4613 08-05 The Second Defilement of the Scáthach4614 08-05 The Second Defilement of the Scáthach4615 08-05 The Second Defilement of the Scáthach
CAUTION: Contains themes of rough bondage, graphic nudity, and medical procedures some readers may find disturbing.
Unabridged versions of images containing rough bondage, graphic nudity, and medical themes at 08-5X The Defiled Confinement of the Scáthach at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman
A dark, moonless night. As it must be.
In a dark, trackless forest. A forest greener by day and more alive by night than any English forest. Any civilized forest.
And deep, deep within it, a dark old cabin.
Inside that, something even darker; deeds and portents like to draw away what little light and breath otherwise might have been drawn here.
And in a rough old wooden bed, a woman lying on her back, bound and in agony.
Her arms and legs were lashed to a rusty old iron bar above her head; a bar she gripped hard and tightly enough to make her fingers turn white and her arm muscles shudder with exhaustion. A bar that raised and spread her ankles, trapped by heavy black stirrups tied to the same iron bar, in a position far too high and wide for any humane comfort.
Her skin was wet with blood, from 187 shallow cuts into her flesh marking out bloody blasphemous profanities. Everywhere: her stomach, her breasts, her back, her shoulders, her arms, her hips, her buttocks, her legs, her hands, her feet, her neck and head.
She was screaming.
Screaming and thrashing, her muscles animated with more force than direction, kicking and flailing and writhing for the sake of moving and exerting themselves rather than in an effort to reach anything or accomplish any movement through space.
As if a normal childbirth, attended by sympathetic or at least professional assistants focused on your and your baby’s well-being, weren’t difficult enough for a woman: Try pouring on magic, coercion, and what surely no one would be surprised to learn was a she-woman’s sizeable serving of hell, as oil sprayed on a fire, and it would describe something approaching the torture this mother was suffering in this hopeless, embarrassed place.
The only light came from the spell and its components: The glowing magic circle on the floor around the bed; the ripples in time and space created by magic that manifested to most humans as hallucinogenic sparks, swirls, and even symbols of light. Ripples that by their nature, gave the impression of bursting forth from the slowly-opening vagina of the wretched female in the bed, its beams growing brighter and wider as her sex dilated and dilated and dilated to the proportions of her stuffed womb in her huge pregnant belly: to proportions even the sickest artist or criminal couldn’t have imagined without the example of nature, distending into something like the maw of a sea monster, further poisoned by the blood flowing there, that had nothing to do with any marks or spells except those of cruel nature. Blood: a sure sign of injury, a literal red alarm warning the primal human mind of danger and the need to push a body to its limits for the chance of survival, a clanging klaxon remorselessly demanding one’s highest attention to the cause, the supreme mission, of making the flow of blood STOP.
But here it was ignored, accepted, taken for granted.
Here, the horror was only beginning as her pudenda kept distending, to an extent her jaded old husband—for all his vile fantasies and desires—had never dreamed about, and he would just as soon never have seen. Even the hardened old crone beside him, an ingot of steel compared to the hardest heart; and the demon-king himself, a shimmering vision teasing and mesmerizing the eyes into imagining him shifting back and forth between his human and dragon forms, looked disconcerted by the drama unfolding so appallingly on the bed before them.
She was thrashing and kicking like one being disemboweled or impaled.
Thrashing and kicking and—screaming.
Last and fifth present was the mage: herself a demon, a demon even other ugly, unnatural demons considered ugly and unnatural. She wore red hide more than skin; a face more like a serpent or a pig than a human; and a body more masculine than feminine. Her hands and mouth worked continually, her entire body swaying as she drove the spells swirling and penetrating the woman on the bed and the things inside her. The mage’s voice rose, and with it, even her hands seemed to stretch higher and higher, wider and wider. But her cries were never as loud as the woman’s screams. And her hands were never separated as wide as the huge hole dilating open in the middle of her spastic subject.
When it came, it tore her apart: ripping her flesh with such violence the child shot out on a residual, sudden flush of blood and amniotic fluid like the demon’s own backbirth. The demon-god beamed and applauded, all happy with what he had received, caring nothing for the woman, who was just a vessel as far as he was concerned; and little enough for the feelings of the baby, because gods did not have feelings the way humans did.
The vile husband looked down with an expression simultaneously horrified and aroused, and the crone’s eyes remained fixed with the same predatory expression they always held: alert, attentive, never resting, always looking, always assessing and evaluating.
The complete disintegration of the woman in the bed, further and gruesomely decorated with an explosion of blood, registered like anything else on the crone’s hard eyes, simple data points. Emotionally, they seemed to mean nothing to her. Even the Mage, who one might have expected to be hardened by a lifetime of magic, had to struggle to stay focused on chanting her spell properly; and her eyes glazed over as she deliberately unfocused from the physical trauma around her, sending her consciousness deeply into the process before her, to hide in the logic and deadlines of it all, where the horror could not quite find her, only haunt her with the knowledge it was actively stalking her.
The demon flew upwards, sprays of blood arcing from its wings as they began to flap and its throat to scream, a piercing sound that put off the husband and the crone; and almost buckled the mage in mid-chant.
As the demon disappeared in a flash (either its own, or that of the demon-king departing with it,) darkness mercifully descended on the room around them, concealing the horror in the bed, death and life all left behind in a muddle. The woman—dead. She was, she must be, dead. Her body had been torn asunder.
But her child shrieked, announcing its arrival as a strong and healthy baby which the mage tried to signal with her eyes to the couple across from them, ought to be picked up and swaddled. Immediately. The mage could not do it because her more-important job, the one on which all of the lives in the room or departed from it depended upon, still called upon almost every one of her faculties, definitely including her hands and arms as they continued to weave and stitch, a dance in the air healing space and time themselves, returning them to their natural, or at least their stable, states. Apologizing to them, to their spirits, for having disturbed them so badly in the first place. Protecting and nourishing the child left behind. Treating both its umbilicals, the one to its mother and the other to its demon.
Certainly, she could not be healing the dead. Repairing them? Resurrecting them? Or restoring them to a state she had once occupied but plainly, categorically, rejected and left behind? The mage wasn’t even sure there was a name, for what she was trying to do. Or undo.
Hauling the mother back from the dark sea, with the half-foot hook—more of a claw—required for the largest and wildest sea creatures who were ever captured instead of capsizing or destroying the ships that tried to constrain them, was a process every bit as brutal as the murderous demon-child that had banished her from this plane in its monstrous coming-forth. The husband and crone looked doubtful that bringing the woman back was even worth it, if indeed it proved possible at all. Had it been up to them? None of them would find out what would have happened then. Because the mage had given her word—reluctantly, under the strong protest of her feudal lady, but given it nonetheless—and she was determined to do everything in her power to prove it.
That was quite what was required, every ounce of her energy, every jot of her power, and every wit in her head, to try and deliver all that she had promised. Her resources and efforts were the only things that could have had any hope of bringing the woman back and putting her back together again, a responsibility the mage took seriously.
But hope was different from certainty: Something came back, to be sure. Presumably (hopefully?) someone. But inevitably, the soul that came back brought back such scars, inflicted on it by the event of its banishment, that it could hardly be recognized as the same soul that had once inhabited here.
Wounded soul or hellspawn? Veeerrry difficult to know. Because, on the one hand, such a soul would be so injured, and (in the case of a soul like hers) colored and perhaps twisted with so much forbidden knowledge she would understand the threat posed by the deep suspicions of the powerful druí before her, and who would be determined to persuade them by any means necessary that she was who they wanted her to be. Or, at least, who the Mage wanted her to be. And on the other hand, such a demon, from such a depth of hell as the mage had called upon tonight, would be so cunning and eager to deceive one would scarcely be able to tell it apart from the soul it had gobbled up in hell and sought to pass itself off as, here.
It may have been vanity alone that ever persuaded a human she or he could tell whether a soul had been rescued from hell, replaced with hell’s creature from it, or reduced and twisted by it, in the uncertain time it had been away from its body. Time in hell moved so differently than on Earth, living mages had no way to even estimate how much time had passed for a soul in another dimension unless the soul told them and they believed it. And as if that weren’t enough, certain demons were known to have ways through time and space no human could follow, let alone measure.
But in the end, it can be said, there were five of them left in that room; just not which five they happened to be. The husband and crone appeared as cold and unmoved emotionally as ever, but moving with their bodies to light candles in the room once the things that could not bear light were gone, and then eating their dinners without lifting a finger to help the rest of them. The babe, as it appeared to be, was cleaned, swaddled, and placed in the mother’s arms by the Mage as soon as she could do so. The mother, or whatever might be animating her arms, lay appearing to comfort the child. And the Mage, simultaneously comforting the woman to help her return as close to intact as she might; and evaluating every action, word, and expression from the mother’s reassembled Frankenstein body looking for any hint of deceit.
UNABRIDGED VERSIONS OF IMAGES AVAILABLE AT patreon.com/TheRemainderman
4651 08-0.5 RUN!!! (Cacht’s final seconds)4652 08-0.5 The contemptuous Cailleach4653 08-0.5 Stunned and Stoned4654 08-0.5 Descending Transformation4656 08-0.5 You don’t want to see the next bit. Unless…?4657 08-0.5 Nice old lady invites you to her candy cottage4658 08-0.5 You’re queasy, scared… and hiding a hard-on4659 08-0.5 Nasty old and scary. But still… 4660 08-0.5 RUN!!!–ALT better expression but less historically authentic4661 08-0.5 Cacht’s Long, dark, lonely road…4662 08-0.5 In the shadow of (fallen) angels4663 08-0.5 Forlorn Hope
CAUTION: Contains themes of violence and injury some readers may find disturbing.
If this account is suspended, go to theremainderman.com or search for a new DA account with “Remainderman” in the title.
Éire Ghaelach. Another country—another world, from Dublin. Her world.
Her whole world—the men of her cland—were howling and shouting behind her.
Coming for her.
Coming to tear her apart.
The Petition of the High Queen: She heard the verse forming like a background noise in her head, like a waking dream; something that had its source outside her intention. The verse written, because it was not to be spoken. As rare as a Bible, in an ancient culture of oral tradition where language was king but writing foreign. A language only written by priests and Sacsenacha, in their scripts. Rarer still, a written secret belonging to women. Their own secret legend.
“Desecrator!” “Cursed bitch!” The angry cries of men—men she’d grown up with; men she’d trusted.
Her own people. Sounding closer.
She pushed herself even harder, until her lungs burned and her bare feet ached in the cold mud and bruised by the sharp edges of stones and sticks on the dark forest floor. The rain poured down around her like mad, and the night sky was pitch black except when lightning crackled across the sky. In the dark moments, in the thick trees, branches slapped and tore at her arms and sides and, despite her efforts to protect it, her face. Her leine and brat (chemise and cloak), all she had in the world now, were plastered to her skin with sweat and rain.
“CACHT!”—an agonized, furious cry, the one that hurt the most: her own father. This was her name day. Her coming-of-age day. She hadn’t thought—when it happened, when she was crushed, she hadn’t imagined—
In a flash of panic, she couldn’t breathe for a second. And when she resumed, the pain in her chest had become like a brand, a searing point of heat.
And then she heard words even scarier than, if not as brutally painful as, her father’s: “There! I can see her!”
“This way!”
“We’ve got her!”
“Devil-whore!” one of the men screamed, his voice cracking. Sounding close—too close.
But it was his curse that put the mad idea squarely into her head. Or maybe, it was only what made it consciously thinkable; raising it to a thought from a dream. A thought that worried at her for her attention, as if she had the attention to give it!
Her mind was racing faster than her body: fear, grief, desperation, electrifying and worrying at her at exactly the time when she needed distraction the least! Where was she to go? What hope did she have?! She didn’t even have a plan. And there was a reason for that:
She had nowhere to go. Nowhere she could possibly reach. The truth slapped her face more remorselessly than the oaks, the ash, and the rowan.
Their village of Achadh Mheánach was deep, deep in the heart of the lands of the Gabhal Raghnaill; leaving the lands of her fine was more a matter of days than hours. And if she should—what then? To the East: more Uí Broin. More distant kin, but still kin. They wouldn’t protect her; they’d turn her over. To West and South—the scourge of their land: Sacsanach scum. That left North, the Uí Tuathail, no one she wanted to deal with either, only conceivable because none of her other options were.
She wasn’t even serious about the idea when it—no, that wasn’t quite true: It wasn’t just an idea. It was an idea accompanied by an intention: a wish, really; was that enough? Something told her it wasn’t, but all the same, the wish began running through her mind, in rapid fire, over and over and over again:
A Bhanríon neamhnaofa na hÉireann a bhí trí thine
Mise, Banríon na hÉireann básmhaire, impím ort
Glaoim ar do ghealltanas! Glaofaidh mé ort Máistir!
5026 and…
She calculated it in her head, an outrageous indulgence of time and thought under the—464! Was she sure? 464!
5026 and 464. Mallacht ar m’ainm.
Mise, Cacht iníon Ragnaill. Is leatsa mé!
She didn’t even realize where she was heading until she was almost there. Running, yes, but she had been running from, not to, anything.
And then she realized where she was. The rest of her life to wonder whether it was her own will, or fate, or some darker agency that had brought together place and time and circumstance and solution, sealed with a snap:
Behind her, the sharp crack of a limb, solid enough to remain dry enough in its core to break; slender enough to be broken by the bare foot of a charging man; and his curse as he stumbled. She knew the voice well. Too well: Her bastard usurping cousin Brádach, he who had already conspired with her own father to take everything from her. Everything! No, not simply to take—to make her, and her life, into nothing! Of course he was the closest. He would do anything to destroy, or even wound, her; her very existence a threat and offense to him. The tears stinging her eyes were as bitter as the bile in her mouth.
So close!
The sound of him shuddered for a moment as he struggled to keep his feet and ignore the pain. But when he pulled through it—the instant his feet, less than a fertach behind her, recovered their rhythm, she knew she was done.
They had her! She heard the laughter in her own voice, the forlorn hopelessness of it, as she panted it out, wasting breath she needed more of than she had:
“A Bhanríon neamhnaofa na hÉireann a bhí trí thine
Mise, Banríon na hÉireann básmhaire, impím ort
Glaoim ar do ghealltanas! Glaofaidh mé ort Máistir!
5026 and 464. Mallacht ar m’ainm.
Mise, Cacht iníon Ragnaill. Is leatsa mé!”
Could she really feel the man’s breath on the back of her neck as she started repeating it, now a mantra she preferred thinking about, than facing the fate about to ruin her: “A Bhanríon neamhnaofa na hÉireann—“
That’s enough. Not her voice. Was it? Now her laugh was hopeless: she had gone mad, a mercy given the fate that awaited her. Mad you are, but not for hearing me: for calling me.
“Yes, I’m mad!” she shouted—sobbed, more like. Obviously! And then she wondered: Could she kill herself, before they—
Too late for that. You’re already mine, and I don’t waste what’s mine.
You will by talking! She thew her thought back against the madness working in her head. They have me! My plea is urgent!
Wry laughter: It usually is. To call on me? Not many ever make a plan of that. But I move through time by my own paths, crawfishing around the clock as I please.
Craw—what?! I don’t care! “Save me!” she wailed, reduced for a moment to nothing more than her own terror.
More laughter, only it wasn’t in her head any more, it was in her ears, over the drum of the rain: “If you wanted salvation, you should have called on another. But you called on me. Now: Close your eyes!”
And there she was.
There, in the place of the old stones, called the circle of Gleann Abhainn Ow, right in the middle, standing on the ancient altar stone. The ancient sacrifice stone.
“Close. Your. Eyes.”
Cacht stopped short and did so, hit and tumbled a second later by Brádach, who seized her, surprised but not deterred by the sudden end to her flight.
“Giving up!” He spat it, like an accusation. “Of course!”
“Yes, but not to you. Hands off!” The woman commanded.
And with a flick of her wrist, Brádach reeled back, letting go of Cacht with a surprised grunt. A second later, as cracking branches and gasping breaths announced the arrival of her other kinfolk all around them, still unaware they had been joined by an outsider, Brádach cursed: “What’d you say, witch?!” as he formed his fingers into a ball, swinging forward again to break her jaw.
Two things happened, at once: First, Brádach, his knuckles reaching a faint purple glow that had sprung up around Cacht, screamed and fell to the ground in agony, as every bone in his hand and forearm splintered into sharp pins of bone, giving Cacht a feeling that was twice as poignant for being so complex: combining relief, empathy, horror, and yes, to her shame, even schadenfreude. Second, a mighty strike of lightning, closer and fiercer than anything any of them had ever seen or imagined, came down on and around the altar stone, turning the night to day and revealing all, so that none might be mistaken any more:
Gleann Abhainn Ow, a fresh and green valley that Odysseus himself would have recognized as the Elysium Fields on a sunny morning; now dark and lashed by a fierce rainstorm that had rolled over the vale from the West. Ancient trees of Ireland’s primordial forests, one of the few original woodlands left to show them what their ancestors sang of. The glint and motion of the water of the Ow, tumbling and pouring over rocks, overflowing its banks and reaching longingly for the comfort of the mysterious stones.
The stones: Ancient things, gray and massive; carved with cryptic Celtic knots and oghams older than any living memory or ancient song could explain, a small circle of big stones around the altar. The grove was a calm in the storm. Heedless of men and time. Haunting and beautiful here, where they had so long belonged.
And in the middle of it all: Her. The hag herself.
“Cailleach!” Ciardha, her father and leader of their village, named her. In that long, lingering magical moment, everyone but Cacht registered her presence and identity, in the second before the inferno of the lightning strike burned their eyes to charred bits of meat. Nearly a quarter of the Gabhal Raghnaill’s fighters crippled in a flash, a mighty blow sufficient to put her entire fine’s liberty and lives in jeopardy for a generation, shrugged off as easily as a brat.
Cacht screamed in horror at the felling of her family—the adult male fraction of it, anyway—permanently rendered from proud hunters to vulnerable prey; from a pillar and strength of their seed, to a liability that would burden their overwhelmed widows and children for the rest of their short lives. “I didn’t want this!”
“But you caused it.”
