Tag: honeymoon

1806 06-91 I’m NOT ignoring your misery.  I fucking love it!
1807 06-91 Make that sad face and noise again for me, bitch!
1808 06-91 Why torture YOURSELF?  That’s MY job

Explicit version containing masturbation, chastity, and orgasm themes at 06-91 Penance Yields at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah is passionately and aggressively dominating and making out with Penny.  NOW:

The weaker girl was going nowhere without Channah’s permission, her body overwhelmed almost as fully as her mind, neither of them capable of offering Channah anything resembling resistance—only compliance and cooperation.

“Mm…”. Channah slid her lips across Penny’s cheek and growled in her ear, “Feel how desperate you are.  You’re a bit of a slut, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes.  Yes I am, Master!  Domina!”  Penny cried, and then almost screamed:  “Please free me Mistress, I can’t stand it!”

She just giggled, her hips moving faster and faster while Penny remained frustrated.  If it had been an ordinary item of such elaborate jewelry, she couldn’t possibly have used it this way.  Even the finest jeweler in the world could hardly smooth every edge and facet of each stone and the gold metal joining them, perfectly enough to feel this good.  But her metalsmith was so connected with her media she might have done, even without the thin layer of clear ceramic or glass she had used to finish the piece, making it a smooth and perfect whole instead of multiple different components held together with settings and cement.

“Who do you belong to?”  Channah demanded bitchily, smirking.

“Yours!  Of course, yours, Domina! Ha-ha-haaugh!”  the last of it was not laughter, but something much closer to a desperate crying that made Channah even hotter. 

“I’m sorry, what were you asking me about?  I can’t remember,” Channah’s lips tightened and struggled to remain sealed over Penny’s when she was smiling this widely, but Penny didn’t seem to mind any more than her Domina, who was moving at a jackhammer pace, a low animal sound beginning in the back of her throat.

“PLEASE let me out, Domina!” Penny wailed around Channah’s lips when Channah darted her head down to nip her ear. 

“nehhh-verrr,” she whispered softly in the same ear, pushing down on the girl’s pinned wrists to reinforce her control, barely able to speak between her own moans.  And then:  “Suffer for me, bitch!”

“I am!” Penny screamed, and Channah roared, as Channah’s hips and body shifted from a piston motion to a pure shudder that gripped her from head to toe.

“Oh, Domina, oh, Mistress, no, it’s not fair!  It’s not fair!”  Penny howled, making a broken pouting sound, as Channah gasped and cried out with her slow, shuddering return, enjoying every lingering moment, just as she was enjoying squeezing every drop of sadistic joy from Penny’s protests and whines and unavailing struggles under her for relief.

“No—no, it’s not, is it?”  Channah laughed throatily, shoving her tongue hard down Penny’s throat and holding it, even as she straightened all her limbs out to the four corners around them and lay on Penny as her final shivers subsided, ignoring or perhaps enjoying Penny’s miserable sounds, and restless movements of discomfort.

When Channah was finally still, and not only the shivering, but the tingling sensation singing in every one of her nerve ends finally started to calm, she rested her hands on Penny’s forehead and lay her cheek on top of them, to relax.

“No-ho-ho-ho-ho….”  Penny moaned, quiet in her misery so as not to disturb Channah’s relaxation.

Finally, Channah sighed.  “What a good, passive, respectful mattress you make, Penny dear.”  Drawing languidly back and resting her elbows on Penny’s chest, feeling very satisfied and calm, while Penny’s body was still rigid and singing with both desire and pain, she crossed her upper arms and looked down into Penny’s eyes, eating up her compliant, accepting misery.  She practically purred, as she wiggled her hips again, just enough to let Penny know she was thinking about the girl’s unhappiness.  “What?” she asked playfully.

“Oh…”. Penny groaned, rolling her eyes.

“I asked you a question, bitch.”

Penny looked surprised.  “You know my—my—” she struggled for a word.

“My little girl,” she proposed.

“Yes, Domina.  Your little girl… You make me sooo hot, Domina, you’re so hot and—and the way you move…”

“How I move?” she prompted, wiggling her hips again for a moment.

“You’re so—lithe, so serpentine…”

“Oh, hush,” she rested one finger across Penny’s lips, just enjoying pushing her buttons and pushing her around, like a cat playing with a toy, or perhaps a victim.  “You don’t have anything useful to say.  Serpentine?  Darling, have you forgotten what I’m capable of?  Am I not a serpent when I want to be?  What I did had nothing to do with my serpentine side.” 

Then she frowned down at her girl, grasping and squeezing her cheeks, unnecessarily hard, not really to control her head, but simply to get her attention.  To bring her eyes, which were rolling and wandering practically independently of one another, back into focus attentively on her master.

“You know what I want.  You’ve known it for days.  And I already told you that’s how you could get what you want, just like Chas.”

Penny started nodding, in fear, yes, but for the first time, something more than fear—a desire for closeness, perhaps, or simply to obey and to avoid disappointing her hell-goddess—competing with it in her eyes.  When she spoke, it was in a small, uncertain voice:  “I—I will submit to you, Domina, you know I will.  Please, Domina, do what you want to do.  Take what you want from me.  Please, Domina.”

“Hunh-unh,” Channah shook her head, smiling smugly.  “I’ve already done that.  We’ve already established I can take what I want, anytime I want, haven’t we?” she asked, sniggering when she felt Penny move under her.   “Answer me,” she slapped Penny’s cheek lightly.

“Yes, Domina,” she answered, nodding sheepishly.

“And I can intimidate and bully you into doing what I want, even when you hate the idea, can’t I?”

“Yes, Domina,” she whispered. “That’s pathetic,” Channah shook her head, her smirk of contempt and satisfaction almost becoming a sneer again.

Literature Section “06-91[X] Penance Yields”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 91 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 979 words::Explicit 1086 words—Accompanying Images:  1806-1808—Published 2025-05-15—©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.

