Tag: jariya

2037 07-12 Venus Mantrap
2038 07-12 Nocturnal Predator
2039 07-12 The Serpent in the Garden
2040 07-12 Down the Garden Path
2041 07-12 Led Astray
2042 07-12 Don’t Look Up

PREVIOUSLY:  After a week of hazing by the succubae, and a looooong day and night’s sleep, the first full day of Chastity’s and Penance’s honeymoon with Channah is finally beginning.  NOW:

They had tumbled into Channah’s bed around midday.  Like humans, succubae experienced sleep cycles; but the most-active phases of their sleep, in particular, differed markedly.  Channah, in her sleep, had visited her current stable of dream-lovers.  She liked to keep 36 of them.  She wasn’t rigid about it, but it was a good target number, one that kept her fed and fueled her active and assertive life as a Queen of Hell.  Every succubus had her own preferred hunting grounds.  Because of the sheer scale of her appetites, and the power level required to dominate the rest of her species, she haunted sailing ships and army camps.  She kept seducing those she found awake by whispering into and touching their subconscious minds, to keep them focused on her and make them weaker.  And she had ridden those she found most-vulnerable and asleep, as hard as she could.  By the earliest hours of the morning, she was refreshed and filled to bursting with energy.

Even as she opened her eyes, she sensed Chastity, to her left, was awake; while Penance, to her right, remained asleep.  Turning her head slowly she met Chastity’s eyes, watching her so intently it took the motion of her head to alert her Channah was awake.  “Are you restless, my love?” she whispered.

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly…. I slept quite a long time.”

“Have you been awake long?”

“Perhaps an hour, or a bit more?” Chas guessed.

“Staring at me?” She smiled slyly.  “Or staring at us both?”

She didn’t need to see color clearly to know when Chas was blushing.  “A little bit.  Well, yes.”

“And?  How did it make you feel?”

“Amazed,” Chas admitted.  “You’re the most beautiful things in the world.  And so blessed…” then she caught herself, blushing.  “Or… I mean… fortunate.”

“I love it,” she smirked.  “And I love you for thinking that.”  She rolled toward Chas and kissed her softly, once, before deciding that wasn’t enough and kissing her again.  They wrapped their arms around one another, moving slowly so as not to wake Penny, and held one another tightly for the longest, sweetest kissing session either of them could remember for a long time.

It was only when Chas shifted slightly that Channah growled a throaty laugh, reaching her hand down to find the source of the problem.  Pulling back an inch and licking her lips, she giggled:  “Ohhh… baby… are those nasty Persian Gates starting to pinch again?”

“Yes, Domina,” Chas confessed. 

“Mm… well, let’s do something about that.”

“Oh… yes, please Mistress,” Chastity agreed, desperate to release the pressure she was feeling.

“Let’s get your leathers,” she whispered.  “This is my day, remember?”

“Yes, Domina,” Chas swallowed.  “What about Penny?”

She looked back over her shoulder, fondly, then grinned.  “Sleeping the sleep of the innocent at heart.  I’ve got more than enough energy for both of you.  Let’s let him rest up while I wear you out and then maybe you’ll be able to sleep a bit more.”  And she laughed, pushing Chas off the bed before her, and then taking her by the hand to lead her down the stairs from her bedroom.  At the bottom of the stairs she physically turned Chas so she was facing the garden and informed him laughingly:  “Keep your eyes front, missy, while I look through your toybox.  Well…. My Toybox, of toys for playing with Chastity,” she clarified.

“Um…. To tell you the truth, Domina, it’s so dark I don’t think I could see what you were doing even if I were right beside you,” Chas admitted.  “But of course I won’t peek, Domina.”

“Better yet, why don’t you get some cushions from the salon—in front of you—and bring them along?”  Channah could see as well in darkness as in daylight; even better, in some ways, in some wavelengths.  Placing most of the items she had selected in a bag, she took Chas’s arm (since her hands were now full holding three large cushions), kissed her, and set off along the garden path toward the baths.

“Are we going to take another bath?”  Chas asked breathlessly.

“You’ll see,” she promised, laughing girlishly and hiding whatever she had behind her, leading Chas all the way to the second spring, the one that fed the main garden stream.  There, she turned right, leading Chas along its rocky bank, under the canopy of the trees until they reached another open spot, mixed garden and grass, overlooking the great valley.  Within it, at the edge overlooking the valley, was a simple stone gazebo.

“It’s all so beautiful—I feel like it’s a magical world… it’s—” and suddenly she interrupted herself with a sharp intake of breath.  Channah laughed, guessing what she had seen:  the heavy hook, hanging from the roof of the gazebo, just a bit above head level.

“Set the cushions on the stone platform,” she commanded, tugging Chas forward, not allowing her to stop for more than a second beside the platform, and positioned her directly beneath the hook.  Dropping whatever she had brought with a rustle and clatter, she brought both her hands to Chas’s cheeks and neck, pulling her in for a long, slow, hot kiss, and then running her hands over Chastity’s shoulders and tummy and breasts while continuing to kiss her.

Breaking their kiss and humming happily, she squatted down to retrieve her bag and handed it to Chastity to hold while she rummaged through it until she found what she was looking for.  While she kissed Chastity’s cheeks and lips softly, Chastity felt Channah take her right hand and then her left, massaging each arm and fastening the cuffs in their familiar places around her wrists.  Next, laughing as she kissed Chastity deeply, she pulled two more cuffs out of the bag.  Then she and smouched her way down Chastity’s neck, breasts, and stomach to tease her caged flesh and kiss, kiss, kiss under her belly button and in the crevices where her legs met her torso and even the front of her thighs, totally distracting Chastity—not that she needed to—as she locked Chastity’s ankles. 

Working her way back up Chas’s body, she pulled a short length of chain from the bag, drawing the cold metal teasingly up Chas’s skin, catching both her arms, and pulling her hands in front of her.  In the night, in the shadow of the gazebo, Chastity saw only the corner of Channah’s wicked smile clearly, but she knew she was looking straight into her eyes, as she used carabiners to attach the two ends of the chain to her wrist cuffs.  Chastity let out a shuddering breath as Channah lifted her hands over her head and slid the chain over the hook.

“Have you figured it out yet, sweetie?”

Chas knew she meant, what Channah had in mind, because she had not locked or tied Chas’s hands to the hook and Chas could slip them off the hook anytime if she wanted.  “No…” she admitted, both excited and scared at once. 

