PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, Chastity, and Penance are honeymooning at Channah’s secret tropical paradise.  After becoming concerned Chastity was playing her (and afraid she was being gullible), Channah is angrily and rigorously testing Penny by pushing her limits, most especially the ultra-sensitive girl’s willingness to accept pain for her Mistress.  NOW:

“You actually want to be bound for this, don’t you?  To make it easier for you to give up?” she asked archly, shifting her weight to her other foot and raising up on the ball of her foot so the heel she was worshiping was a little off the ground.  “Get in there, baby,” she murmured, enjoying her piteous efforts.

“Maybe—maybe I do want it a little,” she confessed.  “Or maybe I need it so I know I can obey you because that’s all I want to do and I don’t know if my body will take it,” she whispered. 

“Oh… that’s the sweetest thing to say….  Seven hells, you’re completely despicable.”

She whined apologetically.  “I—I probably do like to be trussed up and helpless for you.  But… but I’m certain I do want to give up.  I know I want to give up everything to you I really do,” she clarified.  “For you. I want to give everything I have, to you.  Please, help me do that!  Please put me in bondage so I won’t disappoint you, I couldn’t stand it!” her words were dissolving into tears, and indeed, there was not another moment until they were finished and she was almost done soothing her scalded baby-girl that she was not crying like a little bitch.

“And I want to… put you in bondage, sweetie,” she purred.  “And I will.  Before the morning is out.  I’m going to bind you tighter and, in more discomfort and fear, than you can even imagine, to please me.  I promise.  Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Domina,” she whimpered.

“Because I do want you to give it up, all of it, everything, for me, I promise you,” she agreed, catching herself moaning the words.  And then, in a sickly-sweet-but-not-genuinely-sweet voice, she qualified:  “I want to take everything you have from you, until only your adoration is left.  But that means pushing you as hard as you can be pushed.  Harder, even.”

“Yes, Domina,” she whispered, her voice shaking with fear.

“And that way, I’ll be able to tell the difference between pretty bullshit words, and your sincerest and most-genuine heart.”

“Yes, Domina.”

“Don’t you want me to show you your truth, darling?  Your most-genuine truth, under conditions when you cannot possibly hide anything from me?”

“I—I—yes, I want to give you everything, but I’m afraid I’ll fail you!”

“I’m afraid you’ll fail me, too,” she agreed, her voice turning hard again.  “So let’s see.  The only way we can.”

“Yes, Domina,” she wailed, clenching Channah’s ankles harder, withdrawing her tongue, and kissing Channah’s arch as hard as she could, while she spread her knees wider and waited.

Channah burst out laughing:  “That’s soooo cute!  Thank you, darling, but if you knew anything about sex or bondage I’d think you were trying to trick me.”

“I’m sorry, Domina, I don’t understand?”

She rolled her eyes in disbelief that she was so afraid of what was to come, she was continuing to cry as she knelt under Channah’s feet, holding onto her as if for dear life.

“You are such a sorry and abject worm, pudding!  I can’t believe you’re crying like this!  I’m going to give you something to cry about, meek mouse, especially after this display!  Because you deserve it all the more!”

“But—but that’s what I’m afraid of!”

“But despite the—significant pleasure I derive from your fearful obsequiousness and spineless toadying… Let’s give you another sex lesson, shall we?  This position won’t work.  As hot as it would be to be your sweet loving mama and your big bad dominatrix all at once, that’s not really practical.  Mainly because when I’m enjoying your suffering, the last thing I want to do is ease it. I want to test it, I want to bring out the most and the best of you I possibly can.  I want you to suffer for me!”  And then she added:  “And for me!  The love you feel while I’m hurting you is the greatest, purest, truest love of all, because it’s without selfishness, without ego, without greed.  That’s what I want, your pure, true, raw love despite who I am and what I do!  Do you understand?!”

“I do!”

“Are you sure?”

“I am!  It’s terrible and its evil but it makes perfect sense, Domina,” she howled.  “I understand…”

“How many am I going to give you, bitch?”

“I don’t know, Domina,” she admitted, her voice quavering.  “I know, I know one—for cumming without permission yesterday?”

“You remembered your transgression.  That’s a start, at least.  What else?”

“I—I’m not sure, Domina—was I bad more than once?—oh, because I made a mess on Chastity after you’d already bathed her, Domina?!” she asked desperately.

Channah laughed, having not even considered that a separate offense, but pleased with Penny’s effort to talk her way into more trouble.  Apparently she was much better at imagining her own transgressions than Channah, who had been struggling to think of even two.  “That’s two.  Good girl!  You’re starting to redeem yourself.  What else?”

“I—I don’t know, I—I—when I asked for permission to pee this morning?  Only, I need to so badly, so so badly, Domina, but I know you don’t have the time for that—”

“Three!  Damn right I don’t, I’m a Queen!  You should be honored by each and every insult I hurl at you, treasuring how generous I am with my time and breath to even bother insulting you!”  She laughed, harshly, but being harsh not because she was still angry and disappointed and feeling stupid, the way she had earlier.  Now, she realized, pleased to feel her spirits lifting, she was feeling harsh because she felt powerful and aroused, meaning everything was right with the world once again. 

“What’s wrong?!  Keep going!”  She barked, as she stepped away from her human rag, turning and swinging her leg to jab her purse, trying to remember where boys’ bladders were.  “You’re not half done yet!”

With a moan, she sobbed:  “I—I slept too long, Domina?”  Penny guessed, her voice quaking at the thought of a fourth violation.  She had never had more than three blows before. 

“Fower!” she exaggerated the pronunciation, as she balanced on one leg using her expert, well-practiced toes to jab and pinch Penny, fishing for her little testicles and catching one almost immediately, prompting a screech of pain that—now that she was feeling better—made her break down and laugh genuinely.  “Oh, you can stop counting, sweetie-pie!  I’m going to give you five, my little peach pudding.  The fifth crack is for being too smart and too proud for your own good, dummy!  And, yes, when I’m finished, I expect you to shower my feet with your gratitude for intervening and saving you before you talked your way up to twice as many whacks!’

