Tag: magic

1881 06-109 Channah, Khan of an Unholy Hoard
1882 06-109 Channah, Master of Horses and Slavegirls alike
1883 Channah, Domina of Rome, Champion of the Colosseum

Explicit version containing orgasm, sodomy, and analpenetration themes at 06-109X The Last Sedcuction at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah and Penny are locked in an intense and passionate dance, Channah desperate for an intimacy she never imagined existed and Penny whipsawed by her deep responses to her alternating affection and abuse, all of it magnified by the larger powers unleashed by the darkest rituals of the succubae in this unholiest of places.  NOW:

Channah drove Penny like a charioteer driving her mare into a frantic lather at the colosseum, heedless of—no, reveling in—the damage and chaos she caused as chariots crashed and competing animals and drivers were destroyed all around her, a price she was willing to pay for her victory, and indeed enjoyed as a benefit of it.

Faster and faster, her hips powered her tattoo against Penny’s soft buttocks and thighs, sending the girl bouncing everywhere her position, hanging suspended by her wrists and ankles like a human swing over the fiery pit, allowed her to rock.  Channah gripped the railing above her, making hers a full-body workout, barely aware someone else was substituting in for Kadidia behind her,. 

One of the greatest benefits of the twister, Channah thought, not for the first time, was how it worked on both a succubus and her boy under the nearly-second-nature instinct of the succubus.  It was powered largely by her subconscious, becoming just another muscle flexing automatically, in conjunction with all her other muscles, to effectuate her desires.  It also allowed her to focus even more-selfishly upon her own pleasure and satisfaction, while it coiled and shifted and mustered itself to put just the right pressures, in just the right places, at just the right pace, to tease and torment her girls the way Channah liked to do, without Channah having to think too much about aiming or aligning herself with any particular part of a partner’s body. The twister did that for her.  Channah’s grunting became more and more primal as she warmed up again, so hot and high she almost imagined she could turn off the firehose of her seductive magic and still take this mood further by just riding it.  But maybe she was less confident of that than she ought to be.  What she told herself, was that she couldn’t risk letting up because for the sake of the ritual, she needed Penny to have conflicting experiences of pleasure and torment at once, while she experienced perfect bliss.

Channah’s eyes started fluttering as she threw her head back and roared like a lioness, hearing Penny’s strangled cries complementing her.  Oh!  She was so responsive, deeply and instinctively:  a perfect lover and plaything for a selfish bitch of a succubus.

Channah whispered another string of filthy curses, these all of human origin but from half a dozen different languages.  “I’m—soo proud of you, pretty girl!  You’re—almost done, baby!”  she assured her submissive lover.

“Yes, Domina!” she screamed agreement, misunderstanding.

“No—I mean—afterwards, when you’re really drained and at your lowest ebb—if I give you a turn, I’m going to need you to do something for me.  Really give it your all.”

“IF?!”  Penny wailed, uncomprehending.  “IF?!”  She wept.  “I don’t think I even want this!  Not—not this way, ooh, aah!  I don’t think I even should be able to—it’s not right—BUT I DON’T THINK STOPPING IS AN OPTION DOMINA!!!” she half-hollered, half-whined.  “I can’t—I can’t imagine—I can’t even think—oh, god, Domina!  What you do to meeeeee!”

“Yes, ‘if’ baby,” she insisted, hardly able to imagine it herself, and determined to make Penny say ‘yes’ because if she said ‘no’… Channah had no idea what she would do.  Stop herself?  Really?  Oh Penny you have to say yes…. But out loud, she managed:  “It isn’t a right for jawari slave-girls, is it?”

“No Domina,” Penny had to agree, shaking her head, almost looking as if it were beyond her ability to imagine but she knew she had to obey.

“No, sweetie, it’s a privilege.  A—gift.  A—a—fucking blessing, bitch!”

“Yes, Domina!  I know, Domina,” Penny whined and wept.

“So, yes, IF you—you want it, baby, and it’s totally up to you, but I’m—I’m going to need you to—show me you mean it when you promise you want to make me happy.  Show me, once and for all, tonight, before you leave this platform.”

Penny looked genuinely surprised, although it was a little difficult to be sure under the submissive, helpless, completely placative and adoring posture she displayed to show respect for her Domina.  Eyes rolling and voice rising plaintively, she wailed in shock:  “You mean there’s more?  What else—what else IS there, Domina?”