With a deep-throated laugh, Channah drew another short chain from the bag as she kissed her way back down her girl’s body and chained her ankles together.

“I—I don’t understand—” Chas whined, as she began moving back up again.

“I think you do, baby.”

“I mean—I mean, you can’t—can you?”

Literature Section “07-12 The Garden Path at Night”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 12 of Chapter Seven, “Channah’s Slavegirls:  Pawns of the Court of Lust”—1230 words—Accompanying Images:  2037-2042—Published 2025-07-12—©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.

1856 06-104 Coven observing Channah and Penny through shield
1857 06-104 Coven opening shield
1858 06-104 Triggering Chastity
1859 06-104 Chastity’s Fate

Explicit version containing phallic, oralsex, analingus, and penetration themes at 06-104 Triggering Chastity at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Chas is shackled by her ankles with her wrists shackled behind her, blindfolded, and gagged, with her ears plugged.  Esmeray is shackled by the ankles overlooking the sea of devils and demons, restrained from falling down into the chasm they inhabit, only by a waist-high guard rail; while Hong holds her gently from behind, holding hands with her arms around Esmeray.  They are surprised by a new arrival.  NOW:

“Your Grace!” Hong gushed, releasing Esmeray, turning, and curtsying in a single fluid motion, matching the position already assumed by her four jawari. 

Esmeray, distracted by the physically stunning succubus in front of her and with no real good alternatives, settled for squatting where she stood, holding the top rail to keep her balance and help her pull back up to a standing position.  Having grown up in Ottoman Constantinople, unlike many Europeans, Esmeray had met plenty of black women in her life.  But none like this one.  She was well over six feet tall, voluptuous, and musclebound from head to toe with beautiful midnight-black skin, long thick braided hair, an intelligent, resolute face, and a determined expression that would deter anyone but a fool from wasting her time with nonsense.  She wore a light brown dress with white and dark brown geometric patterns Esmeray had never seen before, heavy brown almost masculine boots—perhaps because no boots made for normal women would have fit on her feet—and carried a large, heavy-looking canvas bag as if it were filled with air.

When she spoke, it was with a charming, musical accent almost at odds with her deep alto voice:  “Hong, always a pleasure.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Hong blushed, pleased.

“These are yours?” she asked, gesturing to her jawari.

“Yes, Your Grace.  Th—”

“And who is this?” she gestured towards the shackled woman.

“Hanim Esmeray Azlynn,” Hong answered immediately, startling Esmeray with her knowledge of Esmeray’s second name.  “Her Majesty’s Qahramanah.”

“Ah,” the woman nodded significantly, with the faintest hint of a smile.  “That makes more sense, then.”  Turning to Esmeray, she continued:  “The Queen told us you were wild.  Well,” she shrugged, with just enough of a hint of embarrassment to soften the statement, “I think ‘crazy’ may have been the actual language.  But I admit I didn’t expect to find a Qahramanah chained up.  That’s fairly atypical.”

“It’s her first day, Your Grace,” Hong explained smoothly, a fact for which the embarrassed Esmeray was glad on this one occasion.  “And she was faced with a… challenging situation.  It did not seem to be punishment, only correction,” Hong clarified.

“You look calm enough,” the woman opined, looking her up and down.  “Are you going to give me any trouble, or are you ready to be unchained?  We have a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it.”

Esmeray expected the last thing she would be inclined to do with a woman of this one’s stature, is make trouble.  And in the unlikely event she did, it would be carefully-planned, from behind, and heavily-armed.  Not shackled to a ledge.  “I’m recovered Your Grace,” she followed Hong’s lead.  “Thank you.”

“You can release her,” she addressed Hong again.  “Is this one—” she gestured at the naked young jariya shackled, bound, blindfolded, earplugged, and bent over the rail beside Esmeray “The English jariya called Chastity?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good.  You—” she tossed a jar of olive oil to one of Hong’s girls.  “Prepare her.”

“Immediately, Your Grace,” she answered, quickly and unceremoniously moving to the helplessly-bound girl as they all watched—who wouldn’t have?—Hongan raise the bottle and artfully hold it a foot or so over Chastity’s back, so that when she began to pour, it came down directly on her coccyx with a force they all could immediately imagine, would feel like a stream of water to Chas, who jerked in surprise, and then tugged, reflexively and quite uselessly, from side to side as if trying to escape both the stream and her bonds.  The oil then followed gravity downhill, causing Chas to shiver, before dripping from the lowest point of her to the floor.

The woman laughed harshly.  “Good.  Hong, you have trained your bitches well.”

“Thank you, Duchess Kadidia,” she answered, using the opportunity to communicate the woman’s name and rank to Esmeray.

“Commendable artistry.  Thank you for reminding me of its benefits.  I was very—in an overly goal-oriented mood.  There’s not much time, but there’s enough for pleasure.”  Hongan blushed and curtsied cutely before Kadidia.  “Girls, while your Qahramanah releases Esmeray, I want the four of you to overstimulate our bad girl so she doesn’t feel neglected.  Use your four tongues and all forty of your fingers to lead her into distraction.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” they answered as one.  Hongjiao and Honghua dropped to their knees on either side of Hongan while Hongzhi, her greater original distance from Chas making her like the runt of a litter, spread her legs to stand on either side of the other girls and leaned forward over them.

Kadidia frowned as if making an artistic evaluation, trying not to laugh.  “Hmm… there’s not a lot of room there, is there?  You two on the sides can each keep one arm behind your sister.”

“Yws msh Kdd,” they murmured.  Hongan had ducked down, running her hands lightly along Chas’s calves and feet.  Hongjiao and Hongua dipped their hands in the oil before snaking them around her hips to play with her.  And Hongzhi used her hands to smear oil all over Chas’s back and shoulders.

Hong hissed with interest while Esmeray swallowed, looking down with all the judgment of a nun.  “It is pretty,” Kadidia concurred, setting her bag down, squatting beside it, and removing two brown leather harnesses from it.  Rooting deeper in her bag, she produced a small but elaborately-decorated wooden box, which Hong recognized as the last of her Domina’s wedding gifts to Channah.  Standing up, Kadidia opened the box, which contained two objects:  One a pair of golden tongs, the other both ordinary and extraordinary at once.  Ordinary, if suggestive, enough in unmistakable shape.  Extraordinary in its composition, which neither of the curious women really recognized or understood:  a deep, perfect black that absorbed light around it so perfectly no surface was even discernable.  Yet surely it must have one?

Using the tongs carefully but confidently to grip the base of the rounded tube, she set the box aside and asked Hong:  “Who’s the one standing?” 

