as Fury stopped and dropped, their momentum exactly matching Fury’s deceleration and therefore shrieking up their nerves that they were in free-fall just like their bodies had feared all along.  We told you so, assholes!  Before the bone-jarring reconnection with the ground at once caused an instant terror this was it, followed by the realization they were still alive and on the ground.  Then just as they started to hope, they were panicked by a final jolt—the wheels running off the end of the road into the sand, they opened their eyes in alarm to see the black stone wall on the opposite side of the triangle rushing at them with too much speed.

They gasped and breathed in relief as Fury decelerated, squeezing one another’s hands again, almost in disbelief that Fury and Channah had had everything well in hand after all, and nothing bad was going to happen to them for defying the gods by attempting flight. 

Domina Fang

“Oh my.  Oh my.”  The girls squealed and hugged tightly and happily, before a cold, unfriendly woman’s voice with a heavy accent they didn’t recognize, interrupted them, speaking Arabic:

“Come out of the chariot now.  Fury is ready to be done with it.”

They turned, seeing soldiers on both sides already releasing Fury’s harness and simultaneously detaching the twin tongues of the chariot from the harness, careless of the fact that as a two-wheeled vehicle, the chariot would pitch forward and unceremoniously eject them the second it was loose.  Penny didn’t begrudge the horse at all, he had just performed a miracle for the girls’ benefit.  But it was oddly deflating and disappointing for yet another denizen of hell to confirm that here, Channah’s horse was of significantly more importance and regard than the two girls. And after surviving such a flight!  Penny thought unreasonably.  As if mundane death or injury was less likely after a miraculous and unexpected survival.

All thoughts of honoring their Queen with their ladylike dignity were pushed aside by the imperative to get out of the chariot.  Penny was about to jump off the side of it, telling herself it couldn’t possibly be scary after what they’d just been through, only to notice another soldier already folded up in footstool position below her.

With a slight lack of decorum induced by haste, Penny half-scrambled, half-fell out of her side of the Chariot while Chas did the same on the other side, wincing and flinching “Sorry!” as her shoes landed on the soldier’s back with more force than she would have intended, and too much momentum to completely avoid her heels digging a bit into the poor man before she staggered down to the sand, barely stumbling to a halt as someone caught her arm, stopping her inches before bumping into them.

Raising her eyes up the detailed red leather boots and tooled red leather armor, Penny immediately registered from her shape this was a woman, and from her clothing she was wealthy and well-appointed.  As her eyes continued up, she knew the woman would have been a head taller than her even if they were both barefoot.  And finally, looking up into her face, she gasped in surprise to find a woman with lovely, glowing pale amber skin, exquisitely curved horns carved in bas relief, and eyes that for a split-second she registered with fright as demonic, perhaps because of what Penny sensed behind them.  Those eyes looked back at Penny like a cat’s, trying to decide whether it wanted to waste its time toying with an ant, or simply ignore it.  Penny shrank back involuntarily, sensing the woman’s satisfaction, before something about the woman’s face, or perhaps the patterns tooled into her leather armor, jarred an even stronger impression:

“Are you from Cathay?!”  Immediately aghast, even as the woman’s brows knit further in displeasure, Penny stumbled on, curtsying as best she could, feeling particularly pathetic in the awkward semi-curtsy she was forced to make with one arm still held rigidly by the woman’s strong hand:  “I’m sorry, Mistress, I’ve never met anyone from Cathay before.”  Penny was a stranger in hell, but even without the benefit of having read Dante’s Inferno, she would have had no doubt at all the woman outranked her.  Everything about her, from her clothing to her appearance to her attitude to her speech to her position here greeting her Queen, screamed she was of high rank.  And eventually Penny got around to saying the right thing:  “You’re so beautiful and exotic, Mistress.  More than I could have imagined from woodcuts.”

“Human ignorance never ceases to amaze me,” she concluded, her eyes softening just a little bit at the compliment.

Literature Section “06-63 Hella Honeymoon XIX”—Part 63 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1048 words—Accompanying Images:  1596-1598—Published 2025-04-15—©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.

1593 06-61 Imagining the worst^
1594 06-62 A red fire shooting across the sky of hell^
1595 06-62 Ready or not, coming in hot^

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls she is taking through the Hell of Lust to reach their honeymoon destination.  But before they get there, she’s taking them on a memorable hellride.  NOW:

As their destination grew closer and more real, sensation—and then immediately panic—rose back in them from oblivion to preeminence.  Their eyes could see, and their bodies feel, that the movement each sensed corresponded to one another again.  And those senses immediately started clamoring that they were hundreds of feet above the ground, with nothing under them to hold them up, and indeed that they were descending toward it.  Hurtling toward it!  Their bodies remembered what they may never have consciously realized in the limited world of short distances they had spent their lives living in:  That when unsupported things fall, they accelerate, with potentially-gruesome consequences.  Their senses started screaming at them to do something, anything, to stop their fall.  When their minds knew full well, they could do nothing.  Nothing but hold onto one another and trust in their bold Domina’s confidence.