1803 06-90 A Sermon on Abstinence–Love vs Sin
1804 06-90 A Test of Strength–Resisting the Temptation of Jezebel
1805 06-90 Liberation Theology–The Book of Revelation

Explicit version containing masturbation, chastity themes at 06-90X Tongue-Tied Penance at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman.

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny emerged from total isolation to a crashing overload of sensation to find herself, physically naked and emotionally-wrecked, in Channah’s protective, affectionate embrace.  Comforted by her, overwhelmed by the need and longing she had felt to be saved by Channah, and the reality of being saved by her, she accepts Channah’s kiss.  NOW:

Penny melted into Channah’s kiss, something starting as a sigh becoming a moan of passion, her passion dissolving all conscious thought in her, her body twitching unbidden and unintended.  Channah’s tongue tickled her lips, caressed her teeth, and flirted with Penny’s.  Penny reciprocated, automatically, wanting to feel more of her Domina, and suddenly she felt Channah’s hand around her chin and cheeks, pushing her face away and holding her still. 

Surprised, she whispered:  “Please—don’t stop,” her eyes swimming back into focus and finding Channah’s, inquiring.

“I won’t,” Channah shook her head decisively, squeezing Penny’s cheeks with the hand that was holding them.  Penny didn’t lift a finger to disentangle herself.  She wouldn’t.  She couldn’t even imagine it.  “But you need to.”

“I–?”  Penny didn’t even know what she was talking about.

“I like to tongue-dance, but reciprocating is a pleasure I associate with men.  Are you a man?”

Penny stared at her, pinkening, before admitting in an embarrassed squeak:  “No, Domina.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

“Oh, yess,” Penny gushed, practically swooning at the thought.   “Please!”

“Then you need to keep your tongue passive when we kiss.  It’s not to move more than minimally necessary, and it should stay on the floor of your mouth, out of my way, at all times.  Anything else will be considered resistance and obstructionism.  Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Domina, ofph coursze,” Penny nodded, practicing and sensing what it felt life for her tongue to remain supine in her mouth.  “But why?”

“Wait, remind me… do I need a reason?” she asked, curiously.

Penny reddened.  “No, of course not, Domina.”

“That’s right!  Do you know, my metalsmith and I invented restraint devices long, long ago?  We did!” She sniggered with pleasure at the recollection, taking her hand off Penny’s jaw and moving it straight down the front of Penny’s body, tickling her and eliciting a whining sound she seemed to take delight in.  “It looks like something’s pinching you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Domina.”

“Maybe I should talk to her about designing a restraint for your tongue.  The trick would be, designing one that keeps your tongue under control without interfering with speech or eating.  You won’t be of nearly as much use to me if you can’t speak,” she mused, her finger on her chin again, pretending to consider it seriously.  “Perhaps a tongue stud with a little chain, connecting it to a post in the floor of your mouth?”

Penny was scared.  “What are you talking about, Domina?  I don’t understand!  I don’t want to do anything wrong, Domina, I promise.  I want to be your good girl.”

Relenting, she smiled fondly.  “I know you do, dear.  Then obey me.  If I really needed your tongue to stay inside your mouth, you would be in tongue-restraint, to keep it away from females of any species—human, demonic, or otherwise—by even a quarter-inch.  I’m just commanding you to be passive when we kiss because I like it!  I like reminding both of us I’m your Domina, and you’re my jariya.  Do you have a problem with me exercising my prerogatives to humiliate, belittle, or otherwise put you down for no reason other than my own pleasure?” she asked challengingly.

Penny shrank back slightly, eyes wide, and shook her head, disconcerted as always by the part of her that liked the way she treated her.  “No, Domina.  Not at all, Miss.”

“Oh, that’s good,” she snickered.  “ ‘Not at all, Miss.’  I like that answer.  Then keep every part of you, however… small…” she smiled wickedly, tickling Penny again.  “Out of my mouth.  Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Domina.  I’ll be good,” Penny promised, opening her mouth and leaning up towards Channah.

Channah leered at her, bringing her hand back up to take hold of Penny’s jaw and shove it back down, considering Penny.

“Ahm sahy,” Penny apologized, keeping her mouth open and her tongue down. 

“You look ridiculous!  No—hold it open, I like it when you make a fool of yourself for me.”  She laughed, both at Penny’s obedience, and how crestfallen she looked.  She moved her hand back to Penny’s body again, enjoying Penny’s desperate squirming.  “Does it hurt?”  she asked archly, both of them knowing exactly what she meant.

“Yeshmaahm,” Penny nodded earnestly, making her laugh even harder.

“Good.  Suffer for me, my little pretty.”  And like a bird of prey diving to rip some hapless little fish from a stream, or some harmless little varmint from a field of grass, she dove her head back down again, sealing their mouths together and slithering her tongue back into Penny’s mouth again, relishing Penny’s moans of combined lust and discomfort, while her hand continued to play gently with Penny as her tongue ravished Penny’s mouth. 

Penny raised her arm towards Channah, not to be uppity, but automatically, wanting to touch her more, and she laughed into Penny’s mouth as she seized Penny’s wrist and slammed her arm back onto the mattress. 

Rolling expertly on top of her jariya, she broke their kiss just long enough to raise her dress above her waist before sliding down to straddle Penny’s hips, cooing and sliding her other lips up and down over Penny’s chastity as her tongue got back to its ravishing. 

Her tongue, much longer than Chas’s, and apparently more flexible, not only tickled her lips, caressed her teeth, and petted her tongue, it went wherever it wished, sliding between her jaws and her cheeks, and when she felt particularly devilish, ramming down into the back of Penny’s throat with eye-watering, gag-inducing force.  Channah obviously relished every second of Penny’s suffering, her eyes dancing as Penny choked and gasped, struggling for breath and baffled by the confusing messages on the back of her throat telling her body to swallow and to reject the invader.