Cacht sobbed and wept, shaking her head in disbelief. “No. It’s a dream—a—“
“It’s no dream,” the Cailleach assured her cruelly. “It’s what you willed—or made inevitable. What you dared. To summon me?! And under false pretenses? That verse was not given to you or made for you. It was gifted to Cacht ingen Ragnaill almost 464 years ago.”
“Cacht! What have you done?!” her father’s voice cried, the agony and heartbreak in it, the reminder of love worst of all, tearing her apart, making her bleed her grief like a cistern overwhelming the dam built to contain it.
“I—there was nothing false!” she wept in protest, not even sure if that was what mattered. Perhaps she was seizing on the only thing she could, the only untrue piece of the narrative that she could hang onto for her life, and deny the reality of all of it; or at least, any part of hers in bringing it about.
But her new master was cruel; and would not suffer her to keep any illusions of it: “You aren’t Cacht ingen Ragnaill. Although, before you go experiencing any useless hope, be clear: having taken it voluntarily, and used it for magical advantage, it will and does bind you as surely as your own.”
“I am Cacht ! Cacht of the Gabhal Raghnaill!”
The old hag clapped her hands and cackled in delight. “Clever girl! Thinking on your feet and fighting for yourself in the midst of the ruin you have wrought on all you held dear! You will be useful to us!”
“It’s true!” Cacht wept, falling to her knees, clinging to this little bit of certainty, this narrow island of defensibility separating her from the awful field of consequences around her.
“It’s not,” the old woman laughed harder. “That Cacht is long dead. I know, because she’s still and always will remain under my thumb, suffering for me, in hell.”
Cacht moaned in horror as the woman confirmed that which she had most-feared, that she did indeed understand what was happening here. But the woman wasn’t done explaining how she had spoken falsely: “Nor are you 500 years old. And you are… ha ha, no less than the fifth Gaelic stria bréagach liteartha—“ Cacht barely had the energy or bandwidth to register the insult, but still burned like a coal being forced down her throat, demanding her attention, knowing her kinsmen would remember it. Lying literate whore, or something like it. “—to call on me with that verse. It was supposed to be for her only. I couldn’t believe it when I learned she’d written it down and passed it on. Well,” she laughed. “That’s what happens when priests come bearing Latin and Christianity, to ruin a perfectly-good and I would have said, defiantly oral culture. But it’s worked out well for me!”
Suddenly her expression changed, and then her entire countenance changed, right in front of Cacht, into something Cacht had never seen or heard told of. Something reddish-orange, horned, and fanged but barely-dressed in scraps of fabric that would make a prostitute blush. She became nothing less than the whore of Babylon herself, decadent and wanton in a way the Book of Revelation could not have prepared anyone for. Cacht screamed and gasped at the same time, a ragged, torn, shocked sound that struck more fear into her moaning kinsmen, kneeling and clawing at their eyes around them, wondering what was happening now.
So, she was already screaming when the Cailleach leaped forward, further than Cacht would have expected the greatest warrior among the Uí Broin to do, landing even as she was swinging the heavy wooden walking stick that had materialized in her hands sometime between her initial appearance here and when her blow landed on her cousin Brádach’s head, knocking him out and nearly cracking it open.
“You killed him!” Cacht screamed, horrified, immediately echoed by the mournful cries of her blinded male relatives. Even as her eyes fell on the explanation for the hag’s sudden violence, and sad understanding wilted anything good in her eyes. Her cousin, blinded and with one arm ruined, had pulled his knife with his remaining good hand; and, too consumed with rage and hatred toward her to be thinking about himself or his clan—or even how Ciardha would have felt about it—had been intent with every bit of his focus and consciousness on stabbing Cacht in the back. Not the future; not healing or even surviving. Simply lashing out and hurting.
Cacht threw up, the Cailleach—if that was even what she was—carefully keeping her distance, to remain unsullied, at least by physical matter. “Oh, no. That would be too easy. For all of you lot,” she spat, in case any of them imagined themselves forgotten by her, or immune from her sadism. “His own kin—your kin—will have to kill him, if they don’t want his broken body to haunt and burden them the rest of their days.” She snorted with pleasure at how much her words upset the humans around her, every one of them, even Cacht. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” she lied. “These bastards were going to—well, I can’t even imagine the fate they had in store for you.” Another lie, or near to it. Her imagination was both savage and inspired; and her experience in human harm and misery, nigh-on unparalleled. “You’re all damaged goods now. What a miserable burden you’ll be, the rest of your lives. What do you think, will your cousins, the remaining Uí Broin, let your wives keep ruining their lives supporting you when they take them for themselves? Or will they put you to death when they kill your whelps?” Delighted with their protests, especially the threats and curses even they didn’t believe would make any difference, she concluded her monologue with a few final nails: “You shouldn’t have gone after this poor little girl, you bastards!”
“She destroyed our cland’s wealth! Our church!”
“I’m sorry!!!” the girl screamed, weeping bitterly.
“What, a bit of kit and a wooden building? No threat of broader fire in rain like this! Doesn’t seem like much damage now, does it? Should have forgiven the girl, shouldn’t you? Now you’re all blind, and your cland effectively destroyed. You armed scum” (and by armed, she simply meant male) “be sure and warn all and sundry who’ll listen to you of the terrible Cailleach. And warn them double, to beware any woman knowing the Petition of the High Queen, for you’re the evidence of how terrible my vengeance against those who cross my women will be!” More lies; words to set man against woman; anything to set person against person, make them need her; make them dependew
“Now… one last bit of business before I go.” She turned to Cacht. “This man Ciardha, he’s the leader of the cland, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Cacht answered reflexively, numbly, before thinking better.
“And he’s your actual father, isn’t he? That’s why you had the knowledge to call me, Cacht ingen Ciardha?”
The girl’s eyes widened and her stomach hurt as she felt a danger she still couldn’t quite see or imagine, but now suspected was there, opening up like a scar on the world under her feet. “I—I—no, I—”
“Liar!” The Cailleach snorted. “But not much of one. Not yet. We’ll have to work on you. Sister Maud Máire!” She called, and Cacht gasped again to see another Cailleach, not quite a twin to what the first had originally appeared to be; but close enough, a suitable hag for the Irish Cailleach, standing not ten feet away. “Show this girl the way. Up to the top of the great mountain.” It was theater; they weren’t going to climb any mountain; but why help people to understand their ways? “You and your sisters, clean her up and dress her for her wedding!”
Cacht keened in dismay, even before the second hag smirked, looking at the devastated Cacht with a twinkle in her eye, demonstrating her own capacity—and indeed, appetite—for cruelty: “Aye, Cailleach. We’ll dress and make her up into a wanton slag-whore, to incite the beast’s lust!”
Cacht and all her conscious relatives made sounds of shock and pain and fear, expressing their complex emotions, the same that had brought them all here and were tearing all of them, their whole fine, to shreds.
But Cacht’s misery and fear were divided, as the last of the humans here who had eyes. The Cailleach had turned, and was walking predatorily toward Ciarcha.
“No. No, what’s happening? Stop!” Cacht tried in vain to escape her escort’s grip, and resist her efforts to pull her toward the stone.
Looking pleased, the Cailleach growled: “If she’s stupid—or weak—enough to stay, all the better. Let her watch! But hold her back if she tries to intervene. I’ve got one last item of business before I go, taking the head off this cland so no one can mistake my leaving these other men as anything other than the warning it is.”
“What are you going to do?” Cacht began. “Stop! Daddy, run!” And then, breaking into tears and screaming as urgently and emphatically as she could, screamed: “RUN!!!”
Her father, already walking backward uncertainly, turned and tried to run away, almost immediately running head-first into a big ash tree, provoking derisive laughter from the hags and another sob of sorrow from Cacht.
“After all this excitement, I’m a bit hungry,” the Cailleach confessed, provoking a new din of screaming and wailing from the panicked, lost, overwhelmed humans around her.
It was said she left his bones scattered all over the circle of stones, following him around as he became less-whole, and definitely less-mobile, as his male relations tried to find them by sound alone. And in that way, the beautiful sacred place became a desecrated, fell pit to be avoided. No one knew if it was what had happened, or the fevered tales of men out of their minds and disoriented, having just been blinded. After all, it could just as well have been the animals that finished him off; none of the survivors were able to see.
3423 07-42 SSIII The Devil–Infernal Tarot (England–Major Arcana)3424 07-42 SSIII The Devil–Infernal Tarot (England–composite image)3425 07-42 SSIII The Devil–Infernal Tarot (England–Major Arcana) 3426 07-42 SSIII The Devil–Infernal Tarot (England–composite image)3427 07-42 SSIII The Devil–Infernal Tarot (England–Major Arcana)3428 07-42 SSIII The Devil–Infernal Tarot (England–earlier version of composite image)3429 07-42 SSIII The Devil–Infernal Tarot (England–composite image)3430 07-42 SSIII The Devil–Infernal Tarot (England–composite image)3431 07-42 Artemesia I at Salamis3432 07-42 Artemesia II & Mausoleus3461 07-42 The Ocular of Sodom
CAUTION: Contains themes of heavy degradation, filth, and tentacle hentai some readers may find disturbing.
ALTAR CLOTH REFERENCED BY CHANNAH IS IMAGE 2500, AVAILABLE HERE.
THE OCULAR OF SODOM IS IMAGE 3461, PUBLISHED CONCURRENTLY
HIGH PRIESTESS IMAGE REFERENCED BY CHANNAH IS IMAGE 2510, AVAILABLE HERE.
ADDITIONAL CARDS MENTIONED IN THE TEXT WILL BE PLACED IN THE “PERDITION TAROT” GALLERY AS THEY ARE PUBLISHED
PREVIOUSLY: Playing the demonic card game, Perdition Tarot, Channah is losing a wager of Penny, Chas, Esmeray, and her other servants she made against Húanglóng. Under the excuse of cleansing the girls to reenact a legendary party trick against them, she removes all the physical magic she has surrounded them with to prevent Húanglóng or any of his vassals in Lytos from suspecting how important the girls are. To ensure they are on-side with her and will protect their shared secrets, she is explaining just enough for them to understand the extreme danger they will be placed in if they do not keep Channah’s secrets, and other demons came to suspect their potential significance to Channah’s plans. NOW:
Inordinately pleased with forcing the girls to prostrate themselves and attend her in a pool of their own filth (and even more, discovering a new vulnerability to exploit in Penny by seeing how strongly she overreacted), Channah hummed slightly as she sat on the other side of the narrow stream, pulling a folded piece of cloth from her robe and opening it, spreading it carefully out upon a flat bit of rock before her between her perfect sandaled feet.
“Chas, did you ever wonder why the rules of Perdition Tarot require a human dealer?”
She shrugged, looking nervous. “I don’t know, Domina. Why did you ask me?”
“Because I don’t need to ask Penny. Of course, she wondered. And doubtless tried to guess. It was funny to watch her bursting with the desire to ask her questions!” She snickered as she pulled a fine piece of black silk brocaded with a silver pentacle and a constellation of astrological symbols from her dress, unfolding it and arranging it so one of the five tips was pointing directly back at her—and, discomfortingly, so that its two horns pointed at the girls. “Because when demons deal cards, it isn’t a random deal. The card order is prophetic. Any cards, any demon.” She shrugged: “With regular cards—human cards—or regular demons, the effect is weak. Enough to bias the game.” She laughed. “Enough to provoke a duel when you’re gambling with hotheads experienced enough to notice the patterns in the cards. And among demons—we can influence them as well. We do influence them, every single deal, on purpose or unintentionally or both; it comes with the prophetic power. And if we’re playing cards, of course we’re going to influence them to win. No demon would be stupid enough to let another demon deal. Occasionally, for fun, we’ll allow one another to take turns cutting. But it’s not a best practice for an honest game.”
“This,” she pointed to the fabric in front of her, “is an altar cloth, inscribed with the pentacle over our natal chart.”
“‘Our,’ Domina?” Penny asked, her voice distorted by her efforts to breathe through her mouth without risking ingesting anything before her.
“Demons. Well, Elder Demons. The originals. We were all created at the same time, so we all have the same natal chart.” Very delicately and precisely, she held her arm out over the mat, pointed her index finger down, and set it in the middle of the mat. “I have a gorgeous altar stone, permanently inscribed and inlaid with gold and semiprecious and precious stones, positioned precisely in the center of my satanikoklus, my castle, and my hell, where I perform the most-important readings.”
Next, she removed a heavy, foreboding, elaborately-sculpted pewter box a bit larger than the Succubaean Tarot deck, from the other side of her robe. The images on the box were all witches and devils, evocative of hellfire damnation and apocalypse, decorated with her familiar themes of rot and hate, medlars and coins, and broken hearts. Just the sight of it made Penny and Chas shudder with an uncomfortable feeling of dread and fear. “And this is the Oracular of Sodom. The source of the Infernal Tarot. With this, even Chava could predict the future,” Channah snorted, then flicked her eyes up to meet theirs. “My very worst succubus, in every way that defines us, the poor dear,” she sneered. “But useful in her own way. And by contrast, as you know,” she announced with perfect aplomb and hubris, “I am no ordinary demon. Not even an ordinary Elder Demon. I could draw pips and numbers on toilet paper and still divine with them. When I use the Oracular, on the Evil Altar of Sodom, we become one of the seven most-powerful instruments of prognostication in Hell or Earth.” Very precisely she opened the Oracular, revealing a deck of cards with her medlar-and-hate backing, nestled perfectly in black velvet lining.
She paused, her eyes burning into theirs and speaking quietly: “And do you know how useful this great power is for making the most-important predictions of all? About my future? About our great project? Not at all. Well, that’s not quite true. The point is, it doesn’t help me at all any more. It hasn’t done so for years. All it does is tell me what I already know. The exact-same prophecy, over and over and over again. The only thing that changes at all—occasionally—are the directions of my cards. Today’s game suggests the effect is now so powerful, demons and even humans around me are affected, as if by the field of attraction of some invisible planet close to hand. But,” she shrugged, “I am old-school. And disciplined. So, to release my control, and let the fates use my power to show me the answers to my questions, I will use the altar mat, and the Oracular, and compose myself before my abject worshipers. By whom I mean you two, kneeling in shit at my command. You’re pretty pathetically abject for me, aren’t you, pumpkins?” And she raised her eyebrows, indicating she expected an answer.
“Yes, Domina,” they agreed. Shee-it. What else were they going to do? Deny it?
“Prostrate yourselves,” she suddenly commanded. “Legs straight back, arms straight front, faces down.” And when they balked, she hissed: “Brown-nose for me, girls. Faces right down in that vile mess. Remember: It can always get worse. If you make me force you, it will be with your mouths open and your tongues hanging out.” She laughed merrily at their revulsion and horror as they forced themselves to obey her, fighting every natural instinct in the bodies to do so. “Now, that’s abject, sweeties. What weak, sweet little simping worms you are. When I draw a card, without having any chance to see it, I will predict what it is. That will be your cue to look up, confirm my guess, and watch me position the card. Then, without delay, you will put your faces back down, touching your nose and chin to the wretched rock until I announce the next card. Understood, you dirty bitches?”
“Yes, Domina,” they choked, Penny jumpy as a cat, tight as a wire, radiating an intense loathing and even an unreasoning panic at her situation that washed over Channah like a gentle ocean wave.
“Yessss….” She hissed. “Our Unholy Rite has commenced in its full, abominable vileness.”
Pentacle Reading—Channah’s Great Purpose
Relaxing herself, closing her eyes, and making herself still, she took six deep, calm breaths before tapping the top of the deck ten times. Then, quite calmly, in a voice cadenced with ritual and practice, she spoke:
“Dread abyss,
of sorrow and pain,
Serpent hiss,
the words of my shame.
Hear my cries,
I will attend,
With ears eyes,
Nose mouth and skin.
Make me echo
All your madness,
Force me to sow
Seething chaos.
By revealing what we Succubae most need to know to achieve our great purpose!”
And then, calmly, she leaned forward to draw a card.
“Pharaoh of Diamonds, reversed,” she announced. When the girls dared to look up, they found their Mistress staring at them, her eyebrow cocked inquiring for their confirmation, holding a card delicately between her thumb and forefinger facing them, such that she could not possibly have seen what card it was, even if she were focused on it instead of intimidating the girls.
And she smiled, a bitter, knowing, ironic smile when she saw the truth of it in their astonished eyes, even before they confirmed her guess verbally: “Yes, Domina,” they murmured.
Never taking her eyes off theirs, she set the card down at the tip of the pentagram pointing to her where it met the circle circumscribing the pentagram: “First position, foreshadowing the ninth, is the Significator. It speaks to the overall character or nature of the prayer.” And after she set it down, she looked at them expectantly until they forced their faces back down.
“The Chariot. Upright.” And when they confirmed it, miserable in their uncleanliness, she continued, placing it on the tip pointing to Chas: “Second position, foreshadowing the seventh, is called the Manifest: What you already know, your starting point.”
And so it went, as she moved through the rest of the rite:
“Huángdì of Wands… reversed?” which she placed on the tip to her left. Despite her uncertainty, she was correct. Again. “Third position, called the Present, foreshadowing the tenth. The now.”
“Sice of Swords, reversed.” The tip to her right. “Fourth position, called the Past, foreshadowing the eighth. The proximate cause.”
“Pharaoh of Wands. This is the hardest to predict… upside down?” (It was.). She set it down on the tip pointing toward Penny. “Fifth position, called the Future, foreshadowing the sixth. What’s next.”
Although her voice remained calm and lyrical, the voice of a priest giving a sermon, or perhaps a witch canting a spell, the next one could hardly avoid causing the girls to feel a cold shiver running down their spines:
“Death. Almost as variable as the Pharaoh of Wands, but the stronger bet is reversed.” (It was.). This and all the cards to follow, she placed on the inner corners of the pentagram, where different arms of the pentagram met together with one another, and with a corner of the inner pentagon formed by the middle segments of the five lines comprising the star. This first one went to her left. Her discussion of its position was the opposite of reassuring, really putting the ‘omen’ into ‘ominous.’ “Sixth position, recalling the fifth, called the Outcome. The ultimate result.”
“Trey of Spades. Upright.” She placed it at the vertex of the pentagram opposite where she was sitting. “Seventh position, recalling the second, called the Occult. What is hidden.”