Hard Stop in Chang’an

Below them, the city—for that was what it was, many times larger than the village of walls around the satanikoklus—unfolded, with large straight whitish stone main avenues and narrower red trails snaking between them around a confusing welter of incomplete wall fragments at angles to one another.  There would be three walls with a fourth missing; wide gaps instead of narrow doors in curtain walls; softer dark-gray pumice blocks piled on top of more solid white granite; and a complete absence of floors to insulate any of the occupants from the searing heat of the naked sand. 

The humidity rose, reminding them how fortunate they had been without it, and they began to feel the strikes of tiny grains of driven sand again, making their bodies long for the remembered peace of the upper atmosphere.

Their destination within the city seemed plain enough:  A single huge building, a castle, solid black—a rock-solid black granite, not the cheap gray pumice used elsewhere to fill out and replace stronger stones—right where the three roads met, with a wide strip of cleared space—a killing ground—separating its outer walls from the densely-packed jigsaw jumble of lesser structures surrounding it.  The only structure in each of the three killing fields was a single solid hexagonal structure in the very center of it.  The castle’s position, in contrast to the satanikoklus, was to no degree arbitrary.  It was exactly where the three roads met—their focal point, in fact.

The castle’s basic design was triangular, with the arriving roads connecting to the three angles where the walls met.  The outer walls—and even more, the monumental gateways at each corner—were massive, beyond massive, and several stories tall.  Within them were smaller walls, structural rather than defensive, and something they had not seen since coming to hell:  solid four-walled structures with proper terrace roofs and doors closing doorways.  At each corner, an actual metal gate served to exclude outsiders from the castle itself.  And immediately behind each gate a series of triangular bunkers provided a warren of passageways barely wide enough for a chariot to pass, between the bunkers and under arches riddled with murder holes.

Cannon and soldiers dotted the tops of the walls, illuminated, like the castle itself, by an intense cluster of the flares scattered at much lower density throughout the landscape.  This confirmed some shred of reason in the madness of this place, that the otherwise-unremarkable site had been specifically chosen for the castle, and thus the city, for an actual reason:  because of the concentration of naphtha seeps coming from the land here.

Inside the castle there were soldiers and servants, human in appearance like the one who had served them back at the satanikoklus.  Outside, prevented from entering by either by magic or the heavy gates, was a seething ocean of the crimson, almost tomato-colored red demons and devils.

“Why do you think they’re that color?”  Chas said, having to speak loudly over the wind flowing past them, but nothing like the clamor of the creatures at ground level. 

Penny frowned in thought, then made a face.  “No.  Oh dear.  It’s like… maybe it is, scar tissue?  Or—”

“Or even, open wounds,” Chas suggested with a similarly appalled face, imagining she was finishing Penny’s sentence.

But Penny clarified:  “Or the most intimate flesh.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well—the lips.  The inside of the mouth.  The nipples and—”

“The rawest parts,” Chas finished.

“The most vulnerable,” Penny agreed.

“It’s like they’ve been skinned…” Chas swallowed.

“But no.  They can’t be,” Penny shook her head, perhaps trying to persuade both of them with the power of insistence.  “Devils are just red.”

But even that gory thought was not enough to keep their attention, not with as much of Channah’s hell-brewed spiked wine as they’d had, and even more, the constant barrage of fantastic and previously-unimagined sights bombarding their senses from every direction.  Even the maddening sand wouldn’t discourage them from trying to take in as much as they could.  Some few hundred yards from the castle, one of the red creatures had caught sight of them and its excitement, almost desire, spread like a wildfire from its origin to envelop the entire crowd in the same kind of frenzied, mad efforts to reach the chariot that had characterized their departure.

The chariot passed close over the three-story castle walls, close enough to make out faces watching them with enough wide-eyed interest to indicate flying horses and chariots were rare as eclipses even in hell.

The closer they got to the ground, the faster they seemed to be moving, vertically and horizontally, a kind of optical illusion that insisted to the senses they were accelerating (read: falling) in an uncontrolled descent, and thus to their deaths or at least grievous bodily harm.  It was a jangling alarm that sounded and reverberated through every nerve and sinew of their bodies, clang-a-langing like demanding children banging spoons on pots.

The three roads seemed to traverse the castle, passing through numerous gates and under several building as they did so, meeting in the center of an open triangle of red sand interrupted only by three seeps, the whole clearing perhaps 10 or 12 times the length from Fury’s nose to the stern of the chariot.  They were approaching it directly over the road to the satanikoklus, descending between three-story buildings lining either side of the road that seemed breathtakingly close at the speed they were rushing past them, with nothing solid to hold them up or in line.

Literature Section “06-62 Hella Honeymoon XVIII”—Part 62 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1079 words—Accompanying Images:  1593-1595—Published 2025-04-14—©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.