“Thank you, Domina,” Penny managed, so miserably and sadly Channah almost felt a rush of tenderness for her girl. 

Turning her throne-chair so it faced the open space between the bed and the garden, she prodded her puppet’s purse again roughly with her toes.  “Good girl.  Now come over here, put your head under my throne, and hold the legs with your hands.”  As Penny scrambled to obey, she explained:  “Channel your fear and your instincts into holding onto my throne.  You can even try to crawl under it.  I don’t care if you pulverize the legs in your hands, or upend the whole thing and break it in half.   But hold onto it with both hands and stay here, in spanking position, until I’m done, to show your loyalty.  Do you understand?!

“Yes, Domina,” she wailed, her absurdly-elevated voice a measure of her emotional distress and fear.

Literature Section “07-22 Begging for Bondage”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 22 of Chapter Seven, “Channah’s Slavegirls:  Pawns of the Court of Lust”—1299 words—Accompanying Images:  2083-2086—Published 2025-07-22—©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.

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah, Chastity, and Penance are honeymooning at Channah’s secret tropical paradise.  After becoming concerned Chastity was playing her (and afraid she was being gullible), Channah is angrily and rigorously testing Penny by pushing her limits—at the moment, by mentally browbeating her while physically intimidating her.  NOW:

“Keep your eyes on me and your hands right where they are, but spread your legs further for me.  Push your little girl parts down on the floor like I taught you,” she commanded, not tentatively—Channah was nothing if not confident—but reservedly, with some interrogatory quality, as if there were a question in her mind about something.

And when Penny complied, Channah gave a deep, satisfied sigh.  “I’m so pleased you’re not just frozen in terror, but actively and consciously intimidated and afraid,” she giggled, and seeing her girl’s pain and confusion, elaborated:  “You’re shivering and hyperventilating on your knees before me, honeyslut.  You’re so scared of me and my big, bad, bat—aren’t you?”

“Yes, Domina,” she whimpered and nodded.  “I’m very scared.  You—you and your bat are big and bad, Domina.  You’re so powerful and—and mean,” she burst out, afraid to say it but unwilling not to say it.  “You’re so much stronger—mentally as well as physically—than me.  And I’m—very sensitive.”

“Soft,” she suggested, her voice dripping with contempt.

“Yes, Domina,” and she managed to hang her head a bit without disobeying her master by lowering her eyes.   

“Soft.  Like pudding,” she suggested with a snicker.

“Yes, Domina.  Soft like pudding.”

Everything about you is soft like pudding, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Domina,” she whispered.  “You’re so big and bad and strong, and—and mean, you’re really mean—and I’m so soft and vulnerable.  It’s not fair.  But—”

“But what?

“But I love you,” she whispered.  “I love you and I want you so bad.”

“Fuck,” Channah repeated herself.  “That’s about the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.  Maybe one of the hottest things any mortal has ever said to me.  No—definitely one of the hottest,” she revised her opinion.  “Almost as hot as you admitting I’m smarter than you.  You mean it, all of it, don’t you?”

“Yes of course Domina!  I do, Domina,” she admitted in a small voice, betraying with every word an undertone of resentment and anger at what she was being compelled to say that she didn’t want to admit to.  “I would never say that if it weren’t true.”

“How does that make you feel?” she gloated, curiously, tolerating it as her girl thought about it, because she had a genuinely puzzled expression on her face and Channah knew she was sincerely considering something she hadn’t thought about before, and probably didn’t want to think about.  She mused to herself that watching someone think about things they didn’t want to, things that pained them deeply to consider, was a form of torturing in itself.  Indeed, what she loved more than anything was when she could make a mortal suffer in body and soul both, at the same time.  Now, that was a honeymoon-worthy goal.  “Wait—you think about that.  I want you to think about that long and hard and sincerely.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Domina.”

“While I hurt you,” she concluded, with a vicious, delighted, cruel grin on her face.  “Oh fuck yes,” she chortled as her slut reacted, practically—no, literally, she decided—fighting herself to remain still before her master, when all she wanted to do was run.

“You want to run, don’t you?” she breathed, slowly bringing her feet back down to the ground, not wanting to spook the girl—not yet, at least.

She nodded, still looking and holding her Domina’s gaze obediently.

“Every instinct and sinew in your body is screaming at you to get up on your feet and run, isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course, Domina!” Penny sobbed.  “Please don’t, don’t use your—I’m so scared!”

“But I’ve told you how much dread and adoration—especially together—arouse me!  And even your little pea-brain is smart enough to remember that, isn’t it?”

“Yes Domina,” she whispered.

“Then why are you kneeling here like a scared bitch, practically begging me to hurt you?” she laughed.

“To please you!” she burst out, sobbing.  “Because I love you!  Because I want to be with you, to stay with you—and I want you to want to be with me!  I’ve done something wrong and made you unhappy.  I just want to make it right!  I want you to love me and be happy with me!”

“Lillith and Cane, that’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Of course it is, Domina!” she cried, overcome.  “Of course it is!”  She wept.  And she broke position to scramble forward and start laying placatory and apologetic kisses on Channah’s feet, while Channah shuddered with an outright orgasm, her body shaking with the force of a lightning bolt burning through her body and soul, matching the depth and dimensions of Penny’s mortification before her.

Ffff—uck!” she groaned, torn and balanced between touching herself and just accepting the frustrating, satisfying sensations as they ripped through her.  In the end she surrendered to her own body, trusting it and letting it take her where it wanted, without her coaxing.  And that made it last.  That made it a tantalizingly slow tease, feeling Penny’s head between her legs, licking her heels where they met the floor.

When it was over, she decided it had been perfect, not only because it ultimately satisfied, but because it whet her appetite for more and deeper satisfaction.

After breathing deeply, in a semi-meditative state, for several minutes, she finally came back to herself, and to the room, where Penny was still, pathetically, craning her neck, her shoulders pressed against the front of Channah’s ankles, her tongue stretching out to tickle the bottom of the back of Channah’s heel, one of the most pitifully subservient gestures she could make.  Oh, yessss.