“Taking this from another boy, bitch, instead of from a girl with bonus features.  You’ve known it was coming, don’t pretend you didn’t!”

“I—I know, I didn’t understand—I know I agreed Domina!  I won’t go back on my pledge, Domina, I promise!  I’ll give you everything.  I want to give you everything!  I know that now!  I just—I didn’t know what you wanted!”  She sobbed.  “I promise, Master, I’ll do as you command!  I know what you expect from me, Domina!  I’ll be good!  I’ll be good!  I swear I’ll be good, Domina, anything you want, whoever you want, I love you!”

“Oh, dumpling,” she purred, “I know you want to be my good girl.  And I want you to be passionate, so sexy baby.  That’s why I’ve arranged an extra-special treat your first time, so maybe even you’ll learn -um, well,  it’s not exactly your first time, I guess, is it?  I mean, the first time you put out for me, darling.”  Keeping her eyes feasting on Penny’s desperate, pathetic, needy form dangling out in space, absolutely nothing but a bit of air between her and the crazed armies of devils below, Channah called over her shoulder:  “Kadidia, is our other little girl ready to come back to us?”

“At your command, Majesty,” the woman answered, smoothly and calmly, her sweet bakhūr presence close by her side. 

“Then try to bring her back, Kadidia.  Penny, you can do your part to help by trying your best to lure her back to this world.  Show as much need and love as you can muster for your sister-wife!  Callher back to us!”

Penny’s eyes shifted just to Channah’s right, where Kadidia had casually propped up Chastity, nude except her cage, her twister, her ring, her collar, and the tight leather harness she had been strapped into, sexy elaborate straps crisscrossing over her body like threads of a spider’s web from her collar to her thighs.  Like a puppeteer storing a puppet, Kadidia had effortlessly set Chastity on her knees, holding her upright by one hand on one of her shoulders.  Chastity’s hands seemed to be tied behind her back, not that she was aware.  At the moment, her body was an empty meat suit, muscles slack, head dropping, an inanimate dead weight of flesh utterly disconnected from her friend, whose soul had been taken and secured somewhere far, far away from her body by the magic of the succubae.

Still reeling from her own experience there, the moment she caught sight of Chas, she screamed in horror and recognition, at the appalling absence of life writ large across her friend, something she knew she had done (had been?) only a few minutes before.  Her shock at the sight was compounded because she had had no perception of anything in this world when she was in the same state; and therefore, her conscious mind had not been presented before with the icewater spectacle of her friend’s body looking way more dead than alive. 

The mind and the body knew when they were looking at a dead thing.  They knew, and were shocked to the core.

Literature Section “06-109[X] The Last Seduction”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 109 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1246 words::Explicit 1353 words—Accompanying Images:  1881-1883—Published 2025-06-07—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.


1870 06-107 Watcha wanna do, fairy stepmother?
1871 06-107 Do you trust me?  Completely, fairy stepmother!
1872 06-107 I’m going to rock you AND your whole world
1873 06-107 Is your little lap buddy going to rock me, too?

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, chastity, watersports, corporalpunishment, urination, and prostatestimulation themes at 06-107[X] A Succubaean Sex Stunt at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah and Penny are locked in an intense shared experience higher than treble singers in a helium balloon on Channah’s sex magick, Channah desperate for an intimacy she never imagined existed and Penny shattered body and soul by her brilliant ruthless exploitation of her unparalleled knowledge of the human male.  NOW:

Laughing cruelly, Channah watched with savage glee as the last of Penny’s water dribbled out of her flaccid little underperformer. 

“Keep begging, bitch!” Channah giggled, just to be a bitch, and Penny’s incoherent noises became peppered with recognizable words like “please” and “beg” and “Domina” and “no!” and “ugh!” and “I need—I need—oh ggggaaaaaawwwwwwdddddd….  What you do to me, Master!  Oh!  Oh!  Aiee!”  Like that.

Penny’s pleasing cries and their hot, sick scene went on until, using one of Miryam’s discarded stockings to mop up, Channah snapped:  “Open up!  Mouth wide open, come on, hold it!”  and then crammed the soggy mass of silk into Penny’s mouth, stuffing it down as deeply as she could until Penny gagged, reducing her noises to much more satisfactory muffled grunts and cries; and then pulling the other stocking around Penny’s head, tying it off as tightly as she could, holding Penny’s lips wide apart and the first stocking in place deep in her mouth.