“The Devil. Upright.” It went to the vertex to her right side. “Eighth position, recalling the fourth. Called the Foundation: the root of the issue.”
“Pharaoh of Hearts. Upright.” This one, she placed on the vertex by her right hip. “Ninth position, recalling the first, called the Challenge. The obstacle or antithesis.”
“The High Priestess, usually reversed.” Of course, she was correct again. In fact, at this point, the girls would have been astonished were it otherwise. It went on the vertex by her left hip. “Tenth position, recalling the third. Called the Counsel. The voice of good advice.”
She paused, breathed very deeply, and nodded to herself almost as if she were talking herself into something. “And this prophecy is mine, the divination of our, but especially my, great project.”
Had she given Penny a second’s thought, she would have expected her to ask what the ‘great project’ was. But she did not.
Path Reading—How the Girls May Serve
“Now. One more reading before our ritual ends. Before I let you up. And this one requires your utmost sincerity, devotion, and abnegation. Before you pass out of my hands on your journey with Húanglóng, I must read your course and what we need to know. I also want to get a baseline, before you go to Lytos, in case you pick up any bad habits or ideas I need to correct.” Something that might sound innocuous enough on the surface; but was anything but, coming from the mouth of a Queen of Hell and well-known sadist. “I have read your fortunes before, of course, but for the truest reading it must be done for you, and therefore in front of you and with your attention and awareness.”
And with that, she lay another, smaller black silken mat down across the arm of the pentagram pointing directly toward her, a rectangular strip of cloth that stretched from left to right but was narrow enough it didn’t overlap any of the ten positions of the Pentacle cloth. “This one will be quite fast. Three cards, and I’ll go as quickly as possible and release you immediately to hop in the pool.”
“Thank you, Mistress!” they both cried, sounding desperately hopeful and afraid at the same time.
“But only IF you are very good girls and cooperate completely. You can—and you’ll definitely want to—keep your mouths shut, with your lips pressed tightly together. I don’t need you to look up or speak during this one; in fact, I want you as deeply-immersed in your most-intense emotions as possible. Now genuinely, sincerely, kiss that shit. Push your faces down into it. If you don’t come up filthy from cheek to cheek I will use you as my own toilet when you return, so degrade yourselves now or I will destroy you later! That’s the way, wallow in that muck!” she growled with a contemptuous, gleeful satisfaction tinged with hate. “Now, stay and be good girls so I can concentrate.”
After taking a few moments to re-center herself again, she tapped three times on the top of the deck and intoned:
“Dread abyss,
I still attend.
Teach us this,
Help us offend.
Join me now
Your slaves most girlish
Teach them how
To be most churlish.
Make them worse
By disclosing
Th’evil course
Worst disposing.
Reveal to us their involutions,
Provocations, and solutions.”
She drew three cards in turn, which she laid in order from her left to her right on the second mat:
“The Non of Spades, upright,” she read woodenly, as if reserving all thought and feeling.
“Huangdì of Clubs.” She snorted. “Of course!” she added, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “But these images…. Er, upright.”
“Sultanah of Diamonds upright,” she sounded surprised, vexed, and intrigued all at once. “What—”
And then she hissed sharply, unable to mask her true feelings, speaking more stridently than calmly: “Under the Huangdì of Clubs—the Ot of Spades! How—I—” And then, belatedly, almost having forgotten to speak it: “Upright. How can this be? After so many centuries. This—simply—does not—happen—”
“Mistress please!” Penny whined and moaned and squealed all at once, managing to produce an extraordinarily plaintive and desperate sound strident enough to catch Channah’s attention and even break, if only for a moment, the intense mood that had seized her.
Barking a rough laugh, she snapped her fingers. “Go! Into the pool you disgustingly vile and nasty little girls! I can hardly stand to be within sight or smell of you!” But they were in the water before she could even finish, Penny especially moving with an uncharacteristic speed that jollied her despite the shock she was still processing. Their desperate, and entirely over-the-top, antics in the pool, especially Penny’s near-calisthenics, managed to distract and amuse her for several seconds as she plunged below water, shook her body and head violently, shoving herself right under the plunging torrent of water from above, scrubbing her hair and face as if she were trying to peel her own skin off, and finally moving out of the deluge just enough to gasp desperately for breath before throwing herself back under it. All before she even reached for the soap!
But even this over-the-top display could not distract her for long from the sobering and daunting reading before her.
By the time she looked up again, Chas was already clean—and, reason itself insisted, Penny must be clean, despite the fact she was applying and excessively scrubbing in yet another round of soap and, Channah eventually realized, making some kind of droning whining sound of horror like she just couldn’t get past what she had just experience—what, apparently, she was still experiencing in some way. Even Chas looked mildly surprised.
“Abram!” she burst out laughing. “Fool! What’s gotten into you?” and then, with a mild twitch of annoyance: “Stop this! Get over here!”
Chas, either to protect Penny from Channah’s wrath or to cop a cheap feel, moved forward and began helping to scrub Penny’s hair, telling him quietly: “Let me help you get the soap out. Come now, Penny, you’re clean. You’re perfectly clean! Don’t drown yourself.” And when Penny reached for the soap again, Chas intercepted her arm and kissed her hand, physically interposing herself between Penny and her fixation to get her attention and pleading: “Penny! Please!”
Penny froze and blinked for a moment, as if stuck and uncertain whether to heed her friend or try to plow past her, accepting Chas’s embrace reluctantly and unenthusiastically, which seemed to make Chas want to hug her even more forcefully to get through to her.
“Don’t crush the girl,” Channah suggested. “That’s quite enough, Penny, listen to Chas. Come over here, sweetie.” And when Penny still seemed uncertain, she pronounced, clearly and emphatically, with a mildness of tone that was all the more arresting: “Princess. Do you really think I would invite you to me if there were the slightest mess left upon you?”
Penny, surprised, shyly met her eyes, blinking in the spray of the falling water as she focused on Channah’s voice before she finally moved forward murmuring: “Yes, Mistress. I mean, no, Mistress.”
“That’s my girl,” Channah soothed her. “You two stay away from the cards. Circle around opposite sides of the spread to keep them dry, and settle in on either side of me here.” She extended her arms in invitation, watching as they carefully picked their ways around the cards before settling in beside her, causing her to shiver. “Brr! You’re so cold! You’re lucky mummy loves you so much. Come on, nestle into me and warm up so you can read the cards with me. Are you back with us, P—” she began, unnecessarily as it happened.
Penny gasped. “We’re—”
“Yes.” She agreed simply, knowing exactly what she was saying.
“We’re—Chas and I—on almost all the cards!”
“Yes, you are. Unless there’s another pair of gingerbread and lemoncake girls I haven’t met yet, up in every aspect of my life. This is the first time you’ve been on so many. And the most-important card in this respect?”
“The Sice of Swords,” Penny answered wonderingly and immediately. Of the fourteen cards on display, it was the only one without a paired redhead and blonde. Gray and cold and nearly emotionless, it leapt out visually from the other cards in almost every way.
“Swords are the suit of the Devils. Our enemies. They are as far from us as they can be. Of course, the images on the cards are never literal. The first Triumphs were fashioned to flatter the princely families of Italy who commissioned them or were gifted them. But when the Infernal Tarot dresses up an allegory in familiar characters and places…” she took each girl’s hair, turned her head, and met her eyes briefly in turn to punctuate her point, “It does not mean they’re to be interpreted literally. Or even that they necessarily relate at all to the real figures they portray. Beware familiar people and scenes on the Infernal Tarot. Assume they’re a trap. But…” she hesitated a moment, weighing how to say it. Almost reluctantly, she admitted: “They can be suggestive… at a minimum, they remind us how our own prejudices shape our perceptions, how we can become the victims of our own expectations…. And they tell us something about how we view the world. When the resemblance is faint, or suggestive—the color of hair alone, whether the style of the art is Ottoman or Persian or Indian, whether the themes are suggestive of legends of a particular culture or religion, whatever aspect it may be—the fact you make an association between the specific in the real world, and the archetype of the card, may tell you something very different than you assume. Or nothing at all that you are able to tell. For instance, it could alert you that your subconscious is aware or suspicious of something, and you should examine the actual situation or person more closely. All of which is to say, the specific personal appearance of people on the Sice of Swords is almost irrelevant to their interpretation, or where and to whom they might apply.”
She shrugged. “But this—gingerbread and lemon-cake don’t exactly look like you two, but… in addition to the hair, they’re effeminate, hermaphroditic, and always submissive. Even their chastity cages resemble yours. And the same two figures appear on so many cards…. It’s very hard to ignore or dismiss the resemblance completely. And so we should not.”
“What does it mean, Domina?” Penny asked, reaching her arms further around Channah and hugging her more tightly, nuzzling her sweetly.
“Never assume it is obvious. It never is. But… the fact the two of you appear to be so prominent in this reading suggests to me that you two are important to the events occurring right now and in the immediate future, that are most-relevant to my future. So, for example,” she tapped the card in the Counsel, or tenth, position of the Pentacle, “even if you girls aren’t relevant to the specific lesson the High Priestess is trying to tell me—despite the presence of you two, well…” she snickered. “very dirty girls! You—or more precisely, what is happening to you—is apparently very relevant to my mission at this moment in time.”
Penny and Chas both leaned in closer, squinting to make out the details of the card that Channah had singled out as dirty. And gasped, in embarrassed surprise, complaining simultaneously as they saw exactly what was happening to their little avatars: “DOMINA!”
“Don’t look at me, silly girls!” she threw up her hands. “I’ve been reading the Tarot for millenia. I know what I’m doing and the chance of my having influenced the cards more than by neutrally channeling the fates, or altered the order and content of the cards, is quite. Small. Despite my experience, to enhance it, I took all the precautions I could, using the alter-mat, the rituals of desecration, forcing you to attend me as my worshippers, and entering my receptive state. I am very confident this reading is overwhelmingly attuned to the cosmic energies as a whole, not any unintentional moods or thoughts of mine that could have contaminated them. Blame the Fates if you dare to pick a fight with them, girls, but don’t think it’s me or my intention.”
“Yes, Domina,” they intoned, because it felt as if they ought.
“I hope that’s not going to—” Penny began, Chas cutting her off before she could even finish: “That looks dangerous!”
Channah snickered. “It’s more than dangerous. True impalement, by sharpened stakes, even the Judas Cradle, is irrecoverably harmful.” Penny shivered. “What, dear?”
“You talk about it so matter-of-factly,” she whispered shyly. “You’re so ruthless and cruel, Domina.”
“You love it,” she opined. “Don’t you?” And when she didn’t get a response, she took Penny’s hair again and forced her to meet her eyes, raising her eyebrows inquisitively. ‘Don’t you?” Turning bright red, Penny swallowed and whispered: “Sometimes, Mistress,” turning even redder when she saw how much pleasure Channah took from the admission. “But this…”
“I’ll bet that your admission, and my essential bitchiness, not the Judas Cradle, made your tiny little rosebud harden against its diminutive cage, didn’t it?”
“Mistress!” Penny wriggled uncomfortably as her Mistress laughed.
“That’s a yes. You’re still well behind Chas on your learning- and craving- curve, but we’re starting to get you there.”
“‘Craving?’” Penny asked in a tiny voice.
“You know what I mean,” she dropped her other hand to Penny’s caged penis, confirming her suspicions and stroking the girl until she shivered. Gripping her purse viciously, she demanded: “Don’t you?”
“Yes Mistress,” Penny wriggled some more, looking miserable and mortified, dropping her eyes the moment Channah allowed her to by releasing her hair.
“Good. I hope we made it small enough to pinch a clit as tiny as yours.” And again, sensing a new level of submission in Penny, she pushed harder than she had in the past: “Did we?”
“Yes, Domina.” Penny sounded like she wanted to melt into the rocks around them.
“That helps my mood,” she smirked. “But to complete my thought, no, impaling is something we do to our enemies, not to our own jawari. Whatever the High Priestess means to us, or to the Fates, it’s not showing you any ritual of mine. It’s suggesting something analogous that is going to happen to all of us, or involve all of us. Perhaps it suggests some sacrifice on your parts, not even physical, but it could be committing to something you are avoiding, or doing something you’re reluctant to do.” Her voice changed, becoming suddenly serious: “Study these two readings carefully, girls. My fortune is well-known to me. The same cards, in the same order, have made it clear I am either in a narrow strait, or at an important juncture. And for some reason, in some way, it relates to the two of you. Perhaps you can even help me understand your part in this, if I teach you more about the cards.”
“But what I have not seen before, what is completely new to me, and what you do need to fathom as quickly as you can, for the sake of our project and possibly your own comfort and security, is your fortune.” She drew her finger along her second reading. “What should have been three cards, but by destiny or extremely rare chance, is four. And I do not like it. It is a fortune of caution…. Just look at it! The Non of Spades is a cruel card. The card of insomnia. Of a child waking up alone in the middle of the night in an empty house and monsters under the bed. Or, for succubae, a priest waking up alone in the middle of the night in an abandoned monastery finding he’s spent himself after being ridden by one of us.” A short, harsh laugh. “Only it’s no good, because in the Perdition Tarot, we are not the monsters. Certainly not those loyal to the Court of Lust, and to me. We’re the sleepers.” She shuddered. “Upright, there is a strong suggestion the card may not be warning me I should be scared, but that I should not. It may be asking me if I am overly worried, and being held back from the right course of action, or doubting what is obvious, because of my own fears. Which to be fair…” she nodded “could fit me, and my situation, perfectly. In which case, this fortune is no disaster, just the opposite; it’s urging me to embrace this and assuring me the only risk is if I hold back from it.”
“The Huangdì of Clubs is my—and your!—first husband, a fact that no doubt” she rolled her eyes “will seem terribly ironic to you as you learn more about the cards. By the rules of Succubaean Tarot, which is to say my rules, the Pharaoh is highest-ranked in gameplay, just as in Draconian Tarot the Huangdì is highest. But the game ranks are always irrelevant to the divinatory significance, which remains the same regardless of the game played. The ironies and complications—and the profound themes—of the Infernal Tarot, to human eyes…. Well, your world is but a distorted mirror of ours. Still, its appearance here is at once obvious and admonitory. Your visit to our husband is, indeed, the present likelihood and the cause of the concern that led me to test your fortune now. It is what my fear relates to. And it is a card of action. Some humans might say, the card of action. Your visit with Húanglóng is… could be… momentous. By itself, I think that’s fine. Maybe even fortuitous. I hope it means we will finally unlock Penny, freeing you both from what is holding her back.” The girls exchanged a quick, uneasy peek beneath Channah’s breasts.
“But the fact the Ot of Spades was, quite literally, hiding behind it…” she shivered. “Highlights the stakes and the risks of such an important event. Possibly its warning refers to the visit to Lytos itself; but I tend to think more than that, to the beginning of our great project. Our project which is in fact fraught with peril. A project which has brought calamity to other Houses of Hell attempting it. Every other House of Hell which has made its move, has failed disastrously.” She tapped her finger on the card. “Hiding behind… in conjunction with the Non of Spades, it almost screams treachery. Someone betraying me….”
“Húanglóng. Or…” she growled, “one of you, would be the most-obvious candidates, since you’re the ones actually shown on the faces of the cards. But the source of treachery is rarely obvious, even in the cards.” She made a frustrated sound. “And for all I know, it could be telling me I am the traitor, betraying my own cause through over-caution!”
“And finally. What, in a way, is the most-perplexing card of all.” She snorted, a sound at once frustrated and amused; perplexed, and delighted. “The Sultanah of Diamonds.” Grabbing the girls’ hair, she pulled their heads back and looked into their eyes again, then turned their heads back towards the cards and shoved them forward. Shaking their heads briefly, she demanded: “Who is this pig-bitch?” Wrenching their heads back to her, so both of them had to roll over to avoid hyperextending their necks, she laughed with exasperation: “And more to the point: Why are you grovelsimping for her?!”
There was no way the Whore of Babylon herself, who slept with more men every time she dreamed than most mortal women sleep with in a lifetime, and who quite literally demanded her jawari wives prove their loyalty and devotion to her by whoring themselves out for her, could be jealous; and yet, it almost sounded as if she were. The girls had barely enough experience in life to begin to suspect that what she felt had nothing to do with sex, per se, or even romantic attachment; but a more feudal expectation of loyalty.
“We don’t know, Domina!” Her girls protested, looking terrified and surprised.
“We’ve never seen her before!” Chas promised sincerely.
“We’ve never even seen one of—what is that?!” Penny threw up her hands, her credibility almost assured by her obvious, omnivorous and rabid, curiosity about all things unfamiliar. “She’s not a succubus, is she?!”
“Certainly not!” Channah harumphed. “She’s a filthy Rakshasi.” Her voice managed to put a diatribe’s worth of loathing and contempt into the single word. “Lowest and most-disgusting of the demons. They wallow in filth like the pigs they are, and revel in the things we—proper demons, even humans—revile! The worst punishments and degradations I impose on you—like that!” Still holding their heads in her hands, and pulling them in closer to her sides, she turned them suggestively towards the other side of the pool where they had evacuated their entire GI tracts of every molecule of their contents. “Such loathesome, repellent pestilences are practically considered delicacies by those depraved, repulsive swine!”
The girls were taken aback by the strength of her reaction to the rakshasi—the reaction of a demoness who, a few minutes earlier, had been discussing the pros and cons of the most vile tortures with a casual, almost lighthearted, at best scientific, lack of any concern or empathy whatsoever.
The girls’ faces reflected the worry and horror they were feeling as they contemplated a demon who could make such a sadistic murderess and torturess as Channah feel such distaste.
“I hope we never even meet one of them!” Penny assured her.
Chas opened her mouth to pledge her loyalty but realized before she spoke, that she didn’t even know how she might do that. Their Domina planned to pimp them out to serve her, and had already ordered them to gratify the whims of half her own court. How did one demonstrate the loyalty Chas and Penny both felt, under such circumstances?
“To guide you and protect us, take a few minutes to memorize these fourteen cards, their images, and their positions. Do not comment on them, or draw attention to them, with others. But be alert for them in the actions of others, and in the workings of fate around you.”