She broke their conversation for a moment to ask:  “Can you feel the way I feel about you?”

“Oh, yes,” Penny groaned helplessly.  “Your skin is so slippery and smooth.  Ow it hurts…” she protested, not talking about Channah any more.

“I love it!  And I love you, my passive little bitch,” Channah growled, continuing to slide up and down, up and down, pressing harder for her own sense of closeness, before smashing her face back down on Penny’s, using her tongue to drive so deep down her throat that pure reflex made Penny try to escape, while Channah used the mattress beneath her and Channah’s mouth above her to trap her and hold her in place, leaving her little mouse with nowhere to flee. 

Literature Section “06-90[X] Tongue-Tied Penance”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 90 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1081 words::Explicit 1144 words—Accompanying Images:  1803-1805—Published 2025-05-12—©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.

1799 06-89 Protect me, Channah!
1800 06-89 Channah shields Penny from the storm
1801 06-89 Tarnished Savior
1802 06-89 Scarlet Angel

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny is isolated without being able to sense anything about space, time, the world, or even her own body.  She is so isolated she wonders if she even existed or if her memories are the imaginations of a momentary consciousness flickering in nothingness.  NOW:

The first moment was overwhelming.

As everything returned, she felt completely overloaded by light, sound, smell, taste, feeling, gravity, movement, her frantic heartbeat, her panicked breath.

Data crashed in, fired like musket balls and flung at her like buckets of scalding water, crushing her from all directions at once, as if her entire existence was being obliterated by fire.  There was so much of it that when the assault began it meant everything and nothing at once. 

She had been searching for a whisper or a flutter of distant candlelight, any tiny thing to break the nothingness.  And instead, she had been hit by thunderous screaming and a burst of direct sunlight straight in her eyes.

It all happened so fast, after the utter stillness of before.  But it took a moment for her brain and body to accelerate and re-synchronize with the raging torrent of water and the speeding avalanche of life.  She experienced that glacial moment as forever, and it would stick with her always, even as she struggled to remember already, what the utter stillness and absence that had preceded it had really been like.

Then her body and mind started processing data again, remembering they had once done so normally and routinely, and falling back into their well-worn tracks to move forward.

She felt the sharp tug at her bottom and then the gentle, warm hand between her legs removing it and casting it away, as the last of the wicked plug left her behind, ending her total violation and occupation, even as it allowed her to start trying to process what she had been through, in a way she hadn’t been able to reach when she was… gone.

Next, seconds and minutes later, she started making sense of everything else.

The smell of frankincense, myrrh, opium, and the very very essential and musky scent of one unique woman, maybe even something too deep for conscious awareness, embraced Penny with the certain knowledge of where she was, fundamentally and totally:  Domina!   She was with, held close and tight by, her Domina.

That was the essence, the meaning, of everything.  Of being back:  She was safe, back in the arms of her Domina.

She moued in joy and relief and safety and love.

From that core of certainty, her awareness felt secure enough to widen back to something like normality. 

She was lying on her back on a soft, warm bed, cradled in her Domina’s warm, gentle arms.  The air was hot and moist—hell insistently reminding her where they were, even before the low, distant roar of a thousand worried voices and the clanking, booming jangle of the band faintly sounding at the very threshold of perception, told her she had not moved too far.  Persuading her she had not been away for too long, no matter that it felt like a lifetime, the wall between before and after that… whatever it had been, so massive and high she could not even see back over it to gauge how different her place was now.

She felt her Domina’s cheek against her forehead; Channah’s reassuring arms and breasts cradling her neck and shoulders; Channah’s silky smooth dress against her bare flesh; Channah’s legs wrapped protectively around her bare ones; Channah’s boots resting on Penny’s bare feet and ankles, possessing her in a profoundly comforting way.

She was safe in the arms of her Domina, and to Penny, in that moment, they were nothing but loving and assuring and inspiring and protecting her, like a mother and wife and nurse all wrapped up together as one.  Then her brain sighed, putting all the comparisons together:

Duh.  Like an angel.

No.  Not just like one.  Whatever had happened to her, however she had fallen, Channah was an angel, and no one had ever felt that truth more strongly than Penny did in that moment.  Penny’s heart leapt as she realized she, literally, had a guardian angel!  Penny felt the full and wonderful import of that now, a feeling of peace like she had never known before.

“Domina!”  Penny sobbed, immediately crying, finding her arms and using them to roll slightly to her right.  With her left arm (her right arm trapped between them), she hugged her angel with desperate joy.  She wanted to wrap all her limbs around her Domina, but after what she had been through, the fact Channah was controlling her and constraining her—and Penny could feel her mastery—was the most reassuring and wonderful feeling in the world.

Limitations of any kind were real; they were the certainty confirming she was not alone and nowhere.  She could remember their absence from her banishment, more keenly than she could remember anything specific about what the banishment itself had felt like.  But that—that horrible interruption in her existence—was the last thing she wanted to think about now.

She broked down and wept, chest heaving, wracked with sobs, in Channah’s arms as her Domina wrapped and swathed her reassuringly, comforting her with her warmth, and her protective envelopment, and her throaty murmurs of reassurance:  “It’s okay, baby.  It’s all right.  You’re back here with me, darling.  That’s all that matters.  My sweet girl.”  She kissed the top of Penny’s head, sliding against Penny’s hair and the sense of softness from her lips even touching Penny’s skull.  She had one arm under Penny’s head and shoulders, and Penny burrowed her face into the crook between Channah’s breast and arm, staining her beautiful brocade with Penny’s salty tears, Channah not caring in the least about clothing no matter how precious, when her little girl needed to be comforted and welcomed back.  And Channah’s voice and manner and words and gestures and even excited heartbeat, everything about her, confirmed that, how true her compassion was.  “My little honey bear.  Oh… ohhh, my little darling.  There, there.  You’re safe.  You’re safe in my arms, sugar.” 