As she was enjoying this, a massive presence Channah recognized even before she saw two midnight-black hands thread a rope under her arms, in front of her breasts, or smelled the spicy, distinctive aroma of the bakhūr Kadidia alone used in her perfume.  A second later, Channah felt the rope drawn tightly under her arms and knew at once that she would be perfectly safe no matter what occurred as she and Penny continued their slide towards the lip of the platform.

Channah kept rocking her girl, harder and harder, as Fang and Judah wrapped the two chains holding her wrists and ankles together on each side of her, twice around the railing just above the shackle anchor points as a safety, sliding them with a metallic chunking sound to keep them taut as Penny approached the edge at a point where there was nothing between the railing and the platform itself to stop anything going over.  Channah kept smearing her hands all over Penny’s shoulders and arms and legs and neck and sides while her belly did the same to Penny’s, covering every inch of the girl with oil until she was shiny from head to toe and slipperier than a stick of butter.

Penny screamed as her head, and then her shoulders, and then her back, slid over the lip of the hetaraslakos with increasing speed as the amount of surface area to provide friction slowing her, shrank.  A second later, Fang and Judah pulled the chains as tight as they could.  The bar was positioned with people of average height in mind.  Because Penny was quite a petite girl, the final yank on her chains actually lifted her shoulders, and then her hips, several inches above the surface, even as Fang and Judah slammed the pins closed on the two shackle mounts locking Penny firmly into place, hanging like a trussed pig from a roasting pole, her arm and leg on each side suspended from a sturdy hook under the railing. 

The poor girl was still screaming and wailing, trying to put together what had happened and whether she was about to die, or perhaps dead already, while the coven members roared with laughter and clapped one another on the back at a perfectly-executed suspension of a virgin—in this context, meaning a jariya who had never been suspended before, or even seen a suspension before.  Channah did note, with distinct relief, that as much as Channah’s manipulations had overridden what the girl’s mind and body intended, causing her to be incontinent in front, she had kept control of herself otherwise, which spoke well to Penny’s courage and presence of mind.  It was one of the risk factors that made suspension such a casino-like rush:  sometimes, weak-minded jawari ended the game before it had fully begun in that way, and were left to dangle in humiliation and increasing pain from overtaxed muscles, ignored until the succubae and the band had left and the cleaning crew arrived to restore the platform to pristine condition for next time.  Needless to say, jawari who insulted a succubus and ruined her day in such a way, drew the least-desirable and most-dangerous assignments, as far away from the succubae as possible, after that. 

So Penny had passed yet another offhand and arbitrary test to satisfy the whims of her masters without ever knowing it was occurring.

Like an oak tree, without breaking a sweat, Kadidia stopped and held Channah so her knees remained on the platform an inch or two from the edge.  Miryam and Rivqah slipped kneepads under Channah’s knees for her comfort.  If the jariya were left alone, hanging in place, gravity would bring their hips to rest just where Channah’s spine was; which meant the succubus had plenty of leverage to thrust against her victim’s haunches, especially since petite, pretty Penny was suspended between six and twelve inches above the platform by her short legs.  Laughing at Penny’s lost, confused, anxious, uncomfortable expression, Channah resumed her attentions.

It was a skill.  An art.  One Channah and the other succubae had had centuries to practice, to perfect, and to elaborate upon.  Channah quickly and expertly fell into a perfect rhythm, timing her movements so her jariya’s momentum increased, propelled out away from Channah’s body until they were almost (but not quite) separated, then swinging back down, before repeating the cycle again.

Below them, the heady mixture of arousal, pain, fear, need, and power imbalance acted on the crowd like PCP, simultaneously stimulating them, polluting them, and ripping whatever was left of their minds and bodies to shreds.  Their noise began rising again, their movements to speed up, their center mass to press forward to a point directly under Penny’s swinging body.  From her position, even in her aroused and fully-occupied condition, Channah could tell something was terribly wrong below; but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.  It didn’t seem to be interfering with the energy of the tortuous dance she was leading them all in, so she pushed it to the back of her mind for now; but her impression of wrongness was clear and strong enough she wasn’t likely to forget about it.