Literature Section “07-42 Secrets of the Elder Demons”
2510 07-41 Infernal Tarot–II High Priestess (Channah the Impaler)2511 07-41 High Priestess (Channah the Impaler) (composite image)2512 07-41 Infernal Tarot–II High Priestess (Channah the Defiler)2513 07-41 High Priestess (Channah the Defiler) (composite image)2514 07-41 Infernal Tarot–II High Priestess (Channah the Violator)2515 07-41 High Priestess (Channah the Violator) (composite image)2516 07-41 image for High Priestess (Alternate 1)2517 07-41 image for High Priestess (Alternate 2)2518 07-41 image for High Priestess (Alternate 3)2519 07-41 image for High Priestess (Alternate 4)2520 07-41 Paculla Annia Corrupting Her Blood and Rites (Campania)2521 07-41 The Crucifixion of the Spartaci (Campania)3459 07-41 Lanka Thanks You–300 Watchers3460 07-41 Lanka Thanks You–300 Watchers
CAUTION: Contains themes of heavy degradation and filth some readers may find disturbing.
RULES OF THE CARD GAME THE CHARACTERS ARE PLAYING AVAILABLE HERE.
PREVIOUSLY: Playing the demonic card game, Perdition Tarot, Channah has wagered Penny, Chas, Esmeray, and her other servants against Húanglóng; and everyone has wagered some combination of money, dares, and sacrifices on every trick and deal. The doors have been sealed, the atmosphere is rowdy, the stakes are high, and everyone in the Lodge is intoxicated. Queen Channah is descending into a dark mood for reasons other than, but somehow bound up with, the game. After the other bets have been settled, Channah inserts marbles into Penny and Chas that she mysteriously promises—or threatens—will make them cleaner than they have ever been. Now she leads them away from the rest of the gamers to prepare them for the frightening events to come. NOW:
“Clothes off!” Channah paused at the stairway, waiting while the girls stripped. Taking their dresses, she almost led Penny and Chas further upstairs, but then shook her head, setting their dresses down on the upward flight and murmuring “better safe than sorry” as she led them downstairs instead, down the garden path, past the hot springs, where she commanded them to pick up soap and towels, and through a thick grove of ancient forest to a narrow defile, half-hidden behind an old āhuēhuētl tree, that cut down through the rocks to a small ledge five or ten feet below the cliff face where water from one or all of the springs spilled over the cliffs, forming a small and shallow pool in a bowl perhaps carved from the rocks by the water itself, before brimming over the lip of the small ledge to plunge down the face of the high cliff.
From the floor of the valley, perhaps the water revealed itself as a gorgeous and dramatic waterfall. But from the dizzying height of the narrow ledge, it seemed to disappear down an infinite chasm, likely dissolving into spray and mist long before it reached the bottom. If it ever did. Chas gasped for breath, pressing herself back against the face of the cliff, the second the side of the defile slipped away to reveal the terrifying fall.
Channah laughed harshly. “Not even the birds build nests here. Only two reasons to come here,” she opined. “To contemplate death, or do what you’re about to do.”
“What is that, Domina?” Chas asked.
She just laughed in reply, enjoying keeping them wondering as long as possible, pushing Penny so she was pressed up against the cliff face with Chas, commanded them “Sit!” and then squatted before them, unfastening their cages, washing them in the water beside her before setting them on the rock to dry as she began to speak, her eyes flicking up to meet theirs firmly between concentrating on what she was doing:
“As you have no doubt already gathered, I’m off my game today.”
“I’m sorry, Domina,” Penny quavered, nervously but honestly. “I can see you are upset. Is everything all right?”
“No, I’m not,” she answered, surprising them with her candor. “And I’m not sure. I’m obviously going to lose every bet I place today. Including, most importantly, my ill-advised—or possibly fated—bet with Húanglóng. I do regret the consequences of placing it, although Penny, if you were more open to the pleasure that awaits you from surrendering, it would not have been necessary.”
“I’m sorry, Domina.”
“Hush. You’re not. Some, I know, but not sorry enough, anyway, despite my best efforts to make you so without spoiling your sweet disposition. So many years’ training, and now I’m backed into a corner. It was a reckless bet, but I’m not sure what else I could have done. And again, I feel the hand of the fates at work here. Revealed…” she hesitated.
“In your cards,” Penny whispered.
Nodding, she agreed: “Especially so. But not just in my divination hand—the entire deck. You have to be ready in less than a month to serve a man eagerly, no matter what he looks or smells like.”
“Domina!” Penny sounded as shocked as she was horrified.
“Try not to sound so surprised, sweetie,” Channah giggled despite herself. “It’s charming, but it does make you seem a bit stupid at this point. I mean…” she looked straight into Penny’s eyes, bursting out laughing when she looked away, reddening with shame. “Really! You’ve known I bought and bred you to be my whore for at least a week… and as clever as you are, perhaps a part of you has seen and feared it for years.”
“No. No—” Penny shook her head.
“Oh, dear,” she laughed, looking piercingly into Penny’s eyes and delighting with the shame she saw blossoming in her girl’s countenance. “Your denial was just a little too emphatic, sugar bear. An unmistakable tell. That’s a direct hit, isn’t it, Princess? Your cheeks, so red. And you can’t even hold my gaze!” she thrilled. “I love it so much I want to lick and eat you up. That delicious shame…. I think it’s your very-most attractive quality, Pleaser. It makes me hot and wet like a volcano every time.”
“Domina!” Penny gasped, shocked by the intensity of her reaction and how much it revealed about the deep, intimate connection between them.
“You know it’s true. I see that,” she sniggered gleefully. “Suspected so long, and still stayed with us and tried so hard to please us….” She reached forward, taking Penny’s chin in her hand, to force the girl to look at her. “Oh, you must despise yourself! Don’t you, darling? Fuck yesss….” She used her other hand to stroke herself. “I can’t believe I’m about to lose you two for a week! You better hope you don’t fall into my hands in the final deal of the game. I want you two filthy-innocent sluts so badly….” And then, in a sing-songy teasing voice, she chanted: “Penny loves the Queen of Hell enough to be her eager whore….”
“Domina!” Penny squealed in protest, squirming.
Channah threw her head back and laughed. “Oh I wish there were a bit more time right now. But I fear there’s not.” Shaking her head and becoming businesslike once again, her tone became instructive: “That’s your problem, darling. Denial. And your charm: The innocence persisting and longing for a past so long-gone, it won’t accept the reality of corruption. Perhaps the next week will help cure you of that. After you’ve lusted so desperately for things you never imagined you could, it’s much harder to pretend it wasn’t you.” She shrugged. “Húanglóng has that effect. All dragons do, Húanglóng more than any of them, of course. And you’ll enjoy it, I promise. If I had considered it acceptable for even a second to risk trusting you to the custody of another court I would have sent you to him years ago.” And then, almost deliberately to cut off the question she could see forming on Penny’s lips, she preempted: “How do you feel?”
“A little queasy, Mistress,” she conceded. Then whispered under her breath, almost too quietly to be heard: “From the disgusting conversation….”
Channah whooped with laughter. “Oh, you wouldn’t dare sass me if you didn’t know I was in a rush, would you? Let’s get you ready but don’t think you’ve gotten away with anything. Now, dear, breathe deeply, this is both going to feel strange and it’s going to hurt, but I don’t have time to put you under this morning.”
“Put me—”
“BREATHE DEEPLY!” she reminded her girl, carefully positioning her right hand around Penny’s belly button and grasping her piercing firmly in her left hand as she closed her eyes, calming and composing herself and whispering something in a language neither girl understood as she pressed forward, a warm feeling emanating from her right hand seeming to loosen and relax Penny’s muscles so much she almost doubled over with the intensity and weirdness of the sudden loss of muscle control and sensation over a part of her body.
And then Channah ripped it out.
Really: ripped.
It felt like a bandage being torn off a wound to which it had stuck, taking scab and healthy flesh alike with it; and sounded the same, not unlike tearing cloth.
Penny squealed, provoking Channah to smirk and shake her head, interrupting her chant. “Please. It’s not that bad. Not a tenth as dramatic as putting it in in the first place, you big baby. You won’t even have a scar to remember your piercing by. If you let me get on with my spell.” Then Penny’s squeal turned to a shout of shock and surprise—and Channah’s smirk to laughter as she tried to resume her chant—as Chas suddenly yelled, too. As she pulled on the piercing, it came out…
And came out…
And came out.
Several feet of copper wire with small charms affixed to it at intervals, like a very long charm bracelet, but with the shapes molded into the same piece of copper as the wire itself rather than hanging free from it. The charms were too small and bloody for the girls to tell what they were, but each one had a different, irregular, and quite deliberate-seeming form making it clear they were neither identical nor accidental.
“THAT was inside me, Mistress?!” Penny screeched.
“Yes, dear, and you didn’t even know it, did you? You never would have known it if this card game hadn’t gone so badly. Or… if it was not necessary…” she mused as the last of it finally came out and she set it on the rocks in a shallow part of the pool beside her. Channah kept her hand on Penny another good minute and a half, whispering, until she was satisfied; and with a quick nod, shifted to face Chas. “I hadn’t planned this game. But the sudden desire to play it was… overwhelming. And I wasn’t expecting it, so… it’s even harder to avoid being manipulated when you don’t realize it’s happening.”
“Manipulated, Domina? By… the fates?” Penny breathed.
“Yes. Destiny. Prophecy. Necessity, perhaps. Call it what you like.”
“The cards,” Penny repeated her previous guess, nodding with conviction now. And guessed: “Death and The Devil!”
“Very good, smartypants,” she nodded. “Or should I say, ‘smartyskirts’. But not the only ones. What made you notice those two?” She asked, as she relaxed a second time, her right hand on Chas’s belly now, her left hand on Chas’s piercing. Then she began whispering as Chas made a startled sound.
“I’m not exactly certain, Domina,” Penny admitted, shuddering sympathetically as she watched Chastity, stunned to see what was coming out of her body despite the fact she obviously had known what to expect. “Instinct? There were a series of cards in your first hand that you played strangely, almost like you were performing a ritual instead of playing a card game. And…. Oh! The Huángdì of Wands! You played it around the same time in the first hand. Then in the second hand, you played the Pharaoh of Wands first—even when you shouldn’t have. Death and the Devil—they—they’re very memorable cards so I remember seeing them when you played them.”
“Me too,” Chas agreed, although it was unclear if she simply meant she remembered the cards, or if she remembered anything about how they had been played.
Penny resumed: “In both cases, you were terribly… intense. Almost obsessed. But… why are you removing—our chakra ornaments?”
After she had set Chas’s piercing in the same shallow puddle and finished chanting, she opened her eyes again and answered: “Did you notice anything about the cards I played? What was on them?” And then she clarified: “Who was on them?”
“We were!” Penny exclaimed in shock. “Or—or at least, a blonde and a redhead.” And then she whispered, either from amazement or shyness: “Serving a powerful Succubus. I—I thought I was… fantasizing it.” Channah laughed, a sharp laugh of surprised, genuine pleasure as Penny turned bright red, realizing what she had said. “Imagining,” Penny clarified. “You know what I mean.”
“Perhaps better than you, Pleaser. ‘Fantasizing.’ Not ‘imagining.’ I have your number fully now, what a horny little slut you are,” laughing even harder as Penny covered her eyes with her hands. “And I love it that you’re still shy about it. After the things we’ve done,” she shook her head, feigning shock. As she rinsed the two piercings in the water, she continued, answering Penny’s most-recent question: “Because you’re starting to figure some of this out, I’m going to tell you a bit more. Not because I want you to know it, but because I want you to know how important it is to your own interests not to share a whisper of your speculations with anyone other than me. Listen carefully, and take this seriously. And keep it to yourself. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Domina,” they answered, swallowing and looking at one another, impressed with how serious she was.
“I’m going to tell you just enough, so you can be on your guard, before you say anything in front of others. So you can protect yourselves and me.”
“From what?” Chas asked. The fact Penny had not asked the same question should have suggested to Chas that Penny already knew the answer; but even if this had occurred to Chas, she would not have put together that Penny and Channah had previously had a previous discussion about this subject. She would have assumed clever Penny had figured it out on her own.
“Am I dangerous?” Channah asked unexpectedly.
“Oh, yes, Domina!” They both answered unhesitatingly, without anything other than total sincerity.
“So if I have enemies—and I do—that I have been battling for centuries without vanquishing, they must be dangerous as well, mustn’t they?”
“Yes, Domina.”
“And if any of them realized how important the two of you were to my ambitions… what do you think? Would you be safer? Or…”
“In terrible danger,” Chas answered, nodding slowly to herself.
“Yes. That’s why we’re having this conversation away from even my most-trusted lieutenants; because even they lack the powerful incentives to keep quiet about this that only the two of you share with me. If my rivals come to even suspect two humans as weak and insignificant as you may have an important role to play in my fate… they would see you as my most vulnerable point, and exploit that. Perhaps by killing you; perhaps by trying to turn you with magic or torture or blackmail; perhaps….” She shrugged, unable or feeling it unnecessary to offer further alternatives. “Do you understand?” She hardly need have paused for their response; they were both, immediately, nodding earnestly.
“Good. Then listen well. The two autumn leaves—I called them that because they appeared for the first time on the Death card, on All Hallows’ Eve, in 1517. Just—long before—I met you.” The girls exchanged an uneasy look. That didn’t sound good.
“The cards are slippery. Their destiny is to reveal the future, but they seem to fight that destiny as vigorously as I tried to fight mine today. Or, perhaps, they are simply serving their own purpose in causing the events they are to tell by making us their pawns. They do all they can to conceal what they reveal, and leave us all in confusion, looking the wrong way, so they can laugh at us afterwards and tell us ‘we told you so, fool (allusion to the Tarot fully intended, even required), and you should have listened!’ Only in hindsight are their messages clear. There’s always a chance you two are…” she shrugged again, emphasizing her uncertainty and the powerlessness of every soul, “Nothing. Nothing at all. Or perhaps, originally, you were nothing—until, suspecting I might have recognized you in the cards, I plucked you up and made you a part of my story by reading, and then pulling, you into a prophecy that had nothing to do with you. That’s Fate’s second-favorite trick.”
“What is its favorite?” Penny asked.
She laughed bitterly. “To persuade you to engineer the very situation the cards are warning you to avoid. They love to do that.”
“That’s… cruel,” Penny opined, as Channah reached forward to unfasten Penny’s collar, shooting her an intense, commanding, silent glare in response to her look of surprise. Apparently, this was a secret within a secret, to be kept even from Chas. And not for the first time, Penny wondered how many secrets of Channah’s surrounded her, woven by Channah through the people around her, cautioning them not to share with Penny, even as she was warning Penny not to share her secrets with them.
“Ironic, at least,” Channah proposed, even as the collar came off—something deeply unsettling to Penny because of its significance, and of how much she had come to expect it as a permanent fixture of her life.
Rubbing her neck while Channah washed the collar, Penny said, strangely: “I—I feel… something. Nauseated. Empty. Terribly—” her eyes met Channah’s. “Lonely.”
Channah smiled, abandoning Chas for a moment to take Penny’s cheeks in her hands and pull her forward for a deep soul kiss. “Yesss….” She hissed. “I knew it. I knew you were feeling what I was feeling. Our—” she spared a glance at Chas, before composing herself and returning to remove the third girl’s collar “Our three souls, are fusing into one another, I as your Domina, you as my slaves.” And she laughed ruefully: “Either confirming the cards, or proving how very slippery they are. “Do not doubt for a second my collars will return to your necks. Or rather, that they will return you to your rightful places under my gorgeous infernal feet—when Húanglóng brings you back for the next heteraslakos next week. These accouterments, and more.”
“More?”
“You have six chakras, ginger. Two more to go, sealing our union completely, after these first four. But you don’t even need them anymore to feel the basic connection between us, do you? It will never leave us; it is already a part of who we are. That, and the craving your soul has to cleave to mine ever-closer, emphasized by the loss of the even deeper connection lent by the collars, is the loneliness you are feeling.” As as she washed Chas’s collar, she explained: “The connection between us, longing for the intimacy and amplification brought about by the chakra accouterments. Even I feel it. Now—” she stood up, and pointed to the platform on the other side of the stream. “Go stand over on that platform.”
“Why, Domina?” Penny asked.
“Get—over there—now!” she barked, stamping her foot, swatting their hips—and then their bottoms as they instinctively turned away from the blows—pointing insistently, staring down the girls until they obeyed her and cautiously made their way to the far ledge, hugging the cliff every step of the way despite the fact they had a good five or six feet insulating them from the precipice. The platform was roughly a square, six feet on a side, defined on one side by the rushing water, a second by the cliff wall which provided the only sense of security, and on the other two sides by the abyss.
Only after they were obeying did she explain: “The loneliness you’re feeling is all about separation from me. Magical separation, emphasizing—or more precisely, failing to compensate for—the physical separation that feels increasingly at odds with the spiritual connection between us. But the nausea you feel is only partly at the isolation.” She smirked a moment before becoming serious again: “And Penny’s yummy shame. Right now, the magico-chemical suppositories I placed inside you are finishing their work of dissolving everything inside your intestines and stomach.” The girls looked at one another, worried. “Well, except for the twister and the trigger, which will jell all by themselves when I command them. And believe me, you want me to command them to do so, which I will do as soon as you’re in position. Right now, they’re what are holding in your filth; but as your intestines churn more intensively…. They are ultimately tasked with not harming you, so they’ll allow you to vacate before anything more extreme happens. But they will hurt like hell exiting your body if they’re forced out, without any further help from me.”
“Why?” Penny asked. And Chas, simultaneously: “How?”
“Now step to the very back of the ledge, furthest away from the edge, and squat down with your hands on the cliff wall.”
“Mistress!” The girls whined with alarm and fear. “Please! Mercy!”
“Obey me and I will be merciful and jell your toys. It’s hard not to experience what’s about to happen to you as unpleasant—” Then, nodding her head thoughtfully, she qualified: “Well, unless circumstances or spiritual darkness compel you to experience it a few times. Then, I’m told, it can become quite addictive.”
“What?!”
She laughed. “I know! Humans are disgusting. Point for today being, it’s unpleasant but not harmful or excruciating. It won’t hurt a tenth as much as Fang’s paddling this morning. It’s mostly the bad associations that make it unpleasant. It’s hard for your mind not to experience it as the worst case of the flux you can imagine.”