One hand held Penny’s shoulder firmly, while the other patted and stroked Penny’s back and side.  Meanwhile, Channah’s booted feet wrapped themselves around Penny’s naked ones, her upper heel hooking around Penny’s ankles and gently pulling them on top of her other leg.  Penny leaned in harder to her, face buried completely in Channah’s breast, wrapped in and enraptured by the sweet, distinctive perfume of her amazing body, the totality of her presence, the bliss of being in complete communion with her. 

Channah’s dominance over Penny, in every category that might be compared—spiritual and physical, emotional and rational, sensory and force of personality—was total.

And Penny knew it, deeply, profoundly, and intensely, in that moment.

Physically, as an angel, Channah was unnaturally strong and magnetically attractive, while Penny was, ultimately, only human; something paler and less than the stuff of heaven itself.

Mentally and emotionally, in addition to whatever undoubted angelic or demonic superpowers of hypnosis and seduction Channah had, she had hundreds of human lifespans’ worth of experience and practice, versus Penny’s worldly body and single life that were only just getting underway in earnest.

And Channah was in her own element, one she had centuries of familiarity with; while Penny was just returning from a place more distant than she could have conceived of before, a place that made Fang’s heteraslakos in the Hell of Lust, seem as familiar and nostalgic and homey as the half-remembered, more-imagined gentle Buckinghamshire countryside where the person Penny had once been, innocent little Pen, lived with his parents before their deaths.  Before Cambridgeshire and the manipulative demons, before Venice and his cold aunt, there where he had been whole, a child cared for as a child actually should be cared for, with the parents every child should have.  After what she had just been through, in the preceding moments, and even in the past days of her hazing, lying here in sweet Channah’s arms truly felt like the soft, pastel imagamemories of early childhood.

Situationally, of course, they were in Channah’s world—literally, an entire world owned and ruled by her—whereas Penny was not merely lost, not merely out of her bailiwick, she was outside of the very world she had grown up in.

Channah had brought Penny here, surrounded her by what Channah wanted surrounding her, even dressed her—when she had still been dressed, and in a way, now that she was completely vulnerable and naked—exactly as Channah wanted her to be.  This place, that Channah seemed to know well—to thrive in—that was somehow very important to the succubae, could not have been more alien, or less comfortable, let alone natural or connected, to Penny.  It jarred with her soul like a sword being scraped blade-edge-down against a stone.  In sum, Channah had Penny exactly where she wanted her and how she wanted her.

Channah was even fully-dressed, assertively to match her personality, whereas Penny wore nothing, as naked and vulnerable as a newborn baby in her mother’s arms.  Well, Penny wore nothing that could protect her or strengthen her or help her; she had only Channah for. that.  The only thing on her body was her master’s tiny cage, binding her and marking her as Channah’s virginal property.  And there was the only thing, the terrible thing inside her, which her mind could not even bring itself to think about but she felt as a great unsettled discomfort, reminding her of her vulnerability:  Channah literally held her and controlled her, inside and out.  As she had definitively demonstrated by sending Penny away from everything with an embarrassing and uncomfortable, but ultimately simple, plug.

Channah and Penny were so connected, so completely bonded to one another, that they seemed to feel it rising, not merely simultaneously, but together, as one:

Even as Penny’s heart leapt with the urge to kiss her Domina, she felt the hand that had been soothing her back brush lovingly across her ribs to take her chin, and gently, gently lift her face to Channah’s, giving Penny’s abashed eyes time to gather their courage and rise, until…

Their eyes locked, their hearts and breaths synchronized, and while Penny’s mouth opened in wordless,  silent, passive amazement and awe, Channah spoke and acted assertively, for both of them, as seemed only right and natural from now on, whispering:  “Oh, my rhythm.  My basis.  My love.”

Then, turning her head as she leaned forward, Channah crushed her lips against Penny’s and pressed her tongue inside Penny’s receptive mouth, just enough to make it clear she could and did rule even that place.

Literature Section “06-89 Channah & Penny 4ever I”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 89 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1754 words—Accompanying Images:  1799-1802—Published 2025-05-11—©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.

1608 06-67 Hong laps up the girls’ helpless need to please her^
1609 06-67 The Hongettes crawl after their goddess^
1610 06-67 Esmeray Pissing On and Pissing Off Devils^

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.  At the foreboding Chang’an Castle, Penny and Chas are about to be introduced to their qahramanah, or jawari-trainer.  NOW:

At Fong’s description of how desperately eager her jawari were, the three women laughed together, a slight edge of contempt tinging the sounds.  “Then let’s proceed.  We’ll make introductions, open the gifts, and then celebrate.”

“Yes, Domina.”  And then, snapping down at the jawari on their knees around her:  “Up!  You’re released for now.  Get up!”

Hetaraslakos

The girls scrambled to their feet around her, thanking her formally, her own four jawari assembling behind her while Fang wrangled Chas and Penny back into the awkward half-bent positions she had forced them to assume before, and began striding toward the door on the outside edge of the little courtyard.  Hong watched with an amused, admiring smirk, nodding approvingly as if she had learned something useful.

“It’s your Castle, dear Fang.  Please, lead us on,” Channah suggested.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”  She marched the girls past the Queen, continuing to use her hands to keep them bent at awkward angles for walking, making Chas open the door to the building on the other side of the courtyard.  This revealed another wide hall running straight through to the far side of the building.  But in the middle of this building, the hall widened even further to make room around a broad stone staircase leading down, with four parallel sets of handrails seeming to beckon them further into hell.

Fang led them down, both girls seriously afraid of falling and desperately using the handrails, while the succubae and the qahramanah laughed at their anxiety and desperate efforts.  “That’s definitely something my fawning little playthings are going to learn to practice,” Hong Qahramanah promised.