“You’re restoring my faith so far, Penny,” she admitted.  “Redeeming yourself and your sisterwife.  But you have to prove you mean it.  Not with groveling and humiliation and darkness and dirt—which you thrive on, like some perverted species of mushroom—but with what you genuinely hate and fear above all else.”

Penny moued pitifully, physically flinching to hear what her Domina thought of her, and to be forced to ask herself if there was any truth in it.  “Yes, Domina,” her voice breaking.  “Please, give me a chance, and please, give Chastity another chance to prove to you—I’m sure she wants to redeem herself!  Please give us both a chance.  We’ll be good girls for you.  We’ll be the best girls we can be, I promise!  And you—” she whispered “I’m sorry, but you may need to bind me.  I don’t know if I can—behave—”

“Oh ho ho…” she weighed Penny’s words, feeling slightly mollified, and even having a sliver of hope for her and Chastity.  “Sugarbear, that’s the hottest idea.”

Literature Section “07-21 The Unevenest Love of All”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 21 of Chapter Seven, “Channah’s Slavegirls:  Pawns of the Court of Lust”—1125 words—Accompanying Images:  2079-2082—Published 2025-07-21—©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.

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

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

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

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

“I should think so.  What are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, what?”

“Roger is smart, Domina.”

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

“Yes, Domina.”

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

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

“And how about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What consequences?”

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

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

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

“What area?”

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

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

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

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

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

PREVIOUSLY:  By trickery and deadly threat, eight-year-old Pen has agreed to help the succubae until dawn, as they raid the Venetian capitol late on a storm-torn night of floods, seeking to destroy what the Venetian spy service has learned about the succubae and to release an imprisoned grandfather and a young girl accused of witchraft.  Pen has now been geased to compel him and spelled to trust Channah and believe she is by his side.  NOW: 

Pen, bound as a safety net by a leash attached to a harness, and following Chava’s reasonable suggestions and whispers, crossed the hallowed space, picked the lock (under a minor delusion that he was simply unlocking a difficult lock using several keys at once), opened the door of the archive, and crept inside to access the secret files of Europe’s, and perhaps the world’s, most-extensive and most-advanced spy agency:  The Council of Ten of the Serenissima. 

Within the windowless archive, with Chava’s guidance and encouragement, Pen found and raided the Venetians’ magic books, written in Latin, the language of religion and science in Western Europe, which Pen read and spoke fluently, along with his aristocratic caste’s language of Norman-influenced French, and his local language of English.  He read all their titles for Chava, setting aside for Chava’s review the very, very few Chava didn’t already possess or hadn’t already known of, or that were so rare they would be difficult or impossible for the Venetians to replace.  Although the books, collectively, contained many grains of truth, they also contained falsehoods and honest misapprehensions which the Succubae valued, not to keep their own magical primacy over humans, but to help them predict the actions of the humans who hunted them and the other creatures of hell.

Turning to the written records of the Council of Ten, even though they were written in Venetian (rather than Latin), a language Pen had only first been exposed to when his Aunt brought him to Venice earlier in the year, his Latin and French allowed him to read the spines, introductions, and section titles in the books well enough to locate what the succubae wanted most:  The records of the interrogation, conviction, and execution of Anzola Ipato, by one Gasparo Orseolo of the Council of Ten, who had been burned at the stake on Wednesday, the 3rd of October, 1515.  Morally, exposing an eight-year-old with even partial literacy of Venetian to such material was one of several testaments given during the course of the evening, to Chava’s limitations as a surrogate mother-figure. Technically, the very existence of the record was a testament to the efficacy of the Venetian secret service, which had accomplished something very few humans, human governments, or even human civilizations were ever able to achieve:  identifying, capturing, and questioning an actual demon of hell:  Tirtzah the succubus.  After weeks of agonizing tortures, including especially vile and inhuman tortures methods devised by the Inquisition that were not normally performed by the Venetians (who relied heavily on the strappado), her mortal form, and thus her ability to visit Earth, was destroyed by fire, possibly the most agonizing form of banishment from the Earthly plane. 

Chava had persuaded Pen to push, pull, and drag the heavy folio volume back across the church to her position in the Venetian Senate Hall.  There, with Pen nestled on her lap, she read and carefully edited the record, using her magical powers and her great manual skills, to alter—as subtly as possible to try and evade any Venetians re-reading it from suspecting it had been changed—the text.  As much as she estimated she could get away with, she replaced information learned about the succubae with inaccurate information that would be less helpful, or even self-defeating, the next time the Court of Lust tangled with the Serene Republic.  Chava’s focus was on things Tirtzah had said that might hint at or reveal anything the succubae perceived as a potential weakness or exploit.  Then she had made Pen reverse the difficult process of moving the volume back into the library.  And because Pen lacked the strength to lift the folio-sized hardbound volume over his head back up to the high shelf he had pulled it from, she had him pull down all the nearby volumes and pile them up with the altered volume somewhere in the middle.

Pen also found and recovered for Chava, Tirtzah’s magical ring, which the Venetians had taken from Tirtzah.  Ultimately, they had not been able to make much out of it since capturing it.  By recovering it, the succubae ensured they never would.

Finally, Chava had tried various ways to help Pen make sense of a section of books written—and even labeled on their spines—with lines and geometric combinations of lines that Chava suspected was a Venetian code.  This, neither she, nor any of the succubae, had anticipated:  volumes so secret, they were encoded when written and kept within their very fortress and capitol?