“Mistress!” The girls were almost crying.
“Good girls,” she laughed, enjoying their plight but pretending it was routine. “The most important thing is to keep your mess there at the base of the cliff wall so the trigger and the twister aren’t swept over the ledge. If they drop down there, you’ll spend the next week and a half after your return from Lytos searching for them.”
She shook her head, smiling, and sat down on a rock watching the girls shivering and whining and casting looks of fear at one another, then at her. Bursting out laughing, she dried her hands on her dress while she cautioned them: “Remember. Do not let anything solid go over that cliff.”
“MISTRESS!” They squealed in alarm, looking terrified, just before she smirked at them and relaxed something inside herself.
Immediately, their expressions melted into extreme discomfort. “Oh no!” Chas yelped, as she became sick at both ends at once.
“Please look away, Domina!” Penny begged, her face becoming agonized as she tried to resist what Chas had accepted. “Privacy please—”
Channah sneered. “Absolutely not! It’s physically revolting, of course, and you should be disgusted and disgraced with what vile creatures you are. So wallow in it, you dirty, despicable girls! Go on! Look at me while you void yourselves or I’ll whip you until I can see your bones!” And when they obeyed her, she shuddered, her eyelids fluttering with the intensity of her arousal as she began rubbing herself, completely overcome with passion. “Oh fuck I wasn’t planning to do this but occasionally I disgust even myself!” She was laughing with the same intensity of their bitter tears, even as her body shook and jerked with one of the strongest orgasms they had ever seen her experience, a rolling orgasm that surged and subsided and surged again like waves on the ocean at high tide. She could barely speak, half-grunting, and disturbingly, even shimmering back and forth between her human and demonic forms. Most unsettling, in her intense state, the human and demonic forms, while similar to one another and all recognizable to the girls as their Domina Channah, were not the same. As a demon she would have U-shaped horns, then curled rams’ horns, no tail that they could see, then a long one; and her human forms would vary between her usual obscene plushness and a grotesque, almost inflated fatness; then between olive and almond skin tones. “Your shame is like opium honey to me,” she grunted, as she burst out laughing, unusually cruelly, which was saying something for her, as Penny, like Chas, started crying, shitting, and vomiting all at once.
Channah applauded and mocked them, their indignity, and their misery, when she could gather enough breath to do so between bouts of laughter so strong her efforts to breathe became a form of sobbing similar to her girls. “This is horrific! You’re the most disgusting, nasty, filthy mud-fountain whores I’ve seen in—years! Lilith and Cain, I LOVE BEING SUCH AN EVIL NASTY BITCH! OH FUCK!”
By the time it—orgasm for her, flux for them—was more or less over, Channah was slumped back against her rock, staring off into space with glassy eyes, while the girls were quietly sobbing with their misery and humiliation. It was several minutes before Channah finally took a deep, relieved breath and, apparently too fatigued to stand, practically crawled forward to wash her hands once again in the stream, before drying them again on her dress. “Ohhh… thank you, girls. Your mortification was so hot. I love to see you suffering, emotionally and physically at once. If you can train yourselves to get aroused while you’re suffering that way—” she ignored the girls’ noises of shocked protest—“You’d really learn to endear yourselves to me. Now, set your triggers and twisters in that little pool there for safekeeping, but stay over there, well back from me and the stream, until you’re done. Well—more precisely, until I’m satisfied you’re done.”
“We’re not done yet?!” Chas asked incredulously, amusing her again.
“In the main, my darling bimbette. But to be safe, I’m going to give your tummies and bowels a few minutes to settle and finish whatever activity they may have remaining in them, while you attend to what I’m explaining. We must be absolutely sure that you’re both done and pure.”
“Mistress….” Penny whined. “I can’t stand myself! Let alone—”
“Good!” she snorted. “You can’t imagine how much that pleases me. Do you disgust yourselves?”
“Yes, Domina, “they admitted miserably.
“Tell me. Tell me!”
“The smell—it’s terrible. And my skin—even the rocks around us—this is worse than Sodom!” Penny bawled.
“I’m certain I’m going to be sick all over again—every minute I have to kneel here!” Chas wailed, proving her words with a dry-retching sound that momentarily cut off her ability to speak.
Channah whooped. “That’s perfect! You girls are a delight to me. Although clearly I’ve been treating you too well. But have a thought for your betters, Miriam and Rivqah. Stop thinking about yourselves, and start thinking about them! They’re going to have to kiss your nasty bottoms when we get back to the game, aren’t they?”
“Yes, Domina,” the girls admitted, surprised to remember it, or perhaps even to start to suspect it might be an actual possibility.
“And they deserve the very best, don’t they?”
“Yes, Domina!”
“Certainly, better than you two. Just as I do. So show us all the proper respect for our relative stations and have the patience to make certain you are clean as a whistle before we have to touch your nasty bodies.”
“Yes, Domina,” they mumbled in shame.
“Turn and face me, and get down on your knees and elbows in a proper posture of respect.”
“But the surface of the rock—” Penny began, gesturing unnecessarily at the spray of liquid filth polluting every inch of the stone around them, almost to the edge of the pool and stream. Meeting the unexpectedly implacable and dark fury in Channah’s eyes, she started, even before Channah growled:
“One more bit of sass or resistance of any kind out of you and I’ll make you lick that entire side of the ledge clean with your tongue before I allow you to wash yourself. If I sense anything other than gratitude and unqualified respect from you, you’ll have nightmares for a year from the things I force you to do in the next two hours. Do you understand me, Penance Batonnoir?!”
“Yes, Domina!” Penny corrected herself, and her attitude, with an alacrity that clearly pleased Channah, an ugly smile blossoming on her face at how genuinely cowed Penny was as she watched Penny scramble to assume the specified positon.
And after pausing and staring her slave down, she hissed: “Lower. Spready your knees and your elbows so your hips—and especially your nose—are half as far from your stinking corruption as they are now.”
“I’m so sorry, Domina, I swear it, I’ll be better!” Penny fell over herself to show how contrite she was, and how bereft of the hubris that often made her try to act better than the chattel slave she was. “I’ll be a good girl, Mistress! Thank you for this chance to apologize and do better! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Domina, I’ll be your good girl!”
“Of course!” She crowed with satisfaction. “You’re such a prissy, affected little snoot I should have guessed it! Now I have another way to control you when I really want to. Or how to punish you.” She laughed meanly when Penny moaned fearfully, continuing to revel in her own power, and rub Penny’s nose in her own helplessness and lowliness, so to speak. “Thank you for being so thoughtless and stupid as to reveal another profound vulnerability to me! Now I have two: Pain… and filth. One day, perhaps we’ll have a test to see which one breaks you faster. Unless you can continually impress me with your devotion and submission.”
“Yes, Domina,” Penny whispered fearfully, her voice shocked with horror. “That won’t be necessary, I swear it!”
“You should be grateful I’m consigning you to my husband’s control. I advise you to sink completely into your desire to surrender to him, and learn how to embrace the benefit and blessing of willing surrender, before I waste another minute on you. Otherwise, you will find it very emotionally stressful to serve me with the level of meanness and humility I will require.”
“And your lowly position is thoroughly appropriate. You should be humble. I am about to reveal to you my destiny, and yours. Your place in this world. Your significance, such as it is, here; and the meaning and purpose of your existence.”
Channah felt inordinately pleased with herself. As the girls knelt, shivering and miserable, their guts still cramping and their nostrils and eyes assaulted and assailed by the evidence of their lowest form—and how easily she could reduce them to it—she, their master, relaxed easily on a clean rock in a fresh warm breeze, overlooking a beautiful deep valley on a fresh morning, pulling a piece of cloth and a lacquered box from the folds of her robes.
2155 07-33 Queen of Blood2156 07-33 Rich, Raw, and Rotten2157 07-33 Decadent as Sin2158 07-33 Channah’s “ScorpiosKiss” profile on eHarmony2159 07-33 Channah’s “Verybadgirl666” public profile photo on Tinder2160 07-33 Channah’s “Man’s Ruin” public profile photo on Match.com2161 07-33 Channah’s “DevoutSubmissiveMary” profile pic on ChristianMingle.com2162 07-33 Channah’s “HardWorkingObedientBreeder” profile pic on SecondWife.com 2163 07-33 Channah’s “UsefulObedientUnicorn” profile pic on SecondWife.com image 2164 07-33 Fang’s “FreeLovePartyGirl” profile on Jiayuan.com2165 07-33 Fang’s “ZeroBridePriceAllWorkersCompanion” profile photo on Jiayuan.com2166 07-33 a succubus catfishing as “BayouBassBeauty” on PlentyofFish.com2167 07-33 a succubus catfishing as “SouthernComfort” on PlentyofFish.com
CAUTION: Contains themes of sin and self-destructiveness some readers may find disturbing (even the abridged version).
Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, chastity, prostatestimulation, cleanup, orgasm, and consensualnonconsent, themes at 07-33X The Kiss of Shame at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman
PREVIOUSLY: Channah, Chastity, and Penance are honeymooning in Channah’s secret tropical paradise. An otherwise pleasant, fascinating, and companionable dinner ends with a sharp reminder of her wives’ status as her abject slaves—and heats up as Channah persuades Penny she was made and born to be the adoring slave of an evil bitch princess like her. NOW:
Penance’s surrender to Channah’s will, as always, followed her surrender to her own passions, which Channah commanded and orchestrated with the skill of a grand maestro. Soon, kneeling between Channah’s legs, on the floor before her seat, Penny, vulnerable and naked but for her bonds and slave tack, hugged her tightly with her face buried in Channah’s belly and crotch, kissing her through her dress and professing, over and over, her hopeless exaltation of and affection for a demoness Queen of Hell; while Chastity, Penny’s companion, similarly vulnerable, knelt behind Penny hugging Channah’s legs and Penny’s shoulders.
Recognizing opportunity when she saw it, and desire when she felt it, Channah gasped involuntarily, deliberately inflaming both girls’ already-alcohol-lubricated passions with her touch before daring the momentary interruption required to withdraw her hands, lift Penny’s shoulders slightly off her, and stagger to her feet, growling: “Come! Follow me, pup!” while grabbing Penny’s hair and pulling her mercilessly, forcing her to scramble in her hands and knees to keep up, with Chastity trailing like a lost pup behind her. Obediently crawling behind Her, on hands and knees over the hard stone floor, unable or unwilling to ask for or demand any better treatment, instead accepting the hard yanking of her hand gripping Penny’s long hair and setting an unreasonable, biped pace for her meek, servile, crawling slave, made Penny blush with the reality of how pathetic and abject a thing she had become for her pushy, demanding Master. She felt her cheeks burn with the shame of allowing herself to be degraded, and indeed participating in her own degradation, for her Domina’s glorification or simple convenience. And behind her, semi-neglected, trailing behind because she had nowhere else to go and just hoped for any stray attention she could get from either one of the deeply-entangled people her heart ached for, afterthought Chastity felt like the lowest and loneliest loser in the world.
Channah walked to a wide, comfortable lounge chair piled with pillows against a wall facing the garden, throwing a wide pillow practically large enough to be a mattress to the ground in front of the divan and dragging Penny to kneel on top of it before her as she plumped down with a pleased sigh onto the lounge proper, continuing to hold Penny’s hair in one hand, head tipped up to look straight at her, feeding her girl’s desire and whipping it to a frenzy through the connection between them. With her other hand, she swept the panels of her dress to the sides, snorting at Penny’s surprise and obvious arousal at suddenly facing her bare, warm body. “Both of you look,” she commanded, using her other hand to spread herself. “Look! Don’t be slow and make me interrupt us with a lengthy lesson. Penance, you know you are ignorant of all things female; even of your own new body. But I’m sure you want to learn, everything you can, don’t you honey?”
“Yes, Domina,” Penny nodded earnestly, her eyes wide, miserably embarrassed at being called out on her inexperience, which she worried her two companions looked down on her for. As if they didn’t already have enough reason to despise her for her weakness and softness. But around her Domina, especially so close to her magnificent, warm body, the physical manifestation of she who Penny adored so much, she couldn’t even think straight. Like a planet shaken to pieces or a star shredded by a more-powerful, larger-gravity body in space, the tidal force of her was greater than Penny’s own sense of self, so overwhelming her in proximity, Channah destroyed Penny’s own ability to know herself, eclipsing her very identity with her greatness and splendor. Penny understood, as never before, that someone as ephemeral and insubstantial as herself could not even exist in such proximity to a greater existence; let alone shine or be seen in the light-shadow of her radiant, overwhelming magnificence. How, Penny marveled, could nothing resist everything when it negated and absorbed and outshone Penny’s very existence? Manifestly, it seemed to Penny, it could not; why would it even try? She felt almost that she shouldn’t exist, something as paltry and ghostly as she was; a mere shadow of her Domina. How dare she insult her goddess by even thinking of herself as something separate or unique? At the same time, as her very identity was occulted, her passions and awareness narrowed and sharpened, taking her first clear, fully-awed, considered look in full light at her Domina’s—or any woman’s—sex. Even as her conscious mind, such as it still was, tried to comprehend the holy shrine she had been given to gaze upon, what it was, what it meant, her animal brain and instincts raced into it at the speed of a galloping horse, shuddering and literally even salivating at the very sight of it whether she understood anything about it or not. She was barely even aware of how electrified she was by the faintest, faintest whiff of her aroused Domina’s orchid, and the moisture gathering like dew at the root of her. Penny’s eyes and lips fell slack and passive with a sense of connection and importance that overwhelmed them and rendered them as passive and accepting as Channah rendered Penny’s very soul.
Behind Penny, the sad nearly-forgotten shadow of her two companions, came Chastity. If Penny was pulled in too closely and tightly, Chastity was ignored; a distant planet, beyond even the orbit of Jupiter, not even visible to two sets of eyes locked upon one another. A lonely planet or asteroid with so little significance, it tumbled invisibly and undetectably in the unimaginable depth of space, wishing if only it could be embraced and torn apart by the tidal force of love! If Penny was shredded and annihilated by her union with Channah, Chastity felt the incomparable pain of irrelevance, so far removed from her own center of gravity she was neglected and might as well not even exist. But staring, helplessly and desperately, at the same Sun as Penny, each of them powerless and disempowered by their sun goddess in their own way.
The Sun was speaking, and her captive bodies hung helplessly on her very words: “So I know you will attend carefully and remember every word. Chastity—you are not such a stranger to women, but even so, people—especially young people like you’ve probably lain with before the succubae—are stupid and ignorant and dishonest, and sometimes they’re different from one another. So listen to me well because I will hold you accountable for knowing the truth, and what works for me—not whatever little bits of wisdom you may imagine you may have gleaned from your previous partners.”
“Yes, Domina,” Chastity agreed, swallowing nervously and understanding her message.
“Everything down here, every part of my body, like yours, is sensual and erogenous; and worthy of your reverence, just as every woman’s body is worthy of every male’s reverence. A woman decides what her body is. And I insist my body is sacred to all males. Sacred and profane, pure and filthy, consecrated and desecrated, all at once, perfect and balanced, all things I want it to be. For you, it will be heavenly and hellish but always sacred. You will never disrespect it or dishonor it. It will be a heavenly focus of your deepest dreams and desires and male spirit, as it is for all who desire women. Hellish enough it is for men, who I allow and indeed seduce to try and claim it, so I may damn them. Yet it will be even more hellish for you girls because with both of you, always, it will be for my pleasure only, with my most-special place: off-limits to every kind of pleasure you might desire to take from it, ever.” Licking her lips with pleasure at their pained expressions, absorbing and knowing the painful truth of her words, she continued to taunt them: “You will never ever enjoy this the way I routinely command, seduce, and even beg for men to enjoy it.” Both girls groaned desperately and sadly, practically flinching from the force of the truth. Her Truth, now theirs as well, their hopeless miserable devotion pleasing her more. “And for the two of you, it is more special still: sacred, because it belongs to your Domina, and your Domina is worthy of her title: a dominant, demanding bitch.” She shook Penny’s hair, a little roughly, jutting her jaw out, challenging her to object. “Just the way you like it, submissive little bitch. You see—” she indicated with her middle finger. “Pay attention! Here, at the bottom, this is the most unholy place where men go. To please me you will be expected to attend to every part of my body allowed to you with reverence and adoration; but you—your bodies—are and always will be denied access to this most sacrosanct space. This is for men. The most sensitive spot inside me, as Chastity may imagine she knows, is on the top of my passage, a little bit in. Every woman and succubus is unique, so you must always pay attention to your assigned Mistresses and Masters and learn them, exactly and intuitively, the way a musician learns her instrument. For succubae, because we are thrice blessed,” she smiled coquettishly, “the sensitive area stretches…” another smirk “much further. Neither of you will ever touch or see any part of it; and even if I allowed you to try, you wouldn’t be able to reach it with your little things.” Seeing their agonized but helplessly wanton expressions, she shuddered and groaned with satisfaction. “You miserable little losers. But you need to remember where things are in case I command you to fetch me a toy that can please me in the way you never could—” she snickered. “When you find the sensitive place, you will know, from my reactions. When you care for it and attend to it properly, you will definitely know. So remember to always be attentive to my reactions and commands, verbal or otherwise.”
“Yes, Domina,” they responded automatically, emotionless in response to her humbling words, but eyes never departing her demonstration, both of them breathing heavier when she moaned suggestively.
“You always have to start gently, outside on the skin, and then move in slowly towards the more sensitive places, unless I jump on you or tell you otherwise. Only once I—or your qahramanah, or anyone else you are required to service—is well-prepared and excited, should you consider using a toy here.
“This place—” she moved her finger slightly up “just above it, in the middle, Is my urethra. Sometimes girls like you have trouble finding it. But for you two girls specifically, who are to stay away from my most precious flesh, this is the closest you will ever get to it. Sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly contemptuous toward my submissives and your weaknesses, I may use this on you. Or when an actual man is being rough with me, I may have to call you to clean me up as a side-effect of his attentions. At all other times, it is off-limits to you because it is too close. You may only touch it when I call you to attend to it.”