After descending a story or two into the soil, there was a simple passage, adorned only with occasional torches, close enough so they were never in complete blackness, but far enough that at times, the passage and the people moving through it were silhouettes and broad outlines.  Ahead of them was a stairway back up, constructed exactly like the one they had just descended.  And as they approached it, they became conscious of a low noise, at first something like the wind or the way leaves rustled across pavement in the wind.  But as they reached the bottom of the staircase and proceeded upwards, it got louder, becoming more like whispering that quickly started to rise, clarifying itself into the sound of a thousand agitated voices, shouting and screaming the same meaningless gibberish that was not quite an actual language, as the wretches back at the satanikoklus had barked out. 

“Pay attention on these stairs!”  Fang snapped.  “Remember I’m behind you.  If you can’t stay standing, fall forward into the stairs.   If you make me lose my balance, you’ll be regretting it for centuries.” 

“I suppose I could do without them for a few hundred years so you could exact your revenge,” Channah mused unhelpfully, emphasizing the time scale succubae reasoned in.  “Are you girls feeling humbled and cooperative for meeting your new qahramanah?”

“Yes, Domina!” the girls assured her in voices strained by their efforts to stay focused on the stairs.  Fortunately for them, stumbling up was easier—or at least felt easier and safer—than coming down had been.  For some reason, the throaty, evil sound of Hong Qahramanah’s laugh behind them, a human’s, an almost-stranger’s, and that of a singularly contemptuous bitch, stung even more than the amusement of their dominae.

As constrained as they were, they could hardly see more than three or four stairs in front of them at a time.  But it felt, and was then impossible to deny, that this stairway was significantly longer than the stairway that had taken them down to the gallery.  The voices kept growing louder and more distinct as they rose, finally cresting as they emerged from the top of the stairway, finding themselves on one of the elevated octagonal stone platforms they had seen from the chariot, dominating the killing grounds outside the castle walls.  These were the hetaraslakos, which both girls, having studied Greek, had realized at some point, meant Companion’s Pit.  Or Courtesan’s Pit.  And here, the thunderous sound of the screaming voices left no doubt they were surrounded by a crowd larger than an army.  From their volume, their number might have included every single one of the thousands of milling, restless damned they had seen filling the randomly-walking walls of the crumbling town around the castle during their descent.

“I think your mad qahramanah may have gathered all the damned here already,” Fang observed.

“She’s a self-starter,” Channah agreed, as they paused at the top of the stairs, and even the girls could twist their heads well enough to see who they were talking about.

The Radioactive Witch

At the extreme edge of the platform in front of them, a headful of long, wild, lustrous black hair marked and concealed most of the top half of a woman almost as voluptuous as the succubae themselves, with a prominent ass jutting back at them from under the fringe of her hair, draped in expensive, embroidered, colorful fabric.  The toes of her black boots were literally over the edge of the platform, with her back arched and her hips thrust forward, meaning the dimensions and shape of her buttocks were even more impressive than they appeared at the moment.  She was waving a radically curved Persian shamshir, waggling her hips from side to side, and screaming insults, but whatever exact sounds she was making were drowned out by the absolute furor erupting from the crowd immediately below her, sounding like bleating sheep finding their will to resist at the last minute in the slaughterhouse. 

“What is she—” Penny choked off her question before finishing, remembering who she was being held by.

Channah seemed to think she knew—she was laughing with sheer joy; and perhaps it was the sound of that that caught the woman’s attention, because she looked back over her shoulder, making them all afraid for a second she would lose her balance, before she stepped back, shaking herself and moving her shoulder in a gesture even Penny, blushing, understood. 

While she was facing away, performing that most private of gestures with glaring publicity, Chas and Penny tried to calm their own faces from the shocking sight of hers.  Her hands, cheeks, forehead, even the bridge of her nose were marked with scars from old cuts, and brutal ones.  Something tugged at Penny’s memory, conspiring with the spiked wine to try and surface, but was dragged back underwater before Penny could quite catch sight of it.  The woman was about Hong’s age, maybe a couple of years younger, and for a second…

Literature Section “06-67 Dance of the Qahramanat II”—Part 67 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1105 words—Accompanying Images:  1608-1610—Published 2025-04-19—©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.

1605 06-66 Hong ❤️ Fang colon A real and mannered love^
1606 06-66 Penny and Chas anxious to please superior woman^
1607 06-66 Lesser girls instinctively know they belong at the Uberfrau’s feet^

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.  At the foreboding Chang’an Castle, their Dominae confront Penny and Chas with four young women whose beauty challenges their own… and then with every girl’s worst nightmare:  the mean girl who has it all, over them all.  NOW:

One Alpha Bitch to Rule Them All

The young lady standing with utter confidence in the courtyard, looking idly around it as if bored and waiting for something interesting to happen, was achingly beautiful. 

So striking, so self-assured, so symmetrical, and so gorgeous, she made the four beauties who had preceded her look like plain wallflowers, and made Penny and Chas feel the same way.  She positively glowed with health, and apparently she felt dominant enough to pause a beat before even acknowledging the two succubae.

Like every other woman in the courtyard and harem—every other human woman—Penny and Chas knew. 

Instantly, deeply, before their conscious minds had had time to process it, their subconscious and their bodies knew. 

That she was The One.

The Queen Bee.

The alpha female.

And, of course, she knew it, too.  How could she not?

Her poise was absolute.

Even the ruthlessly-drilled, relentlessly-trained guards couldn’t keep their eyes front.  Inevitably, their gaze were drawn to her, and they could only hope their ruler and their liege lady didn’t notice.

But obviously, they did.  They noticed all the affected humans around them, and chortled deep in their throats, too entertained by what they were watching to have any interest in bringing it to a premature end.

“I can hardly wait,” Channah murmured mysteriously in anticipation.

“Your girls went to water the moment she appeared,” Fang reported gleefully, knowing she was embarrassing them, and enjoying it.  Fang momentarily dropped her hands to the girls’ buttocks, gripping them and pressing her middle fingers hard to emphasize her dominance before returning them to their position of control on the girls’ necks and hair.