In the end, she decided against doing anything with them, at least not tonight.  Even if the boy started with the last volume and worked his way backward, dragging every single volume out to her, it might take him hours to bring her the volumes covering 1515.  If, indeed, she could even identify which ones those were.  And then to repeat her work on the Venetian-language records, she would have to decipher the code well enough not only to make sense of the text, but to try and replace existing words with credible substitutes.  The only other option would be to burn the lot; but in addition to being a terrible and unnecessary loss of knowledge—a possibility she loathed on principle—it would be pretty clear to the Venetians someone had been in their secret archive and was trying to destroy at least something the Venetians had learned and hidden there.  Chava couldn’t even be sure what the coded—or cuneiform, for that matter—books were, let alone whether they actually recorded anything about Tirtzah, which seemed unlikely.  If they did, keeping a copy in Latin would rather tend to defeat the purpose of keeping a copy in code.  And because Anzola Ipato’s trial was only two years’ past, thus alerted to an effort to tamper with their institutional memory, they could and probably even would reconstruct much or all of it—accurately—from living memories, which would completely reverse Chava’s efforts to destroy the Venetians’ Latin record of their recently-acquired knowledge of succubae.  Destroying a vast knowledge without helping the succubae, and thereby making it unlikely she would destroy the limited knowledge actually harmful to the succubae?  That would be the worst of both worlds, and she decided against it.

In the end, Chava—with Pen’s semi-witting help—completed her mission before Channah and Rivqah finished theirs.  Instead of risking Pen coming out from under her influence while he was in the secret archive, and thus beyond her physical control, she brought him back to her and, inspired, decided to make the most of the opportunity by influencing Penny to do whatever he could, to save himself.  Chava warned him he literally could not escape the succubae until dawn, and must avoid crossing Channah, or if possible even attracting her attention again, in the meantime.  But once he saw any part of the sun, he should immediately, or as soon thereafter as possible, slip away when neither Channah, nor Rivqah, nor Miryam was watching him, and run for his very life.  When Pen protested that Chava should come with him, or that he wanted to see her again, she promised that if he obeyed her like a good boy, she would visit him again in a week.  Finally, still concerned that she had not impressed the danger upon him sufficiently, or persuaded him that a 5,000-year-old succubus didn’t need an eight-year-old boy to protect her, and having already used him to cross the sanctified church and plunder the secret archive, she added the force of compulsion to ensure his commitment.

Literature Section “06-124 Grimm Transformations VIII:  Child Laborer or Child Soldier?”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 124 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1264 words—Accompanying Images:  1960-1963—Published 2025-06-24—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

PREVIOUSLY:  n/a.  When I was kicked off DeviantArt in early March, I was advancing two story lines:  The first, adult Penny’s and adult Chastity’s introduction to hard-core succubus sexual and moral domination; and the second, child Pentecost’s very first introduction to the succubae.  As best I could tell, images generated in relation to the second story line (not the first one) were what DA’s algorithms decided were unacceptable and caused me to be kicked off DA without any opportunity to defend my work or make it conform to DA’s standards or even be told what DA claimed I was doing wrong.  I therefore backed off this second story line until I felt like I had enough distance and perspective to avoid DA’s matrix-agent-like algorithm. 

Mind you, I don’t think I have any worry about failing to comply with DA’s policies—I don’t think I actually ever violated them before—but rather, to avoid being summarily and arbitrarily dumped from the platform and having all my work and comments and followers wiped out.  The arbitrariness with which this gruesome artistic death sentence is applied is a significant deterrent, and even an overbearing threat, to creativity, artistic integrity, and intellectual honesty.  I can’t really say this thread of the story is what it would have been before my previous avatar’s execution; but rather, it’s a similar story I care about enough to tell, even though it is limited and redirected enough to give me some hope I might—might—be able to do the story-line and the subject matter justice without the figurative death penalty from DA.  I guess we’ll see.

Here, then, is a summary of the second plotline to date.  NOW:

On All Souls’ Eve in 1517 AD, Channah, with three members of her Court (Miryam, Rivqah, and Chava) and a human child swept up with them (Pentecost Argent), are mounting a surreptitious assault on the Doge’s Palace, capitol of the Serenissima—the Serene Republic of Venice. 

Venice is drowning:  Storms dominating the Adriatic and Central Mediterranean have brought acqua alta (“high water”) to the lagoon city, flooding its streets and basements even as rain and lightning lash its domes and towers and canals.  

Queen Channah and her Duchesses, Miryam and Rivqah, all three of them trained and experienced assassins and infiltrators, are spearheading the assault.  By contrast, Chava, her Queen of Arms, is a strong, skilled metalsmith and stonecutter with a meticulous personality and a bookish mind, brought along with them for her very specialized knowledge and skills—not her prowess in battle.  Chava had come to Venice the night before, on All Hallows’ Eve, an auspicious night of power and disruption, to raid the empty, unconsecrated church of San Zaccaria for precious metals and holy water to use in service of her Queen.

There, she had been surprised by Pen, a neglected English child in the inadequate care of an indifferent Aunt.  Like many human children, Pen had some capacity for sensing and perceiving the supernatural.  Like a much smaller number of such children, he was ignored and reckless enough to pursue his curiosity about the things he sensed, rather than sensibly ignoring or cowering from them.  At San Zaccaria, Chava and Pen had been immediately drawn to one another by their compatible personalities and—much more powerfully—their respective needs to take advantage of their chance encounter to fill the awful, aching holes in their own lives and persons.  Pen’s innocence, and Chava’s capacity for empathy, conspired to protect Pen, an altar boy at the church, and allow Chava to complete her mission.  She had rocked him to sleep in her warm, dry cloak and then stolen away with her prizes, the most supernaturally-charged relics and ritual items in the church, leaving only the crucifix on the altar as a concession to comfort the boy and assuage his conscience.

Tonight, All Souls’ Eve, he had surprised Chava (again) and Channah as they prepared to assault the Palace.  Driven again by feelings deeper than and separate from common sense and conscious reason, desperate for Chava’s attention and care, he had come to return her cloak.  By doing so, he had inadvertently brought himself to the attention of probably the wiliest, most-passionate, and most-evil creature to still walk the surface of the Earth.  His arrival, discovering them in the storm-filled Piazza San Marco minutes before their secret raid on the Venetian capitol began, had complicated the Queen’s evil plans, to say the least.  Too young and innocent to be of proper interest to the succubae in his own right, he was simply a nuisance.  Leaving him alive risked his reporting their presence to Venice’s nocturnal guards, the Lords of the Night.  But leaving the body of an eight-year-old child on the metaphorical steps of the palace risked raising a general alarm.  And by revealing Chava’s tender tendencies to Channah, Pen had unknowingly put Chava at risk of punishment by her Queen, because he was not the first human toward whom Chava had shown what Channah considered an inappropriately undemonic attitude.  Indeed, this was not even the first time Channah’s own plans had been inconvenienced by one of Chava’s little pets. 