“Hongzhi, Your Grace.”

“Hongzhi, please get the bottle of olive oil.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You other girls—as much as I’d enjoy seeing olive oil splashed over you—” they laughed coyly up at her, awaiting her command.  “I need two of you to lean forward, using the railing as leverage, and take hold of Chastity’s shoulders.  In just a moment her legs are going to give out, and I don’t want the weight of her body to wrench her shoulders.”  The girls nervously nodded, doing as they were bidden.  “Yes, Your Grace.”

“As soon as she falls, the four of you are to release her and lay her on her back with her hands above her head… there,” Duchess Kadidia pointed to a spot on the platform near where they had left Channah and Penance, but was now hidden by a thick, unnatural blackish-gray cloud of swirling smoke surrounded by ten succubae and one incubus. 

Hong gasped, amazed she hadn’t felt anything as the coven members arrived, and realizing just how charged with passion, agony, and energy the air around them had become to mask the disruptions their arrivals must have caused.

Kadidia was cautioning them:  “Once this begins, do not talk to me except in extreme emergency.  Stay close to us, but do not cause any distractions.  I will need to concentrate on Chastity.” Stepping forward and holding the object close to Chastity, she nodded at Hongzhi:  “Pour more oil.  Don’t be stingy, that’s right.  And now the tripper,” she indicated the daggerlike blade with her free hand.  When it was coated, the thick oil giving it a surface to shine and reflect the light of the torches as long as it clung to it, she lined it up and pushed it forward, its touch causing Chastity, to stiffen in surprise before slumping, dead weight, as Kadidia had warned she would.

Literature Section “06-104[X] Triggering Chastity”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 104 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1330 words::Explicit 1415 words—Accompanying Images:  1856-1859—Published 2025-06-01—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

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.


1708 06-83 Fear of Falling
1709 06-83 Into the Abyss
1710 06-83 The Fear Unto Death
1711 06-83 Helplessly Entombed
1712 06-83 Sweet Dreams of Scarlet Salvation
1713 06-83 Can You Be Saved by a Fallen Angel?

Explicit version containing anal themes at 06-83 The Unconditional Surrender of Penance Batonnoir at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny has been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, disoriented with her hands tied behind her back.  Walked to a waist-high guardrail along the edge of the castle parapet, she has just been pushed over it.  NOW:

Penny screamed ineffectively, silently, unheard even by herself and alone in her silence, as the combination of the shove in her back and the yank down on her leash propelled the top half of her body forward and down, and her center of gravity out beyond the rail, out beyond the relative safety of the edge, over the abyss.

As her head and shoulders plummeted down, gravity and the bar at her hips lifted her feet from the solidity of the platform and she went flying!  Inside her guts, the blind eel that dwelled there somehow connected to her emotions, and spasmed violently.

Until a moment later a sharp pull on her ankles stopped her from falling further.  It was so solid, so unyielding, her mind recognized she had not been caught by human—or even demon—hands.  Her bonds must have caught on something!  But that half-thought was about all she had in her and her body was out of control already, her deliberate mind having shut down and ceded control to the basest and most animal instincts, things so deep and distant she could not even recognize them as parts of herself.  Like foundry workers around an exploding furnace they were shouting soundless orders and alarms, flashes of sweaty muscles and hurrying silhouettes and panic-filled eyes rolling in trapped sockets, they made her body jerk and twitch in every direction, trying to free a hand, trying to catch on something else besides her ankles, trying to fall feet-first, trying and failing to do something, that would make a difference long after her will and intentions had shut down and closed their eyes, bracing for impact.

She flopped and jerked and twisted like a fish tumbling out of a net onto the deck of a boat.  In her absence, her body was trying to exert any slight degree of control that would allow it to survive and choose, if not with any specific haven in mind, simply to change what was happening already through no decision of its own.  Her body would take any fate other than the one her mind had told it to expect.  And her body would not give up, even without her mind to help.

It was several seconds before her reason could realize she still wasn’t falling, and work out they must have chained her ankles to something when they spread her legs.  With another lost expression, Penny sobbed and fell limp and ragged, her waist and her very life held by a solitary narrow iron bar, her momentum over it checked by her ankle cuffs, her arms still bound behind her back, emphasizing their uselessness and Penny’s own ineffectiveness as a living thing.

Penny screamed.  Penny screamed and wept, shaking and sobbing, her sense of balance telling her gravity still roared and slavered for her, wishing to snatch her away like the jaws of a wolf.

At first, Penny hardly registered, hardly had the room to register, that her dress and underskirts had been thrown over her head, before she was shocked and focused by something cold and hard and wet.  And the instant it touched her—

She felt absolutely nothing at all.

Nothing.

At.

All.

Not her own weight, lying on the narrow bar and tugging on the ankle chains.

Not voracious gravity, trying to devour her.

Not the hot and humid air pressing tightly around her.

Not her own heartbeat.

Not her own breath!

Not even the darkness and silence of her world.

A-B-S-O-L-U-T-E N-O-T-H-I-N-G-N-E-S-S.

And so Penny learned what complete and utter forlorn terror really was.

Was she dead?!

She must be dead.

But even death shouldn’t be so lonely and isolating.  So… naught.

She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would go mad.  And not slowly:  soon.  Maybe she already was.

Her mind was certainly thrown to mad thoughts without anything real to anchor it in any way.  Thoughts like these, that were real because they were the very world she was experiencing, raw and immediate, nothing esoteric about them:

What was happening to her body?!  Inside her own body?!  Her mind knew because it remembered.  When it was aware, it had rarely even realized how thoroughly it knew it was alive every second.  It felt its own breath, felt its own heart, sometimes even heard them or felt the rise and fall of its chest; sometimes smelled and felt the slick moisture of its own sweat.  Now, she could not even tell if her body—if she—was still there, or had ever really been there.  She didn’t know if she had ever even had a body at all.  Perhaps it had all been her imagination.  Or was her body being destroyed, inside and out, continuing the assault every sense she’d had, had been screaming at her to report?  It had to be; her senses were gone, unless reality was actually gone—and she had no way to tell.  Was she even now, falling towards the sea of devils and demons below, who would tear her to pieces for all eternity, over and over again?  Or had she died, and these were the last seconds of her consciousness, mere seconds stretching and lasting in a final desperate effort to cling to life?