As the überbitch tossed her hair, turned toward, and approached them, Channah agreed proudly:  “They’re most responsive,” before admitting seriously:  “You are amazing, Fang.  It’s another reason I want them to spend time with you.  So she can spend time with you.  Teach her.”

Fang turned her head to meet Channah’s eyes and opined seriously:  “That girl is not simply a ‘wild’ horse.  She is a crazy horse.  She cannot be trained.  Only used, and taught what she wants to learn.  But of course, Your Majesty, I will do what I can.”

“She does respond well to… challenges.”

Fang smiled.  “Which brings us back to… I can hardly wait.”

The young woman curtsied, deeply and precisely, as her four attendants dropped to their knees behind her and lowered their heads to the stone, holding their gifts out before them without allowing them to touch the ground.   Her attendants were about the same age as Chas and Penny; their superior—clearly, in every way—perhaps five or ten years older.

“Dominae,” the young woman greeted them, startling the girls, who had only been taught to use the greeting as Channah’s wives to her, and those she appointed in her stead.

As if to clarify things, Fang bent forward slightly, murmuring “My hearth,” as the woman stepped forward and kissed her on the lips, the two lingering to touch tongues.

Stepping back and sparing a first glance for Penny and Chas, the same look you would give a pair of ants interfering with a picnic by crawling across your blanket, the girl shook her head slightly in disbelief.  “I don’t have to train these two, do I, Domina?”

Fang laughed appreciatively.  “No, dear one.  We’re going to introduce them to their qahramanah.  The one you are to coach.  She is waiting for us in one of the heteraslakos.”  Pulling the girls’ heads in tight to her shoulders to alert them she was speaking to them, Fang clarified:  “But like all jawari, you girls are to address all qahramanat properly and respectfully on the rare occasions you are allowed to meet them, by dropping to your knees and kissing their boots, holding the position until they instruct you how they want you to behave.  It is an element of your training.  You will find it makes you more respectful toward all of your superiors.”  And with that, she let go of them. 

After a second’s hesitant uncertainty, with the glance they shared so often before acting, both girls dropped to their knees and planted their lips on the toes of each of her perfect boots.  With their world reduced to her boots and the stone she was standing on, they noticed a gold anklet around her left boot with four pendants hanging from it, each one a delicate crystal hexagonal prism set in gold.  “You are always to greet her as Hong Qahrahmanah, and your own qahramanah as Hanim Qahramanah.  In front of others, you may never use abbreviations, never skip the honorific.  Your relationship with your qahramanah is all about protocol, protocol, protocol.  Do you understand, girls?”

“Yes, Domina,” they murmured, trying to speak without lifting their lips from the perfectly-polished, highly-reflective surfaces of the cherry red boots.  And then:  “We are pleased to meet you, Hong Qahramanah.”

Hong ignored them, speaking to Fang instead:  “I myself have never had the honor of meeting another qahrahmanah before.”  She didn’t sound like she considered the prospect an honor.  She sounded like she considered the idea as boring as the idea of training Penny and Chas.

“This one is special,” Channah interrupted.  “Unlike you and the other four, training girls is not her… natural inclination.”

Fang snorted, apparently finding something about that amusing.

“But she has special skills necessary to train my little housegifts.” Changing the pitch of her voice, she addressed the girls:  “You girls are honored to be among the first generation of jawari to be favored with the benefit of a qahramanah to train you.  Yours is only the sixth to be appointed.  Hong was the first.  And her little jawari—what are they called?”

“I made them take new names to remind them, and everyone they know, that they are mine now,” Hong reported, as casually as one might mention finding a misplaced spoon.  Although the girls could not see anything other than her boots, vague movements reflected in them, and the black stone floor, they could sense as she twisted a bit, gesturing back over her shoulder:  “Honghua, Hongjiao, Hongzhi, and Hongan.  Show respect, bitches.”

And immediately the four girls swarmed forward and began pressing their lips to her boots, so she was now surrounded by a ring of six subservient jawari.  The excitement and enthusiasm of her four girls were palpable and intense.  Either they were eagerly looking forward to something special, or they were simply the highest, happiest people in hell.

Channah and Fang congratulated her on their responsiveness.  Laughingly, Channah asked:  “You made them add ‘Hong’ to their names?”

“No, their old names were stupid and didn’t go with mine so I just gave them new ones.”

“Eminently practical,” Channah complemented her, and snickered.  “Are they ready?”

“Of course, Domina!  They are predictably—pathetically—eager.  Desperate, as men are.”

Literature Section “06-66 Dance of the Qahramanat I”—Part 66 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1143 words—Accompanying Images:  1605-1607—Published 2025-04-18—©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.

1602 06-65 Fang effortlessly bitch-walking the girls^
1603 06-65 Four Beauties to rival Chas and Penny^
1604 06-65 The Queen Bee Alpha Female Überfrau^

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.  At the foreboding Chang’an Castle, Penny and Chas are trapped, held by their Domina Channah while the mysterious and powerful Duchess Fang tests their compliance with her thumbs in the girls’ mouths, her long nails tickling the backs of their throats.  NOW:

“Mmm… your big pink dolphins make nice and compliant pond fish.  Your eager surprise visitor will be very pleased with their gentle dispositions.”  Fang spoke carefully, almost going out of her way to concentrate on Penny’s conflicted eyes as the faintest expression of satisfied pleasure, almost hidden successfully, flashed across her face.

Channah, who always seemed to know everything, gratifyingly stiffened a bit in surprise behind the girls.  “Visitor?  Who?”

As soon as the glint of amusement was gone from her face, Fang looked up at Channah, keeping her hands where they were.   “Your other wild horse.  I mean beside that one.”  She nodded her head toward Fury, who gave a snort of satisfaction.  “Not domesticated and neutered like these two.”  Her mouth twisted in a cruel smile, enjoying humiliating them in passing.  “Apparently, she was eager to observe their first dance.”