Fortunately for Pen’s life—if not exactly his soul—Channah, always practical, egotistical, and purposeful above all, had seen a way to turn the unexpected complication to her advantage.  Because the Venetians had protected their secret archives on the second floor of the palace behind a church that had been properly consecrated, neither the Succubae nor any of their familiars could easily sneak into the archives.  At least, not without either risking teleporting into a space they had never seen (possibly to be bisected by a wooden panel, or have their guts or legs or arms scrambled by a pile of books) or undertaking a loud and destructive aerial assault on the archive by flying demons blasting holes in the stone walls of the Venetian capital in the middle of a crowded city.  Neither option was really acceptable.  And thus, the succubae required a human who would be able to enter hallowed ground:  A human neither under their compulsion, nor already marked as the property of hell. 

They needed a human either detached enough from humanity or reality, or vulnerable enough to influence and trickery, to do their bidding.  And to keep their purposes secret from humanity, they preferred not to hire or recruit humans ahead-of-time.  Instead, they had planned to free a teenage girl already known to them, tempted but not yet owned by them, from Venetian custody in exchange for her help, and then use her to raid the archives for them.  Having already been labeled a witch by the Venetians, tortured, and thrown in the semi-submerged cells of the Palace known as the Wells because they weren’t quite ready to execute a minor girl, the succubae counted her as well reliable to do what they wanted in exchanged for being spirited away.  But if Chava could use the boy to raid the archives while they accomplished their other dark purposes, it would shorten their time in the Palace and thus improve their chances of escaping without the Venetians ever figuring out for certain whether they had raided the secret archives. 

With a combination of artful deceit and deadly threats, Channah had tricked and cowed Pen into agreeing to comply with a geas:  not a compulsion, which might keep him from entering the church; and not a contract, which he was too immature to make; but a deadly magical consequence that he understood would befall him if he failed to do what he had said he would do:  To do everything he could to help the succubae until dawn, and to obey Chava’s instructions until dawn, insofar as he could do those things without committing any deadly sins.  In exchange, Channah had ungenerously promised not to murder him that very night.

With Channah’s plan thus secured, Rivqah scaled St. Mark’s Basilica and from her vantage point atop it, slew the Venetian guards outside the Doge’s Palace.  Channah and Chava rushed Pen to the Palace and past the guards too quickly for him to examine them or even properly see them, while Channah lied to him that the guards had simply been knocked unconscious; while Miryam dragged their bodies out of sight and, disguised as a Venetian soldier, took their place guarding the half-finished stairway leading to the planned, “new” entrance to the Palace.

Chava and Pen made their way to the Senate Room, just outside the church, where Chava shrewdly used a trust spell, building on Pen’s natural gullibility as a child and the rapport they had developed the previous night, not to control his actions or decisions, but to persuade him she was by his side rather than talking and appearing to him inside his head.  Then she simply guided him, as an adult might guide and influence a good boy like Pentecost Argent, to break into and rob the Venetians’ secret archive, by convincing him they were simply recovering an article stolen from the succubus and taking a peek at the Venetian’s books. 

Literature Section “06-123 Grimm Transformations VII:  The Red Beast and the Little Boy”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 123 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1237 words—Accompanying Images:  1956-1959—Published 2025-06-23—©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.


1649 06-75 Pleaser (Penny)

PREVIOUSLY:  Queen Channah has decided to take an opportunity to teach Hanim Qahramanah about how to train her girls, and combines the occasion with an early start to her honeymoon.  They are practicing trust-building.  NOW:

“Do you trust me, Chas?” Channah asked next, and again.

“I do,” she pledged like an eager bride, to all appearances grateful for the chance to repeat it.  Like she’d be happy to repeat it all day.

Esmeray considered, and then nodded to her girl:  “Penny, will you trust me?”

Penny swallowed.  “I will, Qahramanah.”

“Do you promise?”

Penny nodded.  “Yes, Mistress.  I promise to trust you.”

“Good.”

“See how easy that was?”  Channah concluded.  “Now reward her.  Show your appreciation.”

“How?”  Esmeray asked suspiciously.

“Pet her hair, hold her hand, run your fingers down her arm… some gesture of intimacy,” Channah demonstrated by resting her hand on the side of Chas’s neck, making her gasp.

Esmeray looked Penny up and down, and finally placed her hand on Penny’s dress, along her side, just at the base of her ribs, forcing a small but unconvincing smile.

Channah snorted.  “Buy gloves.  Before we return.  I want you to have a pair when we meet you here again.”

She met Channah’s eyes and nodded her agreement.

“Now stand up, Chas.” 

“You may rise, Penny,” Esmeray pronounced, deliberately ostentatiously, goofing around.

Turning Chas around, Channah replaced her blindfold as Esmeray imitated her with Penny.  Then the two women returned the girls to their back-to-back positions.

Donning the Purple

When she met Channah’s eyes, the Queen smiled and held her finger over her lips.  “Pick another item from the box,” she said, while with her hands, she mimed placing a bit in her mouth.  Esmeray nodded, smiling slightly.  “Now that the girls are blind, they will feel extra vulnerable.  It’s why we started with the blindfolds.  Being able to see is one of the most important forms of control, especially for a trans girl.  But it applies to everyone.”  With an impish look, she gently pushed Chas into Penny, and the two women laughed at the way they struggled to avoid touching one another again, reacting to any touch as if they’d been shocked with static electricity.