“Finally, here—” she raised her finger a bit more, to the top. “Is my tulip. Do you know what makes it so special?” And when neither girl had an answer, she continued: “It is the only organ of the human—or demonic—body devoted exclusively to physical pleasure. Your little parts—such as they are—play important roles in practical bodily functions, but my clitoris has only one job, and exists for only one reason: to give me pleasure. In these respects, it is like a sister to the two of you chastened girls. My pleasure should and must be your only imperative, your entire world. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Domina,” they nodded, Penny swallowing and starting to pinken a bit; while Chastity looked like all she wanted to do was to start practicing.
“It will be the center of your attentions when I allow you the privilege of worshiping me. You should eventually—not at first, but eventually—make this your sole and total focus. Again, you will know by my reactions when you are worshiping the right place, and when you are worshiping it with the skill and reverence that it deserves. Do you see?” And when Penny started to nod, before either of them could say anything, she growled: “Then kiss me properly, slave,” using her grip on Penny’s hair to pull her in tight.
Her other hand was now free; and she raised it toward Chastity’s face. Sniggering at the girl’s nearly-crosseyed expression, Channah put the same fingerbetween Chastity’s lips. “Can you taste me, villain?”
“ymph,” she answered, nodding reverently.
“Stand up and hand me the oil from the table. Good girl. Now spread your legs apart… mmmm…. And shuffle forward. Come on! Closer. Don’t be shy, work your way forward, right over your girlfriend, until your knees are pressed between her rib cage and my knees. Penny!” she barked, trying to contain her laughter. “Don’t you dare stop! No matter what you may feel or hear happening up here. Do you understand, girl?”
“Yms dmmn” she nodded vigorously, her voice muffled and garbled.
“What did I tell you? Or have you forgotten already? When you are servicing me that gorgeous tulip becomes the epicenter of your world! The meaning of—for—your life! Now show me what a good and serious student you are while we play up here. Don’t tell me you think there’s some better use to which we could put your tongue or your time? Is that what you’re suggesting?! That I’m wrong?!”
“Nmn dmnh!” came an urgent yelp, as Channah reached down and swatted each of Penny’s bruised cheeks playfully, but sharply.
“You’d better not!” she huffed bossily, just before twitching and grunting with a gasp. “Better! Keep at it!”
And then, with a devilish look up at Chastity, she reached forward and expertly removed her most-restrictive item of tack, enjoying Chastity’s amazed and delighted gasp, and the sudden look of excitement in her eyes. Without breaking their eye contact, Channah—using her legs to squeeze Penny in place—played with Chastity with one hand, -0and poured oil all over her, careless of the oil dripping down onto Penny’. “Three guesses where this is going, lover.”
“Penny?” Chastity answered hoarsely.
“Oh no don’t you dare move or even pause!” Channah barked down at Penny, laughingly, raising her legs and folding them over Penny’s back, driving her high heels into the girl’s flesh like spurs to a horse, even as she shifted her hips forward a bit under Penny, ooching to the very edge of the lounge and getting more comfortable. Returning her attention to Chastity, she answered as if surprised: “Well of course!” Channah laughed sharply. “We both know what a protesting little prude Penny likes to pose as, but have you ever seen her react like one?”
“Of course not. She’s a girl! Just like she’s always wanted to be! Now I can’t reach anymore—” she handed Chastity the bottle. “Slather this everywhere. Be generous! Oh! That’s good, Penny!” She waved her hand at Chastity, nestling back on the pillows piled behind her so she was half-sitting, half reclining, and relaxed, pulling open her dress and touching her body as she stared into Chastity’s eyes. “Mmmm…. This all feels sooo good,” she purred, arching her back just a bit. “Well go on! I want to see the show! Wait—hand me that cup of pineapple!” And when she had it, she picked up a slice with two delicately-curved fingers and pushed it sensually into her mouth: “Mm! Good! Showtime!”
The moment Chas’s hand touched Penny, the younger girl bucked in surprise and Channah laughingly bullied her again: “Don’t pretend you’re a virgin, girlie! Or that you don’t enjoy this! We’ve both seen the proof otherwise! And besides, you should be too busy thinking about your duty to me for you to be worrying about what’s going on behind you! Show me—show us—you want this by spreading your knees out wide like a good little bitch. Go on! I’m going to be veeerryy disappointed if—yes!” she interrupted herself, clapping with delight, to see Penny’s knees move and sharing a conspiratorial glance with Chas as she raised the bottle of oil high in the air and tipped it to drop a thin stream of oil to spatter below.
Under them both, concealed from them by Channah’s skirts, Penny felt her cheeks burn with humiliation as she spread her legs for her best friend at the command of her master: not from a proper manly rage at the suggestion, or outrage at being forced to do something against her will, but from the utter embarrassment and shame of voluntarily—willingly—surrendering her own power and autonomy and dignity to her Mistress by spreading herself in this way. And the absolute certainty that Channah’s sex was so sweetly overwhelming, her skin so soft and fragrant, her personality so forceful, and Penny’s feelings of desperation and adoration so powerful, that Penny would willingly—eagerly—do much more than this for her. That Penny could not imagine, in this second, anything she would refuse to do for her Domina. And in that moment, Penny, to her shame, knew and understood what it meant to be a lowly, hopeless, irredeemable slave, defined and limited by the status assigned and allowed to her by her Unholy Master.
“Good girl,” Channah praised Penny with the tone and excess cheer one used in addressing a pet, making circles with her fingertips and purring. “Such a good girl… and your mouth!… oh, Penny, I think you’ve got a talent for this…. Chas, silly girl, take your time! I want to see your hand massaging that oil into Penny’s soft skin and spreading it “Mmmm! Yeah, just like that, slow and sensual… it will make Penny hotter, too! Oh! Penny, baby, I’m so hot… a little harder and slower]—ungh! Chas, honey, slip your fingers in Penny first, running them like tongues around the inside! Help spread her for you like a flower begging a wasp to make it give up its nectar! Yes! Just like that, Pleaser… oh, baby, that’s the way to earn—and own—your nickname…. Now, stay focused on me, keep your mind and your body calm and relaxed, a meditative and worshipful state, that’s what I want for you right now! Meditative and worshipful and passive and open and perhaps most importantly of all, accepting! It’s not enough to not-resist us, slave! You need to invite and welcome and actively admit us! Join in our domination with your own submission to prove your loyalty and devotion with every breath! Be as active and enthusiastic in your submission as we are in our domination! This is what I expect and in fact, demand for you!”
“Meanwhile, allow Chastity to focus on you and do whatever she wants—and I want her to do—with your body. It’s Chastity’s job to pleasure you both; but it’s your job to pleasure me, all the way, with all your heart and soul! Your job is so important, but so simple, I’m going to leave you to it and trust you, baby, trust you to keep your mind and your heart on me, no matter what your sisterwife and me are doing to your sweet, soft little body. You’re hardly going to feel her back there after the last two days so don’t even pretend to be distracted from your duties! Can I trust you, Pleaser? Can I trust you to love me right? To make me your top and only priority and ignore all those naughty, dirty little feelings Chastity and I are giving you down deep in your belly?”
“Yexshnm dmnuh!” Penny managed to sob without any appreciable interruption in the performance of her duties.
“Actually, fuck! Fuck! That’s—ah!—not enough! Penny, that’s not all I want from you! I want all of you, every bit of you—your body and your soul! While I treat you like a rented mule. I need—I demand!—your complete and total surrender, Pleaser, in return for my utter contempt. Give it to me, your total and complete devotion—your damned worship!—while I use you up for my pleasure like the evil bitch I am! Can you do that? Will you do that, for me?!” And whispered, cruelly and most passionately of all: “Isn’t that—amn’t I—what you want? Everything you’ve ever wanted?”
Penny wanted to shake her head at the sheer preposterousness of Channah’s words! The absurdity! They were mad!She was mad to imagine—to think—Penny couldn’t even believe the effrontery of this—this wicked demoness—to even give word to what her fevered, diseased, cursed mind imagined. What she asked…. It wasn’t right. Penny knew this! Anyone even hearing what she said would know it. And it was so stupid! Because—because—
Penny was already kneeling between her legs, under her legs, as eagerly as a stray dog who felt she had finally found a home, free to do so precisely because she had forgotten herself! Allowed—no, to be honest, striven to let herself—forget who she was and who she expected herself to be—what God had once hoped for her.
Tears stung her eyes at the cheek! It was… Penny realized, as she breathed in and through the powerful, intoxicating smell of Channah’s hot, sweaty body, her tired tongue sore from all her worship and devotions, her own tiny, inadequate bound thoughtlessly in steel, aching and crushed by Channah’s casual mechanical cruelty while both Penny’s partners expected to—were—taking and using her body for themselves, for their own pleasure and satisfaction, at Channah’s command, while Penny was given nothing except insults and orders…
Penance wanted to scream. Had she not even changed who she was, altered her very body, shaped her very identity, to match and please this temptress?! It was, in a word, unnecessary to ask her this! To ask her to give it a name, to describe it—to hold up the unfairness and the atrocity and the scandalous, scandalous disgrace and wrongness of it to the light for everyone—especially the smug and privileged taker Channah—more especially the stupid, weak, needy, desperate girl who couldn’t even remember who she used to be or what her name had been before, because it felt so distant when she was here where she belonged and needed to be—to see and have to face it!
It was… so unnecessarily and deliberately cruel!
That was the outrage of it! The evil genius of it… Making her weigh, and hate, and consciously, verbally, in the presence of others in the last but lingering light of day, choose the outrageousness and unfairness of her demand! Who—who would be so vile as to ask? And—she knew. She knew, the even bigger and more-obvious question as: who would be so wretched as to give—such a thing?
Penny paused her worship just long enough to bellow and roar like a gored ox, in a terrible, wounded, outrageous-realization-of-dying kind of way, as she felt the pain of Channah’s rapacious needle push through her soul, tearing it to pieces and turning it into some trophy like a pelt. And felt simultaneously, the release of it: the soaring freedom, the peace of surrendering to her better, admitting, most of all to herself, that Channah was her better; and crucially, that she was nothing, that of course she wanted to let go of everything she had been and thought she could have been or should have been, because who wanted any of that? And knowing… knowing the awful truth of it that a proper man, or even a proper woman would never have to face:
She.
Was.
Damned.
By.
Love:
Her own fierce and passionate heart, torching and overwhelming her own weakness and desire.
It was just a fact.
She knew it.
Channah obviously knew it, a thought that still hurt, to imagine what contempt she must feel when she looked at or thought of Penny.
And so what, if Channah was making her own it? Using her own grubby hellish fingers to stuff her vile shit into Penny’s mouth, filling it and overwhelming her, every one of her senses rebelling and collapsing in Penny’s utter failure of will and self, knowing, God help her—no, nothing could help her, least of all herself: Knowing, worst of all, she wanted to choke down the demonic filth of what Channah was feeding her and only. forcing her to take to make her confront the truth of them both, and how and why they went together so perfectly.
She felt Channah gasp, the two of them so connected her better top half understood, immediately and completely, the significance of Penny briefly dropping her mouth further, before returning to the place she had been commanded, dissolving back into tears again, her natural and wretched state before—no, beneath—this—this fucking cunt—that made her tongue feel all the sweeter and more tender to her demoness-goddess’s electrified flesh: “Yes, Domina! You fucking cunt! You evil fucking bitch!” She screeched. She wailed. She screamed and wept: “I do! I will! I give myself over to you utterly! I SURRENDER! Use me, please use me, I beg of you never stop using me, Domina!”
And the second she said it, Channah was gushing and roaring, her eyes rolling up in her head and the whole world dimming around her as she reeled with a delirium near losing consciousness, and delivering her own merciless, devastating answer that would have been disjointed rambling to anyone other than her own heart and lower half that in matters of the two of them, knew her as well as she knew herself: “Oh! You’re—you know you’re—the fucking bitch, girl—boy—you piece of shit! Yes! MINE! Body, mind, and soul! Iiiieeee! The things I’m going to make you accept—you—you—you fucking know it, don’t you, you perverted little cunt? You’re the cunt, you fucking little shit-eater! Now, Chastity darling! Seize your heart’s desire! Take what you want! Ah haa haa haa…..” her cries faded into sensual, almost stereotyped moans as her mind and body floated further and further apart, without losing the vitality of their complete connection, ecstatic in the knowledge of the completeness with which she had destroyed, absorbed, possessed, and owned the pretty, pliant, pathetic thing down between her legs.
And made her victim acknowledge and in fact proclaim it!
There was simply nothing left in the world, not in this moment, not for the two of them, not in that tiny point of space where she and Penance had merged and collapsed from two separate beings into a single dynamic.
Channah hung there, at her plateau, for an impossibly long time. At some point, around the same time her girls reached their own climaxes, Chastity wailing, Penny just sobbing and shaking her own head in disbelief, Channah drifted back to herself long enough to realize she was crying. Her cries of passion had morphed into tears of joy and freedom and letting go of everything because none of it mattered. Nothing else mattered for now.
With a cry of a satisfaction and completeness she may never have quite experienced before, she finally kicked the pillows off the divan and rolled onto her side. “Get up here!” she barked. “I demand it! The—your—Osculum Infame, cunt!” Delighting to hear the shocked sound Penny was able to make even as low as she was, to accept and embrace that, so far from the devoted little good girl she had once been, how far she had fallen in just a matter of days under Channah’s relentless, rapacious influence. “Damn yourself with your own degradation. I want my true bitch, my little demon-slut, the one who knows how thoroughly she has given herself to the Queen of Hell, to give me her Kiss of Shame!”
And she was not surprised—her girls were not surprised, least of all Penny—to find that it was Penny who instantly, almost without a thought, almost desperately, scrambled up on her divan behind her—below her—to yield and throw herself into it, knowing she was the one, and that this was her unholy office.
For no reason other than to give it even more force by spelling it out, for Penny’s abandon was already complete, she growled: “That’s it, you utterly-damned loser. Pull apart my buttocks, sink your face between them into the cleft of my ass, and worship my unholiest of roses! NOW! And you! My afterthought—afterbirth—of a sisterwife, get behind my dirt-eater and use your own tongue to lubricate her the same way she is soothing me, so you can sodomize her again, double-damning both of you while she seals her pact and status! And bitch-Penny, don’t you dare stop licking and kissing until I’m snoring and your little friend has spent herself again!”
Feeling Penny’s abject, villainous tongue, pushing against and slighty into her, as much as the girl could manage with her inadequate human tongue, Channah shuddered with another, entirely emotional orgasm. “That’s right. That’s right. No—that’s wrong. You’re wrong. As bent and twisted as a White Mulberry tree—a fucking corkscrew! You’re—we’re—so – bloody – wrong! You filthy, vile, dire, nasty little boys. Don’t you dare wash yourselves until I give you permission. I want you to sleep and think and feel and in Penny’s case, literally breathe me, breathe the stink of your own filth, and mine, all night!” Stretching her legs out and curling them behind her on the long divan where Penny lay, she enjoyed feeling Penny’s soft warm skin and breath pressing up against her backside and the backs of her legs, with the counterpoint of cool, hard steel pressing into the soles of Channah’s feet like some obscene tease or promise.
Sighing with what she realized must be happiness, the demoness jiggled her foot, a thoughtless, nervy twitch to her, but pure torture to her victim, against Penny’s cage, rattling it and shivering it over the tightly-constrained flesh within it, imagining how tightly Chastity’s face must be pressed up against Penny’s backside in turn, feeling Penny stiffen and hearing her gasp as she briefly felt the same devotion she was giving to her Mistress.
“Is your little cage sticky and wet, slave?” she whispered, smiling, her smile widening at Penny’s murmured, delirious, ashamed response:
“Yes, Domina. Goddess. Bitch-Goddess!”
“I thought so,” she smirked with contemptuous satisfaction, melting into the feeling and the thought, her words slowing and becoming disjointed as she began to sink into her sensual, rapacious, revivifying kind of sleep. “After I’m welland truly asleep, deep and still, miles from here ranging the world, Penny can lie behind me, back-to-back with her head against my ass; and each girl can kiss the mess between the other’s legs before you fall asleep. I want you both good and crammed between my back and the cushions against the wall, without polluting a single inch of me with your obscenity.” And she fell, gently and slowly as a babe in a swaddling blanket, into dreamland with the soft, wet, pleasant lapping of Penny’s tongue on her dirty rosebud, and the slight sensation of Penny’s face being pushed and pulled against her by Chastity’s own desperation.
2141 07-31 Have I got a treat for you boys… see anything you like?2142 07-31 Whipping her boys into a frenzy with blood2143 07-31 Is anybody hungry for Maltese date cakes (imqarets)?2144 07-31 Channah protecting her sissies from the Jaguars2145 07-31 Channah chaperoning her wives before the beasts
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 angrily and rigorously punished, tested, and bedded her girls before being appeased and sending the girls to do chores while she worked. The girls have just finished their chores, bathed, and are ready to let her know that dinner is ready. NOW:
Chastity and Penance remained naked except for the marks and tack Channah had imposed upon them. For marks, both girls’ hindquarters were fading from bright red towards a fierce brownish-purple; and Chastity’s torso, upper arms, and upper legs, especially, were heavily scratched, abraded, and sensitized, covered with faint but vivid red marks. For tack, both girls wore their Chakra Reins—collars, piercings, cages, twisters, and triggers—inside and outside their bodies; wrist cuffs; ankle cuffs; and the hobbling chains that limited their strides significantly and their hands even more.
In the hall outside her command room, the girls fell to their knees and crawled forward to two of the four supplicant positions shown on the floor. Each supplicant position was marked with five tiles. Four obrounds were positioned along the sides of an imaginary diamond shape on the floor—two smaller obrounds approximating the width and length of lower arms from elbows to wrists; and two larger obrounds approximating the width and length of lower legs from knees to ankles—with a round stone positioned between the two arm stones along the centerline of the imaginary diamond. The obrounds were spaced widely enough to force a tall man to stretch uncomfortably to cover them. Smaller gurls like Chastity and Penny could not possibly reach them, but forced their knees and elbows apart, and their hips and shoulders and foreheads down, as far as they could manage, hoping their efforts would be sufficient to avoid punishment. They looked like frazzled frogs who had been pinned down and pushed to the ground by giant boots. But in fact they were exhausted, shaken slavegurls who had each been accused of defiance, badgered, shouted at, corrected, spanked, terrified, and stomped on by their angry Mistress, until she had reduced them to the quivering puddles of submissive flesh they resembled now; and who had been harangued and kicked the first time they reported to her here, to teach them how she wanted them to enter in the future, while their Domina’s more-important visitors laughed at them.