Channah, back to her usual self, snorted with satisfaction.  “Then I’m glad she missed it.  These two are so fun to play with, I couldn’t wait until we reached our paradise.  I gave the girls a little taste of what’s expected of them at your satanikoklus.”

“And how did they handle it, Your Majesty?”

“Like they were practically born to it.  Of course, Penny’s the shy one, but they were both most enthusiastic.”  The girls blushed at this description.

Fang smiled down at them, not entirely nicely, pulling her thumbs outward in their mouths, her sharp nails like fishhooks pulling up and out, distending their cheeks, as she laughed deep in her throat, eventually popping her thumbs out and lightly slapping each girl’s cheek.

“And do they know what pleases you, Your Majesty?  Although I gather from Penny’s sharp intake of breath, that she has some idea?”

“She knows exactly what I want,” Channah replied, both of them pleased at the way Penny squirmed.

“Then I suppose the only question is whether she loves you enough to give it to you,” Fang mused, looking contemplatively, almost judgmentally, at Penny’s burning, blushing face.

“That is about the size of it,” Channah sniggered.

Without letting go of Penny’s chin, or allowing her to break eye contact, Fang lowered her other hand to rest on Chas’s crotch, and then squeeze it.  Chas shuddered and cried out with surprise, but not resistance.

“It doesn’t feel like you’re asking very much.”

“I’m really not,” Channah chortled, seeming to have a lot more fun with this exchange than the reserved Fang.  “Might we impose on you, Fang dear, by continuing this conversation at your hetaraslakos?”

“Of course.  Your company there is always welcome.  Also, if I may, I had wedding gifts prepared for your girls.  Perhaps it would please you if I shared them now?”

“Really?”  A saucy glint immediately appeared in Channah’s eye, and she spoke for all three of them when she said:  “By all means, my curiosity is not the only thing you’re arousing.  We would like to see!”

Fang looked at the girls, as serene as always, deadpanning:  “I’d pull you by your little leads, but you’re far too short.  I’d have to walk with my knees bent.”  So she took each girl by her hair and the scruff of her neck, making them bend forward a little bit, and bitch-walked them towards the nearest door.  “As you know, Your Majesty, we actually have three hetaraslakos, one on each side.  But today, I would guess the best to try would be one of those you flew nearest, because they may have attracted a larger share of the damned.”

The girls remained carefully silent but shared what they would have liked to have been a furtive glance between themselves.

“You didn’t know?” Fang asked for the second time since they had met.  “You didn’t recognize any friends or relatives?”

“Fang… you’re naughty,” Channah teased.  “It’s no fun when you give everything away.  Yes, girls, the red devils and demons are the damned.  Or,” she reflected thoughtfully, “What we call the damned.  Since I suppose, technically, you could say everyone here, other than the quite rare sill-living visitors such as yourself, is damned.  But we use the term to mean them, the most-miserable and least-capable residents of hell.” 

Penny opened her mouth to ask about it, then visibly craned her neck toward the Countess, as much as her hand would allow, and fell silent.

Fang nodded.  “A wise girl does not keep buying before she learns the price.”

As the women walked, they switched to another language neither girl understood, or indeed had ever heard before.  They were busy enough without listening:  At the uncomfortable angle Fang was holding them, it took all their effort and attention just to crane their necks enough, and raise their eyes enough, so they could see where they were going well enough to avoid falling flat on their faces.  Although the inflections and tones of the language the women spoke were strange, neither one felt like their conversation was directed at the girls.  Instead, Penny’s best guess was, Channah was asking questions about Chang’an, or perhaps all of Hell in her absence, and Fang was answering them.

In the middle of the large and elegant building nearest the central triangle where they had landed, there was a small, parallelogram-shaped courtyard.  What appeared to be fashion workshops were visible through the windows on the right, facing a large, ornate, heavily-barred door to their left flanked by two impassive soldiers who came to rigid attention with eyes front the instant they detected Fang’s group approaching.  Immediately above the doorway were two balconies on the second and third floors, with a handful of beautiful women chatting and looking out from them over what seemed like a perfectly dismal little courtyard to Penny.  Putting herself in their place, and considering by comparison how much she missed the cool breezes and rich green-and-brown colors of Earth, she could only imagine how sterile and unpleasant life must be here to make standing on one of those porches, in this place, attractive.  It’s not like there were cool breezes on the balcony, after all; only the ever-spraying sand.

The beautiful girls immediately summoned an older woman, who nodded and bowed repeatedly as Fang spoke with her, before disappearing from sight.  The two guards, hearing the exchange, used a heavy key to unlock the gates and swing them open, confirming what had been obvious when they were still closed:  namely, that a pair of heavy wooden doors painted yellow, were immediately behind the gate.

Channah and Fang continued to wait, speaking animatedly, the Duchess continuing to use the girls as armrests, until the yellow doors were pulled open by four girls so absolutely beautiful, they immediately made Chas and Penny feel self-conscious.  Each girl carried a box wrapped in delicate red paper.  Rather than emerging, they stayed with the doors, two of them holding each one of them open, and all of them curtsying as they faced one another. 

After a momentary, but nonetheless dramatic, pause, a fifth girl strolled out of what seemed to be a harem.

And she reset the bar.

Literature Section “06-65 Hella Honeymoon XXI”—Part 65 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1077 words—Accompanying Images:  1602-1604—Published 2025-04-17—©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.

1599 06-64 Fang bends and twists the helpless girls to her will^
1600 06-64 The girls show respect to their new Domina^
1601 06-64 Fang forces the girls to take her thumbs^

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.  Landing at the foreboding Chang’an Castle, Penny stumbles and is caught by the mysterious and powerful Duchess Fang.  NOW:

The tall, powerful, high-ranking woman didn’t move her arm an inch, or tell Penny to rise, and somehow Penny knew she wanted her to stay in her awkward and clearly-dependent half-curtsying position to emphasize her weakness.  With her other hand, the woman ran her fingers through Penny’s reddish-brown hair, frowning.  “Red.  You must be the one called ‘Pen-ants.’”