She couldn’t say which was more disconcerting, more upsetting and unreal:  the loss of her body, or the loss of her world.  Because without her senses, she had nothing.  She had imagined she was lost with the mere departure of her sight, hearing, taste, and smell.  What she wouldn’t give to return to even that half-state of being!  To be without even touch, even balance?… Without anything, really.  Without the senses she had taken for granted, and the things they brought to her, reality itself did not exist.  She felt no gravity, and it was gravity that had connected her to this world all her life, like an umbilical cord to her mother, without her even realizing she felt it:  a sense of up and down, right and left, solidity.  Without the pull of the world she was utterly untethered.  There were no people.  There was no sun, no wind, no earth, no wind, no fire, no air, the very elements themselves dissolved, if they had ever existed at all.

Oh, Domina!  She thought, her mind crying where her body no longer existed to weep.  Her Domina! 

For the first time in her life, she felt a perfect clarity, a perfect certainty:

Penny knew, absolutely knew, with every shred and fiber of her being, that only her Domina could bring her back from… if she had had shoulders, she would have given up and shrugged.  She was nowhere.  There was nowhere to bring her back from.  But only her Domina could pluck her out of this absence and bring her back to reality, the world, her sweet smell, her soft skin, her warm love, bring Penny back to Penny herself, from this awful nothingness.

Oh Domina!  Please please please please please please bring me back to you!  PLEASE don’t let go, I know there is a golden spiritual umbilical thread between us, connecting us always, unbreakable and forever!  There has to be one because I need it, I need it so badly I can still feel it, because it’s the only thing that exists for me here!  The certainty you care about me is complete.  I don’t know why, I can’t understand your ways and wiles, and—and maybe I don’t need to.  A part of my soul knows I probably don’t want to.  But do need the fact that I know.  That you cared about something you perceived in me, with senses I don’t even possess, senses that must be able to find me now!  I just need to know you are going to bring me back to you!

You’re going to bring me back!  And that’s what I want, more than anything, to be back in your world, back at your feet, back where you want me.  Back where I BELONG.  I know it now!  Please hear me!  I’m sorry for having been so slow and suspicious.  I’M SORRY!!!  PLEASE!!!

I love you!  I need you!  I am NOTHING without you!  Not without you!

Please….

Literature Section “06-83[X]-The Unconditional Surrender of Penance Batonnoir”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 83 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1374 words::Explicit 1538 words—Accompanying Images:  1708-1712—Published 2025-05-05—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

1704 06-82 You can always kill him for the affront later
1705 06-82 So stupid!  He brought his junk to a knife fight!
1706 06-82 And then, she starts tugging on it!
1707 06-82 Sympathy from the Devil

Explicit version containing themes of arousal, afterglow at 06-82X The Real Punishment of Chastity Begins at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Chastity has been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, disoriented with her hands tied behind her back and left lying on a platform knowing only that there is no way off it without risking death or serious injury.  But now her tormentor is choking her.  NOW:

Chas’s tormentor doubled down, tightening the noose and jerking Chastity’s head back and forth as if trying to snap her neck, using the leash to drag Chastity tight up against her so she could pull even harder.

Like a stone being shot from a sling, panic rushed forward overtaking her as her situation sank in.  Utterly and rapidly purged of every thought except for survival, she began kicking and thrashing—the only two things she could do—trying to ignore how much it hurt her own arms and hands, trapped behind her as they were on the stone, hoping against hope she might throw off the leather strip that was killing her, instead of helping to break her own neck by putting more stresses on it. 

Choking, gasping, except for the pain in her hands, her arms, and her neck, her entire world was limited to rapidly-blooming terror and the struggle to breathe, even the peripheral pains starting to fade as her attention and her world narrowed and narrowed down to a few inches under her jaw, her burning lungs, and her panic.

Her resistance started to weaken as the energy drained from her muscles, not even adrenaline able to replace what oxygen-deprivation was taking until she became vaguely aware, in some remote part of her brain, that there were hands and other bodies all around them, even on top of Chas, pulling on his would-be murderer’s arms, fighting with her for control of the leash, and trying to loosen it.

After what seemed like forever, the leash loosened and Chas began gasping, her lungs heaving with effort to catch up, her awareness rapidly expanding back to include the knee of one of her rescuers on her chest, restricting her lungs, and her tormentor’s legs and boots kicking her as she was dragged away.

Insofar as Chas could tell, she was now alone with the woman on her chest, who slid off to kneel beside her even as she unwound the leash, leaving only Chas’s collar around her neck and her breathing unimpeded. 

A moment later, she felt fingers at her ear and motion inside her ear canal.

Sound exploded back into her awareness as the plug was removed:  closest and loudest, laughter.  Laughter!  She recognized Channah’s voice—the woman kneeling by her—and further away, she thought she could pick out a couple of other familiar voices.  Hang’s?  Fong’s?  Despite only having just met the latter two, she felt hurt and betrayed by all of them, and if she’d had the emotional reserves for it she would have been outraged.  Somehow, the fact she knew some of them, even if slightly, made the feeling of betrayal worse and intensely more personal than with respect to the voices she didn’t recognize. 

Instinctively, Chas tried to protest.  But although she caught herself uselessly trying to talk through the gag and the spell, she could not really muster the intensity of indignation she felt the situation deserved because she was too exhausted and her nerves were too shattered.

Somewhere in the direction she had been dragged, Chas recognized Esmeray’s voice.  Screaming:  screaming with rage and fury and the kind of indignation Chas could not muster, all tinged with something Chas’s heart still had enough bandwidth to recognize as a cousin to her own instinctive panic.  Practically spitting, the bloodlust Chas could hear directed at her, doused her own feelings of being slighted like a tubful of ice water poured over her body.

Surrounding Esmeray, there were a cluster of winded voices of people trying to subdue or remove her, some barking orders at her, some trying to reason with her quietly, but most of them, Chas was sure, tinged with some mild shade of amusement over her act of attempting to murder Chas.  Below and behind all the other sounds, the roaring, raucous ocean of the damned not only continued, but had surged, their howling seeming to be at the highest and most frantic pitch Chas had heard yet.

“Are you all right?”  Channah asked, still laughing, resting her hand lightly on Chas’s neck in a form of attempted comfort.  And then, before Chas even realized she was grunting and snorting insensibly Channah reminded her:  “Sweetie, you’re going to have to nod or shake your head for me.  You sound like—well, like a gagged woman trying to talk.”  And she laughed a bit harder.

Assessing herself, Chas decided that despite the soreness of her neck, the post-adrenaline jitters, and the even deeper bruises to her psyche, she was physically more-or-less intact, and she managed a nod.