They waited, disregarded supplicants, quietly and unobtrusively, where and as they had been trained, on the cool hard floor, for the attentions of their Domina, while she met with people who were much more important and higher-ranked than them: her vassals the succubae and incubi, her officers and officials in Hell, her qahramanat, and her mamalik. Here, in her office, or command room, Domina and her wives were outside the bubble of their marriage, where their Domina had made it clear she expected her inferior morganatic wives to behave appropriately for their station, that of sub-humble jawari. Needless to say, none of her visitors were jawari; because she would have no truck with the likes of them outside of their assignments and services. They certainly had no role in administering her Court or her Empire!
Because they entered on hands and knees with their heads bowed subserviently, the tiles on the floor near them were all they could see until she summoned them forward and gave them permission to rise. But from their earlier entries, they knew that like most of her home, the throne room was open to the outside, made with the same colorful carved stone as the rest of it, facing a formal pool in the central part of her garden, although the furniture and working parts of the room were set well back from the edge of the roof to protect them from wind-driven rains.
Channah herself sat comfortably on her throne, an ornate gold affair decorated with the same strange figures and motifs, in the same strange style, as the stones of her house and the gold of her bed and her smaller, simpler bedroom throne. This one, a formal throne of state, sat on a dais rising two feet above the surrounding floor, was flanked with side-tables, was wide as a love seat (allowing her to sit up or lounge to the side as she preferred while conducting her business) and rose in the back to an impressive height—a true throne of command, suitable for the conduct of official business from her mountain retreat. She was regally clad, in keeping with her throne, in formal robes of state to conduct her business: a high-necked floor-length scarlet brocade gown embroidered with golden serpents and medlar fruits, a pair of tall shiny black boots, and a tall, viciously spiked crown of gold decorated with rubies. And she would either be holding, or nestled beside, her onyx scepter, a heavy hexagonal rod topped with a human skull.
All of her visitors appeared before her throne, inside a large and complex magic circle mosaic. The dominant shapes were an outer circle perhaps four yards in diameter, circumscribing a pentagon, circumscribing an inner circle closer to three yards in diameter, circumscribing a pentagram. The circles, pentagon, and pentagram were made of a hard, shiny white grout forming ridges rising an inch or two above the tiles, contrasting with the level greenish-gray grout used everywhere else within the house. And each of the 21 oversized tiles within the larger circle were inscribed in silver. The centermost stone, the focal point of the pentagram, was the most elaborate by far: marked with a serpent wrapped around and riddling through a rotten medlar in the shape of a broken heart. Each of the other tiles was inlaid with an astrological symbol, or a more-arcane symbol of some kind Penny could not identify.
Everything about the circle set the girls’ hair on end and their spines tingling. Despite the care and artful grace with which it had been designed, its evil pattern was irreducibly sinister and jarring. And it generated a palpable energy field the girls could feel when they knelt in their supplicant positions, even though those were several feet outside the circle. There was something magnetic or electric, something warping, that came off the circle in malevolent waves.
The Queen’s visitors came from nowhere and disappeared to nowhere. They were incorporeal—ghosts, the girls had thought in terror at first, until Penny, staring down at the floor below her in wide-eyed terror, had recognized Kadidia’s voice during her previous visit and deduced that they were not spirits. Or at least, not standalone spirits; but perhaps, spirits of her vassals summoned to her in the circle for her to address, before being released by her and allowed to return to themselves.
Finishing with one vassal, a succubus by the conversation, she dismissed them as the girls had heard her do other visitors earlier in the day, with a double clap of her hands and the command: “atrudha!” (Arabic for “Dismiss her!”).
This time, however, unlike the previous occasions on which they had awaited her pleasure, when she had summoned them forward to order them to perform new chores, this time she continued to ignore them. Instead, to the girls’ mortification, she clapped her hands once and called: “min kambiridj-‘arni rujar!” (“from Cambridge—show me Roger!”); “min Sademtsaowah-‘arni ‘iismiri!” (“from Sademtsaowah—show me Esmeray!”); “min tshanghan-‘arni Kai!” (“from Chang’an—show me Kai!”). Things went from bad to worse—from the girls’ perspective—when they recognized not only Roger’s and Esmeray’s voices, but those of Cutter and Martin as well. The Queen’s entire conversation with the visitors was conducted in Arabic, which still seemed unusual to Chas and Penny, who still expected their bullies, their qahramanah, and Channah, to speak English by default.
“Your Majesty!” the five voices chorused, presumably while bowing and curtsying deeply.
“My qahrahamanah. My mamalik. You may rise. Attend to me! Roger, have you found Frances?” The girls, whose thoughts so far had primarily been hoping none of their English bullies would notice or recognize them, knew Frances well. She was another English jawari, only 2 or 3 years older than Chas; and they were startled to hear that she was missing. But they dared not raise their heads or react in any other way.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Roger answered. “Mistress Rivqah scried her position and we deduced she was trying to reach her mother’s house. We intercepted her there yesterday, before she could make contact with any of her family.”
“Where is she now?”
Roger, Cutter, and Martin guffawed nastily. “You asked us to make an example of her, Your Majesty, so we dropped her in the servants’ cesspit.”
“I commend your enthusiasm, boys, but can we be sure she hasn’t drowned? We do actually need her.”
“We tested the depth with a rod and there’s only three or four feet of muck down there. We tied her to a rope just long enough to let her drop in chest-high.” He snickered. “Although we may have given her the impression, ah, she would be left to dehydrate and drown down there.” Cutter and Martin snorted derisively.
“As much as I like the idea of leaving her there a few more days, I think her time—and Eleanor’s—would be better spent training with Esmeray before the ritual. And further punishment is always available in, you know, Hell,” Channah snickered. “No risk of her avoiding what she deserves there. So tomorrow, pull her out, make Eleanor help her clean off. And I mean, clean, clean, clean, first in the creek and then when she can be allowed in the servants’ area, in a barrel of warm soapy water. I won’t have her stinking up my bath at Fensmere, let alone my domain, with the filth of Earth!”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the boys agreed.
“I want you waiting with her and with Eleanor in the Satanikoklus at noon sharp. I want both of them hogtied for transport.”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
“Kai, inform the duty Timorite at Chang’an that I want her to pick the jawari up from the Satanikoklus and deliver them through the Honeycomb to Esmeray at Sademtsaowah. Esmeray, inform the duty Timorite at Sademtsaowah to expect the girls tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Esmeray responded. “Will—if I may ask—Will Penny and Chas be returned to me before the next ritual so that we can try full rehearsals? Or should I prepare for deeper training with just Eleanor and Frances?”
Something about her manner or gestures, or those of Channah, must have pointed out the girls kneeling on the floor within the visitors’ field of view, because Roger gasped and then burst out laughing. “Wait—no. That’s impossible. Those cannot be our Penny and Chas!”
“They are indeed,” Channah laughed, as the girls’ bullies made sounds of incredulity and astonishment. “Girls, get up on your knees and grab your new boobies for your boys!”
Scarlet and practically dying inside, but in no way willing to risk angering Channah, and mindful of her command to be enthusiastic little sluts for her, both girls rose up, sitting back on their haunches with their knees still spread. Chastity, excited even as she was nervous, artfully emphasized her breasts, pushing them up while she grabbed them at the base. Penny, self-consciously, put her hands modestly over her breasts.
“Princess! I didn’t tell you to cover your tits modestly!” Channah laughed even harder. “I said ‘grab’! As in, show off! Put your hands under your breasts, cup them and squeeze them to make them stretch and swell and stick out further! Go on, no place for reticence when you’re a whore!”
The ashamed girl did as she commanded, to a chorus of rude whoops and catcalls from their bullies and Kai. Channah noticed with satisfaction that Esmeray was able to watch neutrally, only the way she shifted uncomfortably betraying her ambivalence about what she was witnessing.
“Now turn around, away from the boys, spread your knees, put your shoulders down on the ground, and jiggle those big round beautiful bottoms and hot pussies for your mamalik!”
Penny and Chas, whimpering and moaning with embarrassment and fear (and for Chas, just a little bit of defiant excitement) obeyed, setting off another round of even more enthusiastic responses.
“You’ve been training them hard, Your Majesty,” Cutter gushed. “Their asses are so beautiful and bruised….”
“I have, and they are,” Channah agreed flirtatiously.
“And they’re obedient as hell,” Roger growled. “Damn, I mean, Your Majesty, I don’t suppose your offer to fuck them is still open, now that they’re real girls?”
Penny couldn’t help herself: she raised her head to see her Domina, who was looking sly and thoughtful. Desperately she shook her head and whispered under her breath pleading with her Domina—more like, willing her Domina without the courage to ask her—to say no.
Channah shook her finger slowly and sexily in a “no” signal to Penny and smiled evilly, looking Penny straight in the eye and seeing her swallow nervously, before she looked back up at her vistors and asked: “Are you sure? I thought you were too much of a ‘man’ to fuck my little girls.”
“Well—that’s when they were fake girls, Your Majesty. I apologize—I meant no disrespect. To you. No disrespect to you. Sissy boys in dresses. But now… heaven above, they’re completely female. In every respect!”
“Their minds are unchanged. Their souls…”
Roger made a dismissive noise. “I’m not planning to take their souls, Your Majesty. Those are irrelevant. I want to possess their new bodies.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Channah agreed snarkily, as her bullies laughed. “What are you working on right now?”
“We’re learning, Your Majesty, as you commanded, as much as we can about how the manor operates, so we can help you manage it. But we don’t actually have any duty assignments right now.”
“Continue learning until you leave, and don’t breathe a word of any of my plans. When we return to Fensmere next week, Roger, I will make you my Castellan. Cutter will be in charge of the mansion and its staff, and Martin the head of the field staff. Don’t let those titles go to your heads, boys—I’m not picking you because any of you have a reputation for effective management or work habits or dutifulness even good sense.” She laughed shortly and deliberately insultingly. “Don’t interfere in the actual running of anything—leave that to the Butler, the Housemaid, and the other senior staff. You’re to be in charge of…” She rolled the last word around in her mouth, savoring it: “Discipline.”
“Oh, yes,” the three bullies laughed, sounding as if they were hugging and clapping one another on the shoulders in celebration.
“You can use your positions to get revenge on everyone who mistreated you in the past, but only in the context of your duties. Believe me—you’ll find more pleasure in their fear, awaiting your vindictiveness—than tearing up my household immediately. And my household must run well. A scared and miserable staff is fine—delightful, really—but the laundry must be cleaned properly, the house must be kept dusted and polished, the food must remain delicious and interesting, the servers polite—in short, the Sun itself must continue to shine out of my ass over that house, so that my life is as convenient and pleasant as possible, and my guests, from the lowliest deliveryman to the King himself, continue to be awed and amazed by the splendor of my mansion. Do you understand?!”
“Yes, Domina,” they agreed, sounding more muted.
“The reason I want you in charge is for operational security, not the actual operation of the household itself. I’m giving you the three highest positions in the house—after my Governess, Sindonie, who will remain in charge of the noble children, as you can imagine—so you can enforce discipline and security on the household, or at least, all of the commoners within it. Without ever telling anyone there are new rules, or explaining them out loud, you will build and enforce a new regime at Fensmere. A culture of obedience to me, and silence about my business. I’m already aware there are the vaguest rumors circulating out in Cambridgeshire, and perhaps even further afield, about… changes people have noticed to the household. Even questions about me. Well, we’re going to stop that process when you return, so that my Sipahi ranging the countryside can continue to stoke the rumors of demons abroad in the countryside. Your duties for capturing and disciplining escapees will expand from my slaves to include the entire staff and population of the manor and the village. Once someone joins the manor or the village, they will remain there until they are buried, unless they receive my leave to depart. Only trusted staff will be allowed off the premises at all; and then they will be sent in groups. Staff and their families will not share any of the business of the manor, or the village, with visitors or tradesmen, beyond the minimum necessary to accomplish their business. And, most importantly, when the King arrives, our staff will have no doubt about where their loyalties need to lie. I will instruct my tailor in Sademtsaowah to help you dress appropriately for your work.”
Then, changing tone: “Esmeray, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, training Eleanor—and especially Frances—will be different than training these sweet, compliant girls.”
“Yes, Domina. Although I’m surprised… as more-experienced jawari, I thought they would be fully-broken.”
“Oh,” Channah waved her hand dismissively. “In many ways, they are. But they were always trained differently than my two girls. Or, more precisely, my two girls were always trained differently than any of the other jawari. In this generation, anyway. That’s why I wanted you to meet and work and play with them first, so you would see them for who they are, not lump them in with the other rabble.” She laughed sharply, and not entirely nicely. “Boys—I need you to pay attention to me, not my little sluts’ bottoms. Girls—” she bent forward, addressing them, “—Keep your knees on the floor but rest your arms on my dais, straight out in front of you like you’re holding on for dear life, and worship my boots with your tongues and lips!”
“Yes, Domina,” they hurried to obey, seeming to make Channah gasp with excitement at the sight of their distressed, worried, sorrowful faces… and to compel her to ram the toes, and occasionally the heels, of her boots harder into their vulnerable mouths while she continued her conversation with her visitors.
“Why don’t you boys come through to Sademtsaowah with your prisoners tomorrow, to provide security for Eleanor and Frances while Esmeray begins their training. They’ll be kept in the kennels at night; but whenever they’re not locked in the kennels, you’re to monitor and contain them so they can’t get away from Eleanor. Don’t help Eleanor train them unless she asks—it’s her job to be their qahramanah, not yours—but do be of assistance to her however she asks in handling or training her charges. Kai, please find quarters for them near Esmeray. And then…” she shrugged, visibly delighted that she was able to tease at least three boys and two girls with diametrically-opposed desires, with a single taunt. She shrugged. “Depending on how well-behaved my girls have been, and how helpful you’ve been…. we’ll see about introducing my three bully-boys more… intimately to my new girls.”
“Yes, Your Majesty!” the three Englishmen laughed celebratorily, even as Penny and Chas, too stunned to even take it all in, buried their heads in their hands, making little sobbing-whining noises too primitive and instinctual to have a name. “Oh! And, ah…. One of you let Big George know I want him to come along with you. My Castellan has a couple of projects requiring his expertise. Is there anything else?” she asked, giving them a moment before continuing. “Then carry on with your assignments.”
“Yes, thank you, Your Majesty!” they responded.
Channah clapped twice: “aitrudhum!” (“Dismiss them!”) and the light in the room changed slightly. Whether it was darker, or the quality of the light had changed when the sterile bluish ghosts had disappeared, leaving the warmer, yellower, indirect Sunlight from the garden alone to illuminate the room, neither girl could tell for certain from her perspective hanging at Channahs’s feet. Leaning forward, knowing she had their full attention, Channah purred. “You girls look so cute and sweet and submissive, sucking my boot tips and heels and looking up at me so sadly and pleadingly. Ha!” she clapped and shook herself with delight. “I think you both know you’re going to have to be very good—practically perfect—if you want to avoid the attentions of Roger and his bully-boys entirely, don’t you? So better suck up your very hardest! And at this moment, I mean that very literally! Open your little pieholes wider, go on, wider, streeeettttcch those lips out and push your faces as far forward as you can on the tips of my boots. Oh, come on… you especially, Penny, with your well-known big mouth! I want to see you swallow half of that boot. I want to hear you—yes!Woo-hoo!” She clapped with glee as Penny—looking like a fish with its mouth stretched by hooks—started to make gargling and gagging sounds as the toe of Channah’s boot started tickling the back of her throat. “PUSH, BITCH, PUSH!” Screaming as loudly as she could at Penny while leaning as close down towards her foot as she could, she fairly seethed with joy as Penny’s face turned red and her throat and mouth began involuntarily contracting in an instinctive attempt to clear her throat.
Resting her chin on her fists, Channah enjoyed watching the girls suffering and debasing themselves to please her for what seemed forever, before her smile grew even wider and slyer. “This is the best honeymoon ever!” she barked. “I’d ask you why you came to disturb your Domina’s important business, but I don’t want this moment—this pathetic display—to end!” She giggled nastily. Setting aside her crown and her scepter in a leisurely fashion, she continued: “If you’re done with your chores, nod your heads with my boots in your mouths. Ha ha! Excellent! If you’ve bathed yourselves, nod your heads. Good! And if you’ve served dinner in the dining room? Veeeerrry good, darlings. Oh! I have a fun game! Without removing my boots from your mouths—or biting my toes!—I want each girl to remove her boot. You can use your hands to pull them off, but your mouth must stay wrapped around that boot, and that boot needs to remain deep inside your mouth in gag-a-bitch position, until you’ve removed it entirely, and I accept it from you. Oh ho ho, that’s cute… look how hard you gurls are working on those boots. You two look really ree-diculous!” she guffawed. “Like a couple of Maltese puppies down there, wearing only your dog-collars.” When they removed her boots nearly simultaneously, she laughed again: “A tie! Good doggies! Such committed, devoted little puppies…” she purred, rubbing her knuckles under their chins before taking her boots and setting them aside. “Penny, your first chore tomorrow is to polish my boots. I want them gleaming!”
“Yes, Domina,” she answered, hanging her head in shame at how Channah was making fun of them.
“No time for your pouting,” she chided. “Worship my feet. While they’re still warm and layered with the smell of leather. I’ve had a long, stressful day while you two have been cleaning without a care in the world. Go on, use your mouths and your hands to relax me.” She observed them, sighing and relaxing back in her throne as they kissed her heels, sucked her toes, rubbed the balls of her feet, and caressed her arches. “Oh… that feels good. You girls are naturals. I may need to keep you two with me to de-stress me at the end of each day… mm….”