“Yes, Mistress,” she began, not about to correct her, and amazed anyone would have considered her important enough to mention.  “I’m honored—”

“Yes, you are.”  And then, with a glint of a genuine if predatory smile, she let go of Penny’s arm, asking in surprise:  “Nothing’s been explained to you, has it?”

Penny stumbled back and recovered her balance, opening her mouth but relieved enough when Channah strode up, saving her the need to speak by interjecting.

“Of course not!  She’s practically a child!  Get over here, Chas!” she called, as she and the woman embraced one another with a confusing, stressful combination of intimacy, warmth, and tension.  “And I don’t mind you having a bit of fun and another avenue for… working things out.”

Penny, of course, had no idea what they were talking about, but thought it a near-certainty it portended nothing good, trying her best to remain submissive and pleasant, instead of bursting out with the hundred questions she had—about what they were saying, about this remarkable succubus, and about anything and everything she had experienced since walking through the portal.  The reptilian smile shared by the two succubae didn’t give her any greater comfort.

“Your Majesty,” the woman, in her turn, bowed shallowly but quite formally.  “You honor me.”  Whether she meant with her visit, or… whatever had just passed between them, Penny was uncertain.

“My dear Fang, may I present my two new Princess-Courtesans, Chastity and Penance Batonnoir.”

Both girls curtsied again, formally and deeply, bowing their heads.  “Mistress,” they chorused.

“I look forward to… having you both,” the woman said, her imperfectly-concealed expression of distaste casting doubt upon her polite words.  Words chosen as carefully as she always spoke, making it seem her ambiguous wording was deliberate, as Channah laughed:

“I’m sure.  Girls, this is Duchess Fang of Chang’an, my oldest and most-powerful vassal in China.  What you call Cathay.”

“China?”  Penny asked, as she was wont to do. 

Channah smirked, stroking Penny’s hair possessively.  “Penny’s just full of questions.  I’m sure you’ll enjoy helping her learn how—and when—to ask them properly.”  Then she stage-whispered in Penny’s ear:  “You’d better behave around this one.  She’s known as a very effective trainer.”

“I’m sure I will,” Countess Fang agreed, looking at Penny as if she were sizing the poor girl up to see how many wolves she could feed.

“What outsiders call ‘China’ considers itself, with some justification, the center of the human world, with a vast population and more-developed technology and culture than many other human domains.  ‘Cathay’ is a term for the open steppe country North of China, origin of the Mongols who not too long ago nearly conquered all of Asia and Europe.  You see, Penny, when you ask me a question, I will answer it.  And then, I will make you do something for me.  Remember this favor when you return.  I certainly will.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Penny swallowed and shrank back against Channah without intending to, stifling her urge to ask what Chinese people called China.

“I’m appointing Fang as one of your Dominae,” Channah advised them.  “Whenever you visit here without me, she will be in charge of you, and of course you are to obey her as you would obey me.”

“Yes, Domina,” the girls agreed nervously.  “A pleasure to meet you, Domina,” they curtsied again to Fang.

Pleasing Channah

Penny took extra, nervous care to curtsy as low as she could and to hold her pose as long as she could without disrupting the pace of events.  And something in Fang’s eyes took notice, not displeased with her courtesy…. or perhaps her fear.  “Duchess Fang has consented to help with your training in the arts of pillowing and love.”

The girls gasped, both reflexively making eye contact with their new trainer, who seemed more curious about, than pleased or displeased by, their surprise and embarrassment, or by Channah’s announcement.

“And while I know you’re going to love the next week with me, I thought it would be a perfect start to our honeymoon for her to help you get in the right mindset for it by helping you remember and focus on what’s most important about it.”

“Which is?” the Duchess prompted them.

“Pleasing Domina?” Penny whispered.

Fang put her hand under Penny’s chin, forcing it up with her fingers and running her thumb aggressively around Penny’s lips.  Despite herself, shocked little Penny might instinctively have tried to pull away if she hadn’t already been backed against Channah with nowhere to go.  Continuing to regard Penny predatorily, even as she put her other hand on top of Chas’s head possessively, she commented:  “There might be some hope for you yet, big-open-inviting-mouth princess.”

Penny snapped her lips closed, only to find herself sucking on Fang’s thumb.  Rather than withdrawing it, Fang quite deliberately pushed it further in.  “A thumbsucker.  I’ve seen babies and toddlers do that in China, but never adults.  Are you an infant?”

“More of a natural-born toe-sucker once you get to know her,” Channah smirked, then clapped approvingly:  “Look at the poor darling’s face!  She feels violated and embarrassed.”

“But too polite and intimidated to spit me out,” Fang observed, working her thumb back and forth in Penny’s mouth while the two succubae laughed.  Looking at Chas, she said, simply, “Open!” and pushed her other thumb into Chas’s mouth.  “Close!”  and Chas snapped her lips shut around her other thumb.  She was now held in the same awkward fashion as Penny, and subjected to the same suggestive motions.  “Your two pink dolphins are easy to catch.  I don’t think they have much future in the wild.”

“Hothouse flowers,” Channah admitted, putting her arms around both girls while Fang, licking her lips, stepped closer, so her legs were pressing into their crotches and their heads were forced slightly back against Channah’s shoulders, and Fang, with a mildly curious expression, pushed her thumbs as far as she could into the girls’ mouths, liking it when their eyes watered and they struggled not to choke at the tickling of her long nails on the backs of their throats.

Literature Section “06-64 Hella Honeymoon XX”—Part 64 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1081 words—Accompanying Images:  1599-1601—Published 2025-04-16—©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.

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.