“Good.  That’s good.  Are you able to breathe and recover?”  Chas nodded again, almost feeling cared for until it occurred to her Channah was making no move to remove her other earplug or otherwise release her.  “I’m glad, wifey dear.  I told you, I have plans for you, darling.  You need to take better care of yourself.  Do try to remember none of the other women on this roof are your wives or girlfriends, and it’s not all about you.  It’s best for everyone if you try to please us instead of thinking of yourself.  Understand, honey?”  Chas nodded, ignoring his burgeoning outrage as he concentrated on trying to figure out what it was important for her to know and understand for her own survival.

“You’re not going to like what comes next either.  But we’re all going to enjoy ourselves more than enough to keep the damned in a lather.  And Esmeray’s anger… lust and anger, that’s all the damned can feel or understand.”  Her voice fell, to something like hushed in this environment, expressing wonder:  “They’re going mad!  That’s all they are, now… wanting what they can’t have.  Don’t you dare tell Penny yet.  She’ll put it together fast enough anyway and I need her strong.”  She patted Chas’s forehead protectively.  “But as much as the thought of your suffering satisfies my own urge to teach you a lesson, it’s counterproductive out here.  The power we take from the damned is spiteful lust, so you  won’t be able to share in that power.  Oh, well.  More for me!”  She practically giggled.

She leaned close to Chas’s ear, and kissed him on the earlobe, and then between her temple and her ear, making Chas shiver with delight.  “You and Esmeray, together… you’re an emotional firestorm, the two of you.  So think about this:  Because I can’t trust Esmeray to leave you alive, I’m going to have to give Penny to her today, and she’s going to take out all the rage and upset you can hear from her, on Penny.  You did that to your sister-wife.”

And with that, the plug was pushed back into Chastity’s ear, and her world was plunged back into near-perfect stillness.

Literature Section “06-82[X] The Real Punishment of Chastity Begins”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 82 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1132 words::Explicit 1290 words—Accompanying Images:  1704-1707—Published 2025-05-04—©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.


1693 06-81 Yar dee har!  Ye’re a fine prize, lassie!
1694 06-81 Bosun, I’ll guard this prisoner in me own cabin!

1695 06-81 Mayhap the flat of my scimitar’ll hasten your step
1696 06-81 Option B?  A long walk down a short plank, missy!

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny has been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, disoriented with her hands tied behind her back and left lying on a platform knowing only that there is no way off it without risking death or serious injury.  NOW:

Penny had no way of knowing how long she’d been left alone and abandoned.  Half an hour?  Less?  More?  But lying without any sensation other than the warm—actually, closer to hot—stone beneath her and the steaming air around her, and without any company other than her own fears and anxieties, made it feel much longer.

Suddenly—finally!—a boot pressed against her temple, pushing until she turned her head and bent her neck in the way her unknown master demanded.  When her master was satisfied, the boot left her alone and a second later fingers brushed her hair toward the back of her neck and jiggled her collar.  She figured it out only as the fingers withdrew:

She was being leashed.

A moment later, she was yanked, if not brutally, then much harder than necessary, even the sound of her choking stifled by the magic entombing her senses.  Was the magic acting on her senses?  Or the air?  Could her tormentor hear anything from her mouth?  Or could she (or he) choke Penny to death unintentionally, simply because she couldn’t hear Penny’s struggle to breathe?

Yanking Penny’s leash again almost immediately, her master demanded Penny move immediately.  She wanted Penny to move faster and more effectively than she was managing to do with her hands behind her and her senses gone.  Penny tried, but her leash holder was so intolerant and impatient!  With great difficulty, and doubtless damaging her white gown, Penny made it onto her knees, gasping around the gag for breath, and tried to stand.  But with her hands tied behind her, nothing to lean against, and the high heels on her feet, she couldn’t quite get enough balance to stand. 

She choked and sputtered almost soundlessly as the leash was jerked back and forth by her frustrated master, and then she was struck across the cheek, a blow so fierce it made her head ring.  A second attempt to stand failed, and she desperately ducked her head in fear—not enough to evade the blow, but just in time so it landed on her temple instead of her cheek, dazing her and knocking her over.

Scrambling desperately and whimpering in an ineffectual attempt to plead for mercy, she tried to shield her own head by pressing it down against the stones to give her the lowest profile she could possibly assume, and to limit whiplash or injury from any further blows when her skull was so close to the stone.  Frantically she kicked off her high heels, hoping it was the right decision and one that would lead to less hitting rather than more.  With them off, she struggled to her feet as fast as she could, in a race with the leash her master was dropping over her neck like a noose, soon pulling Penny directly by pulling on the actual collar with one hand, and a second hand that had caught the collar from both sides of Penny’s neck.

As Penny got to her feet, she tried to stand and felt her master’s resistance until she realized she was meant to stay bent way over.  Was this Domina Fang?  It somehow didn’t feel like her steady and subtle hand.  Did it?

Only when she had satisfied her master by her stillness that she had learned her place was remaining in a crouch was she pulled, still rasping for breath around the gag, the collar, and the length of leash, her stocking feet on the stone, towards… wherever she was being taken.

Why were they moving so fast?  Maybe any speed was too great for comfort when nearly insensate but surely they couldn’t be in so much of a rush after leaving Penny lying there for so long!  Penny became nervous that the person hustling her would let her pitch off the side of the platform from carelessness, and tried to slow down, only to be jerked forward all the faster.  Finally, really starting to worry, she was slowed down and then brought to a halt.  After a moment of stillness, the hands moved her forward again, but with less force:  what she interpreted as a signal to move forward carefully.  Was she being urged straight to the edge?!  Probing forward, her toes bumped into metal.

She stopped in confusion, was urged forward again, felt more deliberately with her foot, and confirmed she had reached a barrier of some kind.  What did her master expect her to do?!

The hands loosened on her collar and leash, and she felt the person brushing against her shoulder and head.  Then a yank on the leash again, from above and in front of her, and she figured it out:  it must be stairs.

She raised her foot, daring to straighten just a bit so she could raise her knee, and set her foot down on a stair.  She was meant to climb a staircase!

That indicated they were either at the jungle gym or the pool, she thought.  Surely not the pool—she’d drown—

But nobody was waiting for her to have a think.  Another hand slapped her, hard, on her bottom and she made her way with difficulty up one stair, feeling her feet press into a metal grate as the stair took her weight.  Then when she was urged forward, she took another stair, and a third.  The metal grating cut into her soft feet uncomfortably, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to stand on the metal for long.