Channah took one of the two gags, lifting it over Chas’s head without touching her, then leaning in tight to the girl’s back, startling her, with her lips inches from Chas’s ear.  Esmeray imitated her.  Almost—not quite touching Penny anywhere, but getting close, looking very serious and thoughtful about it.  “Open wide, girls,” Channah commanded, popping the horse bit between Chas’s teeth and tugging back.  “This one you don’t want to be tight in the back—you want that little bit of distance.  But in front, it’s another matter.  It’s okay to stretch those lips a little bit.”  She laughed deeply in her throat as Esmeray surprised Penny by tugging harder so she could ratchet the strap far enough to reach the next hole.  “Their lips shouldn’t be so tight they’re white or stiff.  But a little bit of discomfort is okay.  You can test for extra stretch in their lips, too, if you’re willing to stick your finger in their mouth.”  And she demonstrated, tugging the corners of Chas’s lips a bit to demonstrate they still had room to extend further, her voice becoming more sing-songy.  “I like them to remember they’re suffering for our pleasure.  Something bearable so it doesn’t distract them from us, but intense enough to assure me I’m on their minds constantly.”

“Yes…” Esmeray nodded slowly, pleased with the idea.  “Are you uncomfortable, little girl?”

“Yeph, khawamannath,” Penny murmured around her bit, nodding her head while the women laughed at her pronunciation.  “Pleeff nopsahbite!”

“Well, I couldn’t understand that at all,” Esmeray protested and shrugged, meanly but not quite convincingly, clapping her girl on the shoulders and reaching back into the box, frowning and looking askance at Channah.

“Did you find something… interesting?”

“Yes, Mistress,” she agreed, holding up two hollow brass bars shaped like Latin crosses, with rings at the end of each side arm and at the end of the long bottom arm, while the top arm curved like a scorpion’s tail, ending in a glass bulb.  They clanged slightly against one another, catching the girls’ attention.                     

Channah shook her head, containing her urge to smile.  “Let’s stick with purple for now.”  And she nodded with approval as Esmeray handed her one arm cuff, and then a second.

“Hold your arms up for me,” Channah ordered Chas, using her own hands to guide his where she wanted them, and nodded to Esmeray, who told Penny: 

“You too, Penny.  Hands up to your waist.” 

Channah shuffled counter-clockwise so she was looking at the girls from the side and began cuffing Chas’s right wrist, while Esmeray did the same to Penny.  Penny made a slight whimpering sound.

“Hot,” Channah responded, leaning in and kissing him lightly on the cheek.  “So glad you girls are gagged so we don’t have to contend with your words and ideas anymore.  Just your raw feelings.  Be good and stay still, sweetie.  You don’t really have any choice, do you?”  she taunted her.  “You’re in hell, my hell, surrounded by the damned and my guards.  Accepting bondage is just a way for you to prove you trust me.  So romantic…” she sighed, rooting through the box for the remaining wrist cuffs and handing one to Esmeray.  “Let’s swap girls,” Channah giggled, fairly confident she was the only one in this small group who would understand the joke.  Maybe Chas… maybe.  But she was only a libertine by England’s tight-laced standards.

“Same little-finger test, Mistress?”  Esmeray asked, checking Penny’s right wrist before turning to Chas’s left.

“Always, child.  It’s still tight enough they can’t slide them over their thumbs, but you can always double-check if you’re concerned.”  And she demonstrated, making sure the cuffs were narrower than Chas’s wrists.

Next, after finding the four purple leg restraints, the woman squatted down beside the girls and bound their ankles.  Channah ran her hand over the girls’ calves and ankles, drawing a curious stare from Esmeray.  “I love the way the stockings feel on their smooth legs.  All silky and slippery.”  Hesitantly, Esmeray ran her own fingers up Penny’s leg, liking the way she could make the girl shiver when her fingers slipped up behind her knees to her thighs.  Channah paused and watched until Esmeray became self-conscious of her observation and stopped.  “Do you like it?”

She thought, and admitted:  “I like the gags because I can tell them what to do but they can’t engage me back in any way.  No questions from Little Miss Bigmouth—what?”

“That’s exactly what Fang called her,” Channah chittered.

“It fits.  As you warned me.  But now:  No questions, no complaints, no protests, no arguments….  And,” she set Chas’s ankle cuff down for a moment, running her hands up and down both girls’ legs, a little more relaxed than a moment earlier.  “I like the stockings for the same reason:  I can feel them, even imagine them, but I’m not actually, you know…”

“Touching them?”

“Exactly.”

Literature Section “06-75 Dance of the Qahramanat X”Part 75 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1155 words—Accompanying Images:  1649-1652—Published 2025-04-27—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

PREVIOUSLY:  Queen Channah has decided to take an opportunity to teach Hanim Qahramanah about how to train her girls, and combines the occasion with an early start to her honeymoon.  While discussing trust and discipline, Channah surprises Esmeray by reminding her of a time she thought she had run away undetected.  NOW:

A Trip Down Memory Back-Alley

“Of course I knew, my little runaway,” Channah laughed musically.  “You were a clever teenager, and clearly a wild one, but we’ve been wrangling hucows since before human history even began.   What was so important about that flight, do you think?”

Esmeray opened her mouth as if to answer, then snapped it shut, eyes darting around as if searching for the right answer in the air around her.  And then, amazingly, they seemed to find what she was looking for, widening, and flitting briefly past Channah’s, before she looked intently down at the floor.

Channah stared at her silently until she whispered:  “That was the last time I left.  And the first time I came back on my own.”

Channah beamed.  “And have I asked you to take risks since then?”

Esmeray laughed.  “I should think so!”

“So why are you here, helping me now?”  Esmeray looked anywhere but at Channah.  “Because you’re not stupid, Esmeray.  Because even with everything you experienced, all the times your trust was violated, you still know that trusting someone, sometimes, is unavoidable.  And have I ever betrayed your trust, Esmeray?”

“Not yet,” she admitted hoarsely.

Channah rolled her eyes but otherwise let it go. 