When she felt her breathing deepen and slow, she ordered them: “That’s enough for now, sweeties. Now put your arms back on the dais, stretched out toward me, armpits on the edge of the dais, that’s good. And use your toes to brace your legs and knees right where they are. I’m going to put pressure on your faces, and I don’t want you to fold or slide.” Ignoring their confused expressions, she waited for them to move their arms and feet into the positions she had commanded. Then she stepped on their faces with the soles of her feet, relaxing a moment, feeling their breath tickling the soft skin in her arches, while she untied her robe and slipped it from her shoulders. Then, bracing her feet on their faces and her shoulders on the back of her throne, she raised her hips and slid her robe out from under her, settling back down and draping it gently in its accustomed resting place over the back of her throne. Finally she put her feet back down on the dais and slid her hips forward off her throne, dropping into a squat immediately above and in front of them, her beautiful bare legs emerging from the slits cut up to her hips on both sides of the simple tube dress.
“Stand up! Go on!” And when they had, she rested her arms around their necks, with her hands on their shoulders, using them to steady her as she jumped off the dais to the floor. Devastating Penny with a flirtatious look, she flicked her head back towards her dais and commanded: “Get my heels for me, bitch.” Taking advantage of her most-vulnerable moment, when she was stretched forward as far as she could reach to touch and pull on Channah’s mules, she slapped her ass. And as she took the high-heeled sandals from her and set them on the ground, using their shoulders for support again, she slid into the sandals, kissing each girl quickly before leading them towards the dining room.
2017 07-09 What’s that wiggly thing doing between your legs?2018 07-09 But why did you bring Mr. Wiggles here to paradise?2019 07-09 Sweetheart, I’ve been here since the beginning. Why did she bring YOU?!2020 07-09 This one watches Miss Kate’s profile on DA2021 07-09 This one watches Miss Kristine’s profile on DA
Explicit version containing analpenetration, prostatestimulation, masturbation, creampie, cleanup, orgasm, cumeating, and 69 themes at 07-09X Girl and Boy Parts SO Belong Together at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman
PREVIOUSLY: After a week of brutal wedding and coming-of-age hazing by the succubae, Chastity and Penance are finally enjoying their true honeymoon with Channah, starting with a long and frisky bath that both girls spoiled by getting overly excited. NOW:
Channah continued to drift, counterclockwise, in the pool, around the rock surface the girls were lying on together, under Penny’s left leg, to their left sides, leaning close to encourage Chas: “Good girl! Such a loving and attentive partner!” Chastity shuddered as Channah’s hand swept over her shoulder blades and up and down her back. “Now Penny, I see you’re being a good girl too, letting your face be so full and busy. She’s a little bit bigger than you, isn’t she? Don’t worry, you can take her… you can take much bigger, I’ll show you. Maybe tomorrow. But you have an unfair advantage here, don’t you?” She paused for effect. “Because Chastity’s dirty little secret—or maybe her beautiful little secret—is you. You could lie there like a sack of potatoes and she’d be the happiest girl in the world because she loves you…. What can you do with that? With a partner who loves you? Show them how much you love them back, of course! Put your arms all the way around Chastity’s hips and hug them tightly with all your might! Bend your arms so you can be playful and loving at once. Now, girls, and fortunately for both of you, Chastity will have to take the lead here since she’s on top—that feels natural, doesn’t it?—Chastity, when I tell you to, you’re going to rise up on your knees, put your hands around Penny’s cheeks so you can put your hands right on her bottom, and you’re going to yank her as hard as you can towards you, while Penny, you’re going to raise your shoulders and push back with your feet. Do you girls understand?”
Reaching Penny’s head, she moved her right hand under Penny’s right arm and her left as close to Penny’s left arm as she could without letting go of Chas. “One… two… three!” She helped, lifting and pulling on Penny’s underarms as the girls slid her a good half-foot backwards so her head was barely resting on the rock before returning her left hand to Chas’s sweet skin. “Now, Chastity baby, I want you very sensuously to crawl forward over Penny until you’re resting on her breasts like big soft pillows—” she smiled as Chas groaned “—and you’re nestled right in there. Oh, that’s a good girrrl,” she praised Chas’s efforts. “Now, hug one another tightly—show your love! Chas, rest your weight entirely on Penny, each girl squooshing down the other. Do you feel it? How they spread out and press against both sides when you do that like a… vise? A fist? What am I thinking of?” She snickered as they groaned. “Penny, lift your legs up off the ground, don’t be lazy—never be lazy in bed, not when you’re the agent provocateur—and rest your heels against her shoulders.”
Channah moaned, drawing out her words more and more, letting her voice pulse into a regular, almost hypnotic cadence, putting passion and feeling into every syllable. “That’s the way. Isn’t that hot?”
“Yes!” Chastity almost wept, and Penny just made a whining sound.
“Bouncy, bouncy. You’re both so soft and tight, roll-ing against one another, pressing so haaaard against the sensitive flesh…. Up, and down…. How does that feel, girls? How long have you been waiting for THIS without even knowing it?!?!”
“All my life!” Chastity roared, unable to stop herself, proclaiming her truth to the sky. She nearly wept: “I’ve wanted this as long as I can remember!”
“Well… I stand corrected! I guess at least one of you did know,” Channah giggled. “And I bet that makes you feel good and loved, doesn’t it, Penny sweetie?” She moued in affirmation, nodding her head. “Then show her how good she makes you feel! Kiss her, right there, that’s a girl.” She didn’t even have to suggest Chastity imitate Penny; she had required no invitation.
Having circled all the way around to their right side by now, she had an ideal ringside seat as she coaxed them towards the finish line, her voice low and hoarse: “They’re sooooo soft, aren’t they? They’re purrfect… Perfect to love you…. Perfect how they wrap around and squeeze you—OH! Oh my!” She yelped, affecting to sound surprised and genuinely feeling delighted and superior, as the girls simultaneously started shuddering, making intense faces and incoherent gurgling noises. They shivered and quivered, their motions flaring up and settling down, crying and moaning, for more than a minute… even longer.
Channah waited, quietly and composed, from her vantage point to their side, floating, fully relaxed, in the water, waiting for them to finish and for… here it came… although she appeared relaxed and calm on the outside, she could scarcely contain her glee and her anticipation, waiting….
For her girls to finally gather up the courage to face her, turning their heads shamefacedly and finding her quietly shaking her head.
“I’m sorry!”
“We’re sorry!”
“We didn’t mean to—”
“‘Didn’t mean to?’ ‘DIDN’T MEAN TO?!’” she asked incredulously, pouncing on the poorly-chosen phrase. “You two couldn’t have been more deliberate and intentional, could you? COULD YOU?!”
“No, Domina.” They dropped their chins and their eyes, as ashamed girls ought. “I sat here and watched you both. Never have two girls use their hands and their mouths and every other part of their bodies with more purpose and energy!” She was loving their humiliation and shame, the self-doubt and confusion in their eyes, as she gave the explanation to things they couldn’t possibly understand because they didn’t have enough knowledge. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—for purposes of our mission, I’m really glad I’ve been successful in teaching you girls to want men. Well, male, at least. Boy-parts. But for our honeymoon, it’s a little disappointing. I’d hoped to spend the week as myself, a girly girl, but it’s obvious you’re going to need me to be your big alpha male.” She shrugged, raising a questioning eyebrow. “That is, if you need me for anything?”
2014 07-08 Channah muses on all the ways she can make the girls regret their frivolity…2015 07-08 I am SO going to make you bitches regret this2016 07-08 If you flirts are looking for attention… you’ve gotten mine
Explicit version containing analpenetration, prostatestimulation, masturbation, creampie, cleanup, orgasm, cumeating, and 69 themes at 07-08[X] Cleaning Up Penance’s Mess at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman
PREVIOUSLY: After a week of brutal wedding and coming-of-age hazing by the succubae, Chastity and Penance are finally enjoying their true honeymoon with Channah, starting with a long and frisky bath. NOW:
“Ohhh, yesss,” Channah hissed with pleasure, sniggering as Penny jumped with surprise to feel her Castile soap dripping right down the line of her cleft, as Channah’s hands moved higher on Penny, getting soapier and slipperier as they moved over her sensitive places, all the little crevices and mounds around the spot her legs came together. Timing her actions carefully, Channah let her fingers dance around until the moment was near, and then plunged in as she used the twister.
Suddenly Penny screeched in alarm: “Domina I’m going to—” and then she squealed, as high and urgently as a piglet, as she jumped and jerked.
Channah couldn’t help herself: She burst out laughing, then laughed even harder when Penny half-rolled over and started apologizing, her face as scarlet as a bloody flag. “You didn’t even realize that was about to happen, did you, Princess? Lillith and Cain you’re eighteen! But you do respond, don’t you? Oh my, you’re even redder,” she waved to signal her inability to speak for a minute, as the two humiliated girls stared at her. When she could finally continue, she panted: “I want to be mad at you two, and I will be, and I assure you, I will punish you for spoiling my plans, but you’re both hopeless. Hopeless!” She gestured at Penny again and said: “Go on! You know what to do! Proper girls don’t make messes everywhere!”
Looking horrified, Penny hesitated.
Forcing herself to be serious for a moment, Channah slapped Penny, feeling her own arousal bubble up. “Here.” She slid her fingers over Chastity and—stilling Penny with a look as she raised her hand again—rubbed it all over her, watching the combination of sheer terror and surreptitious, guilty excitement spread over her face, reflecting her immediate understanding. “That’s only fair.” Sploshing around to Chastity’s side again, she commanded: “Let’s teach you girls a new position. Chastity, wiggle your bottom down to the very edge of the rock so there’s not even anywhere for you to rest your feet. Go on, lift them in the air, you little pansy. That’s a girl. And Penny, crawl over here and turn around with your knees at the other end of the rock so you’re each facing one another’s beautiful new body parts. And Penance Batonnoir, if you hesitate one second with your falsle modesty, I’ll make the second day of your honeymoon a misery I promise you!”
She snorted with satisfaction and amusement as they fell on one another, quickly focused enough on what each of them was doing and feeling, they hardly noticed her climbing out of the pool to collect their chakra cages. Moments later, when she returned, Chastity was moaning and Penny was shivering, her body and her closed eyes betraying the passion she was too shy to express out loud. “Mm… that’s hot!” she assured them both, resting her elbows on the side of the rock by their side and enjoying herself for a few minutes. “You’re much more sensitive there than you used to be, aren’t you, darlings? That’s what it’s like to be a woman. Now let’s put Penny where she belongs—on her back. Start by switching positions.”
She enjoyed the wariness in their expressions, loving that she had the capacity to cause them both concern and arousal at the very same time, reflecting their clear understanding of her power over them, of her willingness to push them beyond their comfort zones, and of her wicked capriciousness. “Now crawl forward, Chastity, so each of you can help the other undo what Penny did. Mouths only! Don’t be shy! Not that Chastity will be,” she laughed at the back of her throat, watching Chastity practically attack her sister, something she had obviously been dying to do for ever and ever. Channah knew her girls, and knew it was Penny who would need her encouragement. So she gave it, stroking Penny’s hair with her left hand and snaking her right hand around the back of her thigh. “Go on, girl, you need to clean it all. I’m not going to let her move until you’re done.”
It didn’t take long for both girls to become lost in their work, each of them encouraging the other to float farther away from the world of accountability and causation to the floating world where only they existed. Incredibly, she saw both of them reacting again, helpless enough before their own hormones, reinforced and leveraged by Channah’s roguish assistance. Massaging both girls with her skilled, talented, experienced, and—oh, yes—magic hands, Channah made a subtle change to the energy flowing through them all, feeding the girls something different from what she usually sent them. It was a subtlety she didn’t usually bother with, blending the pure arousal with a yearning to care for their partner, feeding on the girls’ real and close friendship; and spiked with something akin to a narcotic, cutting them loose from their senses and gentling their logical engines so they tapped deeper into their—particularly Penny’s—subconscious desires. “Oh, yes, I’m going to have to punish you two for being so easy but… I do like to watch, especially when I’ve trained my subs to perform new tricks. And even more especially, when I love them. If this is how you naughty girls want to spend our honeymoon, putting on adult performances for my pleasure, I’m fine with it. But I will take my pleasure from you both, however I like,” she added, somewhere between a promise and a threat. “What perfect little jawari you two are going to make,” she gushed. “You have to be observant and attentive to be a good lover, girls. Chastity, have you been paying attention today?” She began, taking her time, and floating around to watch the top of Chas’s head moving, careful to keep her hands on them, one on each girl, the whole time. The three of them together were enough to make a circuit, one current running through Chastity, then to Penny, and finally back into her; the other running the other way, the two together producing a raw and almost-but-not-quite distressing sensation that heightened the intensity of her pleasure. “Ohhhh…. She groaned, allowing herself to enjoy the powerful sensation. “Think, my rebellious little…” she laughed throatily, hitting on the perfect. Name to both diminish and sexualize Chastity, with just enough truth to make it hurt. “… bimbo. Think hard, sweetie! Use your little noggin! You can do it! What does Penny like? Wait—do you need a hint, silly girl? What does she respond to, more than anything? What is it she just can’t control herself when she experience—” Channah laughed to see it as Chas finally understood, running her fingers over Penny’s soapy hindquarters. With a thought, Channah decided Penny’s twister should help her feel more every time a lover became intimate with her, shivering to hear Penny immediately start to moan.
2001 07-04 Welcome to Paradise 2002 07-04 This is MY garden
PREVIOUSLY: For seven days and nights, Chastity and Penance have been tormented, tested, pushed, and bewitched by Channah, her succubae, her human operatives, and others, with every tool and tactic available, leaving them feeling rootless, lost, malleable, in need of comfort, and desperate for love. Now, finally, Channah gives them what they long for. NOW:
“You girls have done so well! I know, you’ve had a hard, challenging week. But I’m so proud of the way you’ve handled it! Handled yourselves! Now comes the part I’ve been wanting, even hurting for with you, the whole time. It’s been so… cutting and hard, watching you sweeties go through the trials and indignities of the demon wedding ritual. But you’ve made it through them! And now you will experience, even more than before, the intensity and ecstasy of demon marriage. A deep, special pleasure that requires more than affection to nurture and grow.”
“I don’t have a knife with me, or I would cut your bonds right here. I want to show you my paradise without any remnant of the pain from this world, but I don’t want to make you stand here in the dark while I go and fetch one. So I’m going to take you straight to the bath and free you there. Ooh… I don’t even want to interrupt our intimacy, but I want to make it perfect for all of us…. Let me show you our special and wonderful home. I love sharing this with you so much!”
Letting go of them both, and squealing excitedly, barely able to contain herself, she paused and looked back at them, her hands already pressing on the door, her body arched delightfully, a moment burned into all three of their memories. The girls would always remember her there, their bedraggled fairie queen full of incredible potential promise, self-assured and seemingly relishing everything life had to offer no matter how amazing or daunting, glowing like a saint and bringing light and life to the cold black honeycomb, her perfection untouched by her disheveled state. And Channah would always remember the naked, vulnerable, dependent, hungry, blind hope and faith and trust reflected in their shining eyes, and the raw need and desire for her, her comfort, her favor, and her love, emanating from her two most-intimate victims and lovers.
With a shudder, reflecting her own passion for this place, and her eagerness to share it with them, she pushed open the heavy iron door and admitted them to paradise.
Light cracked through the door first as it opened. There was something clear and almost hard about it, a momentary impression immediately overcome by the excitement and hope of a perfect early spring morning.
The air was cool and invigorating, fresh with life and fragrant with the smell of flowers and forest. The sky was sweet and bright and vibrant, energy practically radiating from it. Before them were vital and verdant trees, vines, and bushes, the encouragement of life, embraced by the solidity and nurturing reassurance of the Earth beneath them and, as they found themselves stepping out of a tunnel in the bottom of a cliff, behind them. The perfect black stones of the honeycomb ended abruptly as they stepped through the doorway onto a garden path made of what their tour guide called orange adoquin stone, perfectly fitted to one another with no visible grout between them.
The path divided immediately. It ran a few yards to the right along the bottom hem of the greyish-black volcanic cliff soaring above them, until—contained by a crenellation in the cliff wall, it was forced to bend to the left and disappear behind the trees.
Channah pushed the door closed behind them, sliding two heavy drawbars from holes in the cliff wall across the top and bottom of the iron door to secure it, latching them in place and making it impossible to open with anything less than a battering ram. Then she moved her hands quickly in the air before the door causing a brief glamour to sparkle and fade, suggesting even a battering ram might have trouble getting in.
She shrugged and smiled her beautiful smile. “I don’t require much, actual security. But I do value my privacy. It is more precious to me than you can imagine. And the three of us are the only people here in my mountain paradise. Do you feel the air? How thin it is?” And she enjoyed watching them breathe, eyes unfocused as they concentrated on feeling their breath in their throats and lungs. “If you don’t now, you will when you exert yourselves. And I mean for you both to do so,” she giggled, touching both their bottoms rudely and pulling them into her sides. “A lot. If you’ve never been at altitude before, you’ll feel you’re struggling for breath until your body adjusts. That will take a couple of days. We’re in a mountain valley—more like a pocket, a cauldron lined with cliffs, high in the peaks, with only two entrances, the honeycomb and a natural cave, both warded to alert me to any potential trespassers so I can know we’re alone and no one is going to come running to me with their problems and concerns. It calms me so much,” she sighed. “It’s the only time I’m really off work, in a way.” She shook her head, contemplating how busy she had been, and for how long.
And then she turned them gently to face the left branch of the path, causing them to gasp in wonder. It was a reaction she had obviously anticipated, and equally obviously, enjoyed. This way, the path descended gently and widened for a few yards, cliffs on the left and the dense, heavy forest on the right, until it reached a clear, beautiful pool in the rocks, fed by an irregular fountain of water pouring from a crack in the cliff wall and draining… well, it was complicated. And, just beyond that, a breathtaking vista.
There were actually three fountains and three waterways, a fact they slowly absorbed as she guided them down the path towards it, explaining, her hands protectively holding theirs. “They’re natural springs. The first one is my hot bath.” And indeed, they could see steam rising from the water where it emerged from the rock in a line with the surface of the smallish pool, a bowl about the size of a royal carriage with no obvious egress for the water. The force of the water entering at its margin caused its surface to ripple and bubble constantly. “The second is the mountain stream that waters my gardens.” It appeared to be the largest flow of water by volume, cascading down a spill of rocks to a narrow pool, more like a water trench or a troth, feeding a stream that disappeared into the woods. “And the third is my washing-pool, which all three of us need desperately!