She hadn’t noticed stairs specifically when she’d first glimpsed the structures around her.  How high did these go?  And where, exactly, did they lead to?  In the event, she stepped up six times before being pulled forward again across a short platform.  Just when she started moving forward more naturally, she was jerked to a halt with a punishing yank.  It was so forceful—was it desperate?  Had she been about to walk off an unprotected edge of some kind?

She was granted a moment’s worried stillness, then a pair of hands coming from the opposite side of the leash-holder, gripped her, one on her stomach, the other on her buttocks, guiding her forward until she bumped into a horizontal bar that hit her right around the tops of her thighs.  Pressing her hips forward against the bar to signal she should remain where she was, tight against the bar, the hands moved to her left ankle and tugged her by the cuff to make her spread her stance.  Obeying, she felt tugging on her ankle cuff until her legs were fairly wide apart.

Now she felt a boot against the back of her right leg and complied fearfully with what she knew was expected of her.  When her legs were spread far apart, at least 3 feet apart or even more, the boot was withdrawn.

With a moue even she couldn’t hear, Penny knew she had been spread against a railing—but not where, or why, or what would come next.  She panted, trying to get her breathing under contr—

A hand shoved her between the shoulder blades, jerking her forward.  Reflexively she tried to straighten back up again, only to be shoved a second time, this time the hand remaining in place, feeling her master step up against her, pressing against her leg and hip, reaching forward—

Then the leash pulled her collar sharply down, and Penny realized the person to her right had threaded the leash under the railing while a second firm hand of the person behind her, joined the first on her shoulder blades, pushing her firmly and insistently forward. 

Penny started leaning forward, not sure how she was supposed to keep her balance if she had to lean forward too far, and then panicked when it hit her:  both her tormentors were on this side of the bar, trying to get her to bend forward over the far side of the bar.

Terror shot through her.  She was at the very edge of the platform, being asked to lean forward over its edge, above the red sand and howling devils far below them!

Now instinct and raw fear combined to cause her to resist with all her might, shaking her head and making incomprehensible, frightened noises of protest as she tried to fight.  The woman behind her responded by shoving back all the harder, even as the woman beside her pulled down on the neck chain using her full weight.

Penny was crying now and shaking her head violently and making muffled sounds with as much force as she could muster, rapidly burning air faster than she could replace it, every inch of her body resisting as strongly as she could, even as pain shot through her neck and back, but moving with such an instinctive sense of survival that she managed to resist her two larger and stronger masters, until the woman behind her changed tactics:

She moved to Penny’s other side and shoved her fingers with their sharp fingernails between Penny’s collar and neck, grabbing the collar in her fist, and helping to pull it down with one hand, while her other hand rapidly went fishing under Penny’s skirts. 

What was she doing?  Was she going to lift Penny off her feet and make her lose her balance?!  Penny tried to screech, only serving to wind herself faster, as the clawed fingers of the woman’s right hand clenched around Penny’s purse, her fingernails digging into the sensitive flesh even as her fingers clenched around them, as hard as she could, crushing Penny’s shameful little testes.

In the next moment, three things happened simultaneously: 

First, Penny came close to unconsciousness as extreme pain exploded from her crotch, straight up her spine towards her head, making everything turn black for a second and making Penny pray she would be knocked out so she didn’t have to feel any more.

Second, Penny screamed in terror, the lonely kind of scream nobody else could hear, using up the last of her breath.  And third, the shock of the pain caused Penny’s muscles and control to fail her utterly for a moment, her resistance collapsing just long enough for the hands to cause her to pitch forward, her body tipping over the bar and her feet coming off the platform beneath her as gravity became her third master, pulling the top half of her body forward and down and pulling the bottom half of it over the bar after it.

Literature Section “06-81 The Perils of Penny”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 81 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1747 words—Accompanying Images:  1693-1696—Published 2025-05-03—©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.

1681 06-80 Perpetua and Felicity bring down the Colosseum
1682 06-80 Joyous Martyrs or Perverted Servants of Hell?
1683 06-80 With the fierce passion of St. Perpetua
1684 06-80 Gladiatrix and Martyr

Explicit version containing masturbation, orgasm, asphyxiation themes at 06-80X The Splaying of Chastity] at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny’s and Chas’s wrists are restrained.  They have been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, before being spun until losing their balance and sense of direction and falling onto the hard stone platform.  NOW:

Chastity lay on the stone, breath quick, heart beating rapidly, every fiber of her being focused on her periphery.  Like a bullseye lantern sweeping across a dark room, she scanned her own skin, from cute blonde locks to painted little toes, waiting for first contact:  anywhere, anything, stimulation, a signal that it was starting, and the first hint of what it might be.

She could not see.  She could not hear.  She could not smell.  And for good measure, she could not even taste.  They had taken everything external away from her except the warm stone beneath her and the hot, moist, still air around her; the air that pelted every inch of exposed skin with specks of sand every moment without the air itself joining.  That was her entire world.

There was fear; but her elevated pulse wasn’t entirely about fear.  She remained buoyed by the boundless, youthful expectation that what was coming would be better than before.

She had fallen on her back, shoulders and head raised on her elbows, legs spread wide, and she hadn’t bothered to think about her modesty.

When the first touch came, it was a soft kick to her side.  When that produced no response, it was followed by a harder and more insistent kick, immediately repeated, prompting Chas to struggle to roll herself over onto her front.  Next was a kick to the bottom of her shoe, repeated again until she moved it, bending her knee and then in response to a blow to the other sole, moving her other knee.  The kicks were repeated until she lay on her knees and her shoulders, one cheek pressed against the stone, like a frog with its arms tied behind its back. 

Someone lifted the back of Chas’s gown, pulling it up like a curtain until the entire dress, causing Chas a quick shiver.  She next felt the boots that had been kicking her sliding up the outsides of her calves, before being withdrawn.  A moment later they returned, this time between her legs, nudging her insistently to force her legs apart, the woman’s—she assumed it was one of the women—standing behind her, legs pressed against her hips. 

The woman did something with Chas’s chemise, the light linen smock under her dress—Chas couldn’t quite tell what, because it was such a light garment and only one among the many she wore.

The next thing she felt were fingers, insistent fingers, tugging fabrics around her sacrum and yanking them down around her knees.  Chas groaned, startled again by how much weaker and deeper her own voice sounded when every noise outside her body was taken from her absolutely.  She felt fabric being stuffed between her panty strings and her hips, before being used to tug her panties down.