Trust Games

“Now I want Penny and Chas to learn to trust you.  While I train Chas, I want you to begin the process of teaching Penny that she belongs by your side, or at your feet before you.  Schooling her so she’ll never run away from you, even when she’s back near the places she grew up, because she’s learned that she’s better off and happier with you.”  Channah smiled thinly.  “Even when you’re a total bitch.” 

Esmeray met her eyes for a long moment, and finally nodded.  “I’ll try.”

“I don’t think you have to try to be a total bitch, my dear,” Channah snickered cattily.  “But the really hard part for you is, if you want Penny to trust you, you have to learn to trust her.  Just as I trust you.”

“You—trust—” Esmeray looked down at Penny for a moment, startled by the idea, then startled that the idea of someone trusting her, itself startled her.  Finally she looked back at Channah.  Exasperated, she repeated herself:  “I’ll.  Try.

“Good.  You’re already Penny’s world.  Can you see that?  How sincerely she’s been attending to you since I asked her?  She’s a good girl.  Now you focus on her.”

With a deep breath, Esmeray squared her shoulders and met Penny’s eyes, continuing to hold her wrists and wrapped fists.  She stood about a foot away from the smaller woman. 

“Ask her to kneel to you.”

“’Ask’?” 

“Yes.  Of course, as Penny’s qahramanah, it’s your prerogative to order her to her knees any time you want for any reason, or for no reason at all.  Penny knows that as well as you do.  Don’t you, Penny?”

“Yes, Domina.”

Channah petted Penny’s hair absently as she continued speaking to Esmeray:  “Remember, this moment isn’t about force.  This moment is about Penny acknowledging her place, admitting her acceptance of your dominance.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Channah caught her eye and mouthed “Pleaser,” as she ruffled Penny’s hair a second before dropping her hand.  Out loud, she said:  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to take that risk and see.”  Leaning forward, she emphasized:  “That’s the point.”

Staring solemnly down at Penny a moment, Esmeray breathed deeply again—and then looked back up at Channah:  “Ask?!  I—I don’t like to ask.  I prefer to tell.

“I know you do,” Channah chuckled.  “And I feel similarly.  But the question that distinguishes us right now, is why?” 

“Because it’s easier.”

“But why?” And when she looked confused, Channah explained:  “I’ve been Queen of Hell longer than the Pharaonic dynasties ruled Egypt.  It’s almost always easier for me to order than to ask because I know from long experience, I can trust my own knowledge and judgment.  But is that why it’s easier for you?  You’re an impressive young woman, but you are just that:  young.  A mere quarter-century young.  Are you so sure you have all the answers already, or is it easier not to ask, because you’re afraid to leave the decision up to them?”

Esmeray stared at her blankly, eyes losing focus as she considered the question, and perhaps even how it might apply to her.  She didn’t seem to reach a solid answer, but she did look a bit frustrated.

Channah pointed at Penny from behind again, and repeated silently:  “Pleaser.”  Then Channah moved in front of Chas, took her hands, and silently commanded the attention of her eyes.  Not that Chas could see anything else with the vision of Channah before him.  Channah smirked back at her, pleased.  “Be sure to use Penny’s name when you address her.  Frequently.  Using her name, while she addresses you with your title, will both reinforce the natural hierarchy between you; and make you feel closer to one another.  Now, follow my example.  If you want to change the words, good.  The more unique and authentic your words are, the better.  But I want you to get similar commitments from Penny, that I receive from Chas.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Esmeray agreed.

“And when I say ‘similar,’ for example:  Chas already trusts me.  Don’t you, Chas?”

“Oh, yes Domina!” she assured her earnestly.  It was not yet the love Penny felt, but it was as close to that as it was to mere trust. 

“Whereas you do not trust that Penny trusts you yet.  You have just revealed that.”

Esmeray looked discomfited, and sounded almost accusatory:  “You’re going to tell me that’s somehow a sign of weakness, too, aren’t you?  Even though only suckers trust other people.”

“Correct!  Or perhaps more precisely, it’s a sign of a lack of confidence in your own ability to command the trust of your lessers.  Learn to act like you trust others, even if you do not.”  Channah gave her full, undivided attention to Chas, smiling softly and looking into her eyes.

“Will you please kneel to me?”

“Oh, yes, Domina,” she sighed, sliding down to her knees like a leaf floating to the ground.

Channah looked at Esmeray, who glanced at her before addressing Penny:  “Penny, I would like you to show your trust in me by kneeling before me.  Will you do that?”

“Yes, Qahramanah,” she answered, sliding to her knees without taking her eyes from Esmeray’s.  Esmeray smiled despite herself.

“Now, can you step closer to her?”  Channah asked, stepping forward so she was immediately in front of Chas, her legs pressed against the girl’s shoulders and arms, her crotch directly in the girl’s face, the two of them sharing a playful laugh together as she craned her neck to keep Channah’s eyes.  “Like this.  See how it forces her to strain for you?”

“Standing against her,” Esmeray intoned.  “Right up against her.”

“Or even further,” Channah winked at Esmeray, then down at Chas, stepping several more inches forward, pushing Chas backwards so she had to strain her muscles to hold her position.  “I’d push her all the way until she fell back on her hands, except I don’t want to scuff their lovely new mitts.  But it’s always a move to consider.”

Esmeray snorted, and made herself step forward, forcing Penny to rear back a few inches, just like Chas.  “It’s not so bad,” she reported, her tone leaving it open whether she was talking to Channah or to herself; her slight shiver making Penny promise herself to do her best.

Literature Section “06-74 Dance of the Qahramanat IX”Part 74 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1252 words—Accompanying Images:  1645-1648—Published 2025-04-26—©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.

1644 06-73 Channah rescues Penny in her dreams

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

“Here, let’s try something,” Channah decided.  “Chas, will you be still and patient for me?”

“Yes, Domina.”