1589 06-61 What it means to be powerless, vulnerable, and dependent^
1591 06-61 Masterful Channah commands the very sky^
1592 06-61 Channah’s passion for the ride^

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, a Queen of Hell, for reasons of her own, has married two human transgender girls she is taking through the Hell of Lust to reach their honeymoon destination.  But before they get there, she’s going to test their exhibitionistic limits.  NOW:

As Fury, Channah’s steed, powered the ascent of their chariot into the sky, the screaming of the demons and devils below rose to a new and more-frantic pitch and they began jumping and then trying to climb on top of one another as if to catch hold of a chariot rim or axle, even after it would have been clear to any rational mind that doing so was impractical.

As the chariot surged and rocked, the girls screamed, braced themselves harder, and began gulping wine.  Sipping proved impossible because they knew they daren’t risk spilling wine on their gorgeous white dresses, so they had to wrap their lips firmly around the bottlenecks before tipping them up.

The chariot was almost immediately the height of three men above the ground, then six, then nine, then quickly a height greater than either of the girls had ever experienced or even imagined.  With a wide-eyed slack-jawed glance at one another they raised their bottles for another drink.  Penny was hardly able to open her eyes, and yet at the same time unable to resist the queasy thrill of taking in the dramatic scene unfolding beneath her.  As they rose in the air it seemed to grow slightly less rotten with brimstone and the sand, mercifully, seemed to have been left behind closer to its home in the shifting dunes.

Everything grew smaller and quieter below them, and soon they were able to see a greater distance, down and from horizon to horizon, than their eyes had ever encompassed before.  The sheer dimensions of it were overwhelming enough by themselves.  Channah’s realm was revealed as a burning red desert of such scale the mind wanted to reclassify the fantastical and utterly-unique volcanic rock formations that punctured the sanguine powdered sea as commonplace and fungible; a set so numerous, surely not one of them could be truly matchless.

The black rocks now looked like holes through the floor of hell into a bottomless black pit below, distinguished only, if at all, by their outlines.  At the same time, almost every feature within the glowing burnt-orange sand flattened and blurred until it looked like an endless and monotonous moth-eaten rug thrown over the abyss.  The tiny red figures shrank and merged until they were only visible where they clustered around the satanikoklus, and then the figures themselves were lost behind the waning light of their torches.  Then the stone walls and the activity within them became a mere abstract pattern of whites and crimsons interrupting the bloody endless orange, with the ruler-straight stone road like a latitude line under them, pointing the way for Channah and Fury.  As they got enough distance, the girls realized the main road did not end or even bisect the satanikoklus.  Instead, it passed some distance, perhaps leagues, from the satanikoklus, to and from destinations unknown in either direction, with a shorter road of slightly-brighter (new?) stone connecting the square in the settlement to the main road.

There came a point when the ground seemed so far away, so remote and unreal, that the fear of falling subsided.  It wasn’t imminent or even tangible enough to register as a real thing, and so it became a mere idea.  Even though they could feel the rapid motion of the chariot, it didn’t correspond to any infinitesimal change in their position above the landscape, and this detached their senses from the earthbound world below, bringing them into another:  the serenity of space.

They kept expecting to reach the stars and perhaps the moon.  Surely they would get close enough to them to really comprehend them and study them in detail, up close.  But no matter how high they rose in the hellish sky, there was nothing to see.  Not one thing, not a star, not a reflection, not a half-sensed motion detected from the corner of an eye, to break or even vary the endless inky blackness, leaving it without form or dimension.  The mind—or was it the body?—even yearned for the maddening sand to hit it again and help make things more real.  The moment the ground ceased to be relevant and real, acrophobia was replaced by a weird stomach-churning juxtaposition of claustrophobia and agoraphobia, their physical forms unable to tell if they were alone and separate from everything in a petrifying unreachable nothingness, or drowning in a terrifying, unrelenting, crushing ocean of darkness.

They had no reference-point, no reality, except the hollow chariot they sat in, one another—who they could bond with in mutual fear—and the self-assured woman riding her horse in front of them, leading them without any apparent hesitance or doubt to the safety and certainty of her chosen destination.  Between draughts of wine, they held hands for comfort, daring to allow a few inches of space between their bodies and the firm chariot walls so they could feel the comfort of one another’s hips, sides, shoulders, and warmth.  And their eyes locked on the woman—their woman, their Domina—they knew and understood and, well, trusted with their very lives, wishing she were sitting here between them with her arms around them, laughing at the pliant and accommodating world she seemed to live fearlessly in.

They were so disconnected from the landscape below that at first they didn’t even notice their Queen was leading them back down into hell.  Chas squeezed Penny’s hand firmly, bringing her attention back to her own physical senses, and startling them into realizing they had actual, useful information for her again.  Penny swallowed and looked backwards, daring to move despite her body’s demand for the security of perceived stability, and could not recognize anything behind them except the white line of the road disappearing into sand, long before it reached the horizon. 

As the desert shrank before them, and its features expanded and swam back into focus, they immediately distinguished a pattern of stone and fire and eventually movement up ahead of them, at the point where the direct line of the straight road from the distant satanikoklus ended, before splitting like a “Y” and proceeding at different angles to the horizons ahead of them.

Literature Section “06-61 Hella Honeymoon XVII”—Part 61 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1026 words—Accompanying Images:  1589, 1591-1592—Published 2025-04-13—©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.