Then the hands were gone, abandoning her back to her isolation, causing Chas to croak out a useless, drawn-out sound of protest.  How long would she be left here this time?  An hour?  Or only—

—a moment.  She was kicked in the side again and obediently rolled back over onto her back, like a dog being trained in the kennels.

Lying flat on her back hurt her arms and with a nervous swallow, she worked her elbows up towards her shoulders with difficulty, raising her shoulders again. 

Hands finished removing her unnecessaries.

The she felt boots between her legs again, pressing.

Chastity grinned, her skin tingling with anticipation…

Nothing.

Nothing happened.  Her smile faltered, and blurred into confusion and disappointment.

They’d left her!  For the first time she thought of Penny, her friend—and felt a stab of jealousy.  Were they turning their attention to her now?

Don’t ignore me!  Her mind hollered uselessly, so thoroughly separated from the world around her it could only express its longing with a rather desperate-sounding and ambivalent grunt of protest.

Finally it came, a testing of how easily he moved from side to side, to confirm what the carelessly-named Chastity already knew.  She felt her lips tightening again, in another pleased, only-slightly-guilty smile.

The hand withdrew and Chas moaned in disappointment.  Then gasped when two hands returned, tentative hands, not assured ones like the first.  These made no contact whatsoever with her skin; they were hyper-careful.  Chas felt no warm palm resting on her leg, no stray fingertips brushing the pulpy flesh at her base; only its housing being shifted, first to one side tentatively, then a second time, decisively, straight downwards, making her moan breathily.  Chas gasped as she dared to hope she knew what it portended…

Small movements around the place where the parts of her Svadhisthana device met.  Yesssss!  Chas sighed raggedly with relief and breathed even faster, panting, rolling her hips in silent entreaty for more attention, waiting to feel more aggressive hands…

Where were they?  She moued, only half-hearing the sound herself, the part inside her head, nothing after it left her body.  She brought her knees together and up to her chest, frantically moving them, breathing harder, unsure if she could even press hard enough.  Any second, she expected hands to stop her movement, prevent her from continuing; and when they didn’t come, she began hoping she could make it—

—she finished!  She just barely managed to, enough for relief but not satisfaction. She longed for the velvet glove of a woman holding him the way he was meant to be.

She could hardly remember the last time she had been left in such a place of gratitude and dissatisfaction.  Even as she felt the comfort of the afterglow, if she could have cried out properly, she would have remonstrated with fate and demanded a do-over!  She wanted more…

Literature Section “06-80[X] The Splaying of Chastity”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 80 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 948 words::Explicit 1199 words—Accompanying Images:  1681-1684—Published 2025-05-02—©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.


1666 Ring around the rosies, A pocketful of posies
1667 06-79 Ashes, ashes, We all fall down

1668 06-79 Beltaine! Beltaine!  I think I’m in twubble
1669 06-79 I trust you. Kinda.

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny’s and Chas’s wrists are restrained, and they have been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste.  Penny is still trying to fully comprehend what the spelled panties have done to her.  NOW:

And it wasn’t just her sense of smell that had been taken from her:  she couldn’t taste anything!  She’d never even been aware her own mouth had a flavor until that was taken away.  Indeed, she could hardly even feel her mouth properly, her tongue insisting that it could sense the shapes of her teeth and lips, but the total absence of any taste insisted equally to her tongue that anything it imagined it felt was a lie, because her tongue was clearly not working at all.

Thus left without sensation except the nerves in her skin, Penny was left to consider the true and full meaning of being “senseless,” and wrestle with the idea that having her last remaining feeling taken away would be… unbearable.

And then she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, urging her counterclockwise, insisting she turn where she stood.  And after she had turned, the hands continued to urge her to turn more, until she understood she was meant to spin like a whirling dervish, around and around, faster and faster, prodded and finally, even lightly slapped, every time she was too slow or stupid to please her master, wishing she could still taste the salt of her own tear dripping down over her lip to confirm she was still alive.  Her master kept spinning and spinning her until she started feeling so dizzy she couldn’t even keep her balance.

And at that instant, that very moment when her nerves were so jangled and confused she started to fall over, the hands were gone and she was on her own.

She careened, stumbled on her own high heel, and fell onto the hard stone, barely having the presence of mind to keep her head from cracking on the unforgiving, unyielding surface, even as her shoulder and back slammed into it.  She had no idea where she was or how she was oriented except her memory’s and body’s insistence she was still on the same platform where she had been bound.  But she couldn’t say whether she was facing the jungle gym, the bed, the glass platform, or the pool.  She didn’t even know if she was facing the edge of the platform, or the stairwell in the center.

She wasn’t even sure she could get to her feet if she tried, certainly not in high heels with her hands cuffed behind her back.  Not that she did try.  What was the point?  The very best thing she could hope for was to walk straight into the side of the pool or the crib or the jungle gym, and fall back onto her bottom again without cracking her skull.  If she was unlucky, she would walk off one of the edges of the platform and fall two stories to a likely death upon impact.  But supposing she survived the fall, she would be shredded or eaten or—whatever the hell devils and demons did to victims who fell into their midst.  The only way she could get off the platform without such a gruesome fate would be if she managed to find her way to the stairway in the middle of the platform.  But it was three flights—50 or 60 hard, steep stone stairs—down to the basement passageway, and she couldn’t even use her hands to steady herself.  She reckoned her chances of making it to the bottom without breaking her own neck at close to zero.

Slowly, glacially, the absolute certainty swept over her that she daren’t do anything at all except to keep breathing (and even that was at her masters’ pleasure!) and wait for her Esmeray’s mercy.  Hanim Qahramanah’s mercy, she corrected herself, mindful of how important it had suddenly become for her to keep the disturbing woman happy.  Penny didn’t even have the wherewithal to find her and beg her for guidance; she couldn’t sense her, she certainly couldn’t catch her if she dodged or fled, and she couldn’t even risk moving to search for her.

So she half-sat, half-lay there, on the stone, elbow throbbing where it had slammed into the hard rock, contemplating the depth of her plight.

Hanim Qahramanah left her there for what seemed like forever…

So she lay where and as she had fallen, shaking and weeping, unable to even hear herself beyond the gasping in her own throat and the humming vibrations of her cries through her own flesh.  She was pining and desperate for her qahramanah to come and touch her, perhaps even help her to her feet, or even use her as a footstool.  Or an ashtray—she would take anything!  She really needed Esmeray or Channah to touch her, pretty please with sugar on top!  To reassure her she wasn’t all alone and abandoned on what surely, must literally be,  this godforsaken platform.