“Good girl.”  She squeezed Chas’s hand reassuringly and stepped around, removing Chas’s blindfold and then turning her to face sideways.  “Stay,” she smirked at Chas, then removed Penny’s blindfold to find her staring curiously but acceptingly at Channah.  Spinning her back to face Esmeray, Channah announced:  “Penny, I want you to give Esmeray every bit of your attention.  Chas, you can listen, but when I’m ready for you, I want you to give me your full attention as well.”

“Of course, Domina.”

“Penny, I’ve taken off your blindfold for a moment so you can watch Esmeray, and listen to her, and give her every one of your senses.”

“Yes, Domina,” she agreed, seriously, looking up into Esmeray’s eyes.

“Esmeray, I want you to take Penny’s hands.”  Esmeray stiffened, and Channah repeated soothingly:  “It’s okay, Esmeray.  Here—even better…”  She reached down into the box and removed two pairs of something that looked like purple mittens with short belts attached, handing one pair to Esmeray and commanding the girls:  “Penny and Chas, hold up your hands in front of you and make them into fists.”

“Domina?” Penny asked, surprised and even recoiling a bit, while Chas did as she was told.

“Did you see that reaction, Esmeray?”

She nodded slowly.

“What did you see?  How did she react when she wondered if I was going to have her be aggressive?”

“She—didn’t like the idea,” Esmeray nodded uncertainly.

“Correct!  No, she did not.  She’s very sweet and trusting.  Even more than the others.  That’s why she’s perfect for you to practice on.”  Then, turning back to Penny, Channah clarified:  “Obviously you girls will leave the mucho toro macho posing to the mamluks.  I meant, curl your fingers and thumbs as if you were trying to make weak little fists.  Imagine your lover is carrying you away against your will and you’re going to beat ineffectively on his chest in a futile gesture of protest.”

“Domina!”  Penny protested weakly, turning pink and breathing faster, while the women laughed.  But she held her hands up in loose little fists. 

“See how her thumbs are outside like they’re supposed to be?  Actually, she’s been trained to fight like the rest of them.  She just doesn’t have the… let’s be honest, the cojones to be a toro.”

“I see that.  More of a vaca marica.”

“Qahramanah…” Penny whined softly.

“Is that resistance?”  Esmeray snapped, and when Penny swallowed and shook her head, she concluded:  “I didn’t think so.”

“Slide the glove over her fist.  Pull it as hard as you can, and then fasten the belt around her wrist,” Channah instructed, demonstrating on Chas.

“I’m not sure it’s big enough…”

“Fortunately, the two of them are almost identical in size.  One of the many reasons they make such a perfect pair.  And they’ve been carefully measured in the past few weeks.  Do you remember, Penny?”

“Yes, Domina.  For… grown-up clothes,” Penny blushed charmingly again.

“Physically grown-up, at least.  As much as you’re going to.  As a boy anyway.” When they were both done binding their girls’ hands, the straps around the wrists locking their hands into fists inside the thickly-padded gloves, Channah stood back and repeated:  “Now you can touch the leather instead of the girl.”

“And she’s—she’s really quite helpless already,” Esmeray marveled, facing Penny and holding her by her leather-cuffed wrists and leather-bound fistettes. 

“Now, this is a very important and intimate moment,” Channah cautioned her.  “Imagine she is your daughter.”

“She’s not going to like that,” Esmeray shook her head, something ugly and fierce stealing across her face and eyes, as Penny quickly looked down, gasping.

Channah considered a moment.  “Have you ever had a pet?”

“I had a puppy once.  On the streets of Constantinople.  We protected each other.”

“Imagine she’s your puppy.  That puppy.”

Esmeray suddenly beamed.  “I like that idea.  He’s—she’s—my little savior.  I’d love to make her my pet.  She’d be perfect!”

Channah smothered a smile.  “Then the stars have aligned for you, Esmeray dear.  As Penny’s quaramanah, she is yours to do anything you see fit to when she’s under your authority.  Anything your heart desires.  Your puppy, your plaything, your piglet, your placemat.”  Channah shrugged.  “Anything you want to fashion her into.”

“Good.  You’re my puppy now!” she informed the girl gaily.

“Yes, Qahramanah,” Penny answered, uncertain but unresisting.

“What I want is for both of you to learn to trust one another and be close to one another.  Partly that’s about force, Esmeray—showing her you’re always in charge, correcting her immediately for any infraction, and occasionally reminding her how utterly she is yours, even when she’s been a good little doggie for you.”

“Yesss,” Esmeray nodded, looking down at Penny with an odd light in her eyes. 

“But you don’t want a Spartacus who’s only obedient as long as he has to be.  You want a pleaser who genuinely wants to submit to you.  Penny’s naturally submissive so she wants to obey and follow.  But you want her to feel that submission for you, especially for you.  More for you than anyone except for me.”

“But trusting is stupid,” Esmeray frowned and shook her head, disagreeing, looking troubled.  “Penny’s not stupid.  Discipline is better.”

“Actually,” Channah agreed, “none of your slave girls are slouches in the intellect department.  We don’t recruit many idiots.  There’s no reason to, unless they have some extraordinary compensating talent.  Everyone on this platform, almost all the mamluks and jawari, are smart.”

“Then—” Esmeray made a frustrated gesture.  “What are we trying to achieve here?”

 “Trust, Esmeray.  I thought that was clear.  As it turns out, you are wrong about trust.  Discipline is useful, but discipline and trust go together.  They’re not substitutes.  Not when molding a servant.  Every one of my vassals and slaves on this platform proves it:  trust is smart.  Yes, trust can always be betrayed.  And yet it’s necessary—humans couldn’t survive without it.”

I survived.”

Channah cackled.  “Ah, Esmeray, the memory plays tricks.  Do you remember where I found you?”

She reddened.

“Locked underground like a half-drowned rat, likely bound for the inquisitor’s stake?  Do you remember the first time I took you back to Constantinople, a few years later, and you ran back to your old street?  Alley, really?”

“You—you knew about that?!” Esmeray gasped, surprised and worried.

Literature Section “06-73 Dance of the Qahramanat VIII”Part 73 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1076 words—Accompanying Images:  1641-1644—Published 2025-04-25—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.