But all she could feel were the stones beneath her and the hot, moist, still air around her.  All she could hear were the half-crying, half-gargling sounds she made in her own throat and strangled to death before they could escape from around her gag.  She smelled nothing, tasted nothing, saw nothing.

She’d never felt so helpless in her life.  Hanim Qahramanah let Penny contemplate how very, very deeply she needed and craved being mastered.

Literature Section “06-79 The Disorientation and Abandonment of Penny”—Part 79 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—879 words—Accompanying Images:  1666-1669—Published 2025-05-01—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

1662 06-78 It’s WAY too late for anyone to save you…
663 06-78 You belong to us now… plaything
1664 06-78 Oh, I’ll MAKE it fit…
1665 06-78 And then, I’m going to…

PREVIOUSLY:  For reasons of their own, Channah and Fang seem intent on training their qahramanat to degrade their jawari in front of legions of the damned.  Penny and Chas are already handcuffed, blindfolded, and gagged; but Channah and Esmeray are just getting started with them….  NOW:

Reliving the things that had been done to her, Penny made a quiet, desperate whining noise the rest of the world ignored, if it carried outside her body at all.  She had promised to trust.  She had to do that—had to trust in her Mistresses, and do what she had pledged to do.  Surely, that would get her through.  But why would it?  A traitorous part of her brain screamed that she had put herself into the hands of demons and madwomen.  A larger part told her she’d never had any choice in the matter.          

Heaven help me!

She made a whining noise nobody heard.  But she didn’t even know if heaven could hear into hell.  She sobbed, the sound immediately lost in the screaming din of the shouting devils and demons from below, eating sand again because Channah had stepped away for a moment, trying to tell herself she was grateful at least that being blindfolded, she no longer had to worry about her eyes.

Suddenly she jerked, feeling Channah’s fingers pinching her ear. 

“Be still!”  her Domina commanded her, an intimate whisper in her ear, as she pushed something through Penny’s ear canal inside her head.

As she did, that ear just… stopped.  More absolutely, more completely than Penny had ever experienced.  Unlike the thick, vague, bass sounds one could still hear in earmuffs or with hands over ears—suddenly, her left ear heard nothing.  The whole left side of her body felt—nothing!  Not a whisper.  She knew she still had sensation in her arms, legs, fingers, toes—but the totality of the silence on that side of her body caused her body to wonder, to demand, that the whole side of her had been numbed because nothing else made sense to it.

I promise I promise I promised….

When she felt Channah’s hand on her right earlobe, she jerked away, reflexively, even more strongly than she had before, crying out involuntarily, around her ball gag only to hear Channah laugh, quickly move her left hand under Penny’s chin, and pull her backwards and up into Channah’s shoulder. 

“Oh… it’s way too late for that, young lady.  You’re ours.  Body and soul.” 

And with that, she settled her hand against Penny’s neck to hold her tight, bit and held her ear in her teeth, enough to make Penny squeal in a painful protest, and used her right hand to press the second earbud in tight. 

Penny wailed in ineffectual, girlish protest, shocked as every scrap and hint of sound was eliminated from her world.  Her universe became instantly and totally silent.  It was as if she had been sealed away in a vault.  She was sure she was whimpering, but if she was, she could not even hear any hint of it through her own ears.

Her feet hurt, holding her weight in her high heels.  Her wrists were held tightly in the cuffs locked behind her back, her sight blinded by the blindfold, her mouth stuffed by the ball gag.  She was hyper-aware of the saliva gathering in her mouth, trying ineffectually to digest the heavy ball between her teeth; and of the fact that soon, very soon, she was going to start drooling, helplessly, like a dog. 

Smell!  She could still smell!  And Channah’s intoxicating, seductive succubus smell was perfect and brilliant, as if the scent of her managed to slip through the membranes of Penny’s nostrils and sinuses and seep straight into her brain, bathing and soothing it like a mother whispering to her baby at night…

Could she smell the sulfur of hell?  Yes, it was there, faintly; but like the sour under-note of a perfume, complemented and pushed to the subtle background by the sweeter and more-powerful notes of Channah, and Channah, and Channah…

There, down, far at the bottom, Penny found the subtle and vaguely-decayed smell of earth:  desert sand and black stone, perhaps mingled with a slight whisper of fungus lodged deep in the stones and their grout.

And she thought she smelled another, the scent of a person, hidden behind Channah’s at first, like a shy maiden in shadows behind her mother’s back, a musky smell demanding it be craved, a smell Penny couldn’t consciously remember ever smelling before, but suddenly identified because it was human and feminine and fiercely distinctive and she had been denied the benefit of most of her other senses:  Esmeray.

Now, still trying to recover some sense of normalcy and control after being deprived of hearing, Penny was turning her head from side to side and sniffing, trying to notice if there were any differences in different directions, and to confirm her memory of where she stood based on those differences.  But with Channah near—merciful as that was—there was no swirl of air or dust around them, nothing to bring more distant but localized smells to them.  If devils and demons had a smell separate from the brimstone and decay, she could not use it to locate herself.

It was at exactly that moment she felt it, fabric being pulled over her head.  A hood?  Really?  Wasn’t that overkill?  She already was unable to see or hear a thing—and as it came over her nose her shoulders slumped with the obvious realization.

It was a strong smell, a good one, nuanced and heavy and loaded with pheromones targeted straight at Penny’s deepest and oldest urges and memories:  Esmeray.  Esmeray’s panties, hung on her head.  She flushed as deeply red as she ever had, realizing what a stupid, helpless, pathetic idiot she was, and now looked like, dressed like a belle of the ball—the kinky bondage ball—in the middle of hell with a pair of another woman’s panties hung on her head like a scold’s bridle. 

She started crying, even before the next change, as whatever magic Channah had been talking about, or working, went into effect and she could smell nothing.  Nothing—immediately insisting to her brain she was locked in a clean, odorless, clinical space or Earthside desert.  In a way the silence and the darkness had not done, it fought; it persistently jarred, her senses fighting with her memory, the one insisting she was in a peaceful well-kept place on Earth, the other that she was on a sand-swept brimstone-stinking platform of Castle Chang’an in Hell, surrounded by her Mistresses and an army of demons and devils. 

Literature Section “06-78 The Sensory Deprivation of Penny”—Part 78 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1071 words—Accompanying Images:  1662-1665—Published 2025-04-30—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.