Penny flew and swung back and forth like a pendulum, faster and faster as Channah felt a power storm start building and gathering within her.

Literature Section “06-107[X] A Succubaean Sex Stunt”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 107 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1055 words::Explicit 1139 words—Accompanying Images:  1870-1873—Published 2025-06-05—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.


1866 06-106 WTF is THAT, stepmother, and what does it want?!
1867 06-106 What do you keep a wiggly thing like that around for, stepmother dear?

1868 06-106 Why is Mr. Wiggles looking at me that way?
1869 06-106 What on EARTH do those wiggly things want from ME?!

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, chastity, watersports, corporalpunishment, urination, and prostatestimulation themes at 06-106[X] Squeezing Penny ‘til She Pops at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah and Penny are locked in an intense shared experience higher than treble singers in a helium balloon on Channah’s sex magick, Channah desperate for an intimacy she never imagined existed and Penny shattered body and soul by her brilliant ruthless exploitation of her unparalleled knowledge of the human male.  NOW:

“You should be ashamed of your infantile loss of control!”  Channah scolded her fiercely, looking down and laughing.  “You’re leaking everywhere, sweetie.  If you were a man, you’d be too interested in me to worry about your bladder.  But because you’re really a girl, you’re still soft as pudding…” then, with a laugh, she blurted:  “I love that!  That’s what you are, isn’t it, Pleaser?  You’re my very own little Puddin’, aren’t you darling?”

“No!  You’re doing things to me—things I can’t—I don’t even understand!” she blubbered pitifully, shaking her head, trying to make sense of it.  Less rationally, wanting to deny it.  “No, that can’t be…”

“But it is,” Channah insisted, “and we’ve got the evidence to prove it, don’t we, girlie?  Shall I make you admit it?  You pee when there’s pressure on your bladder just like any other girl.”  

Because it was clear by now Penny would—Penny only could, helplessly—submit unconditionally to anything her erastes did to her, she didn’t need to bother with holding Penny’s ankles or wrists any more.  But she wanted Penny to know how deeply submissive she was, so she gathered her eromenos’s wrists back into her right hand and yanked them down and behind Penny’s head, allowing Channah to rest her weight on her own hand and use it for leverage while pinning Penny’s below it.  With her left hand, she started smearing her hand over Penny’s tummy and breasts, then brought her hand to Penny’s mouth. 

“Please no!”  Penny tried to murmur with her lips together.

Channah just laughed harder, watching Penny’s eyes dart to their audience before she looked back at Channah with horror, shaking her head violently. 

“Open right now, Puddin’, or it will go badly for you,” Channah ordered her roughly.  And with a particularly loud wail, Penny surrendered again, another long swath of whatever dignity she still had roughly torn away like a layer of clothing, helplessly accepting another indignity, opening her mouth as she cried and accepted Channah’s fingers.  Channah used her right hand behind Penny’s neck, holding her wrists, to lift her up partially and maneuver her onto the slippery oil-covered stone beside them; using her left hand to pull Penny’s hair, and then again to slide over her skin.  Looking up at her coven members, she instructed them:  “This little girl’s already made a mess of herself—and me.  Just pour oil on her.  I want her slipperier than a greased pig with her cuffs paired for the swing.”

Penny opened her mouth and started to complain, or plead, or something.  With a sneer, Channah immediately shoved her freshly lacquered fingers into Penny’s mouth again.  And that was that for Penny’s little protest, or whatever it would have been.  Channah talked instead, as she cruelly moved her hips again and again, as hard as she could, the girl looking pitifully uncomfortable beneath her.  “You look rough, honey,” she pretended to pout.  “Is baby sore?”  She nodded, laughing when Penny nodded agreement around her hand.  She removed it and slapped Penny’s cheek.  “Too bad.  Little babies who ruin their masters’ clothing are going to be uncomfortable.  Because they deserve it.  See?  Your disgraceful display is only more evidence you’ve been a girl all along.”

“NOO, Master!”  Penny bawled uselessly.  Looking back down at Penny, Channah smiled wolfishly at the scared, uncertain, lost expression struggling for real estate on Penny’s panting, overstimulated, passion-tortured face and kept moving over the smaller girl, giggling as Penny’s oily shoulders and back started slipping over the stone surface.  She laughed aloud watching as Rivqah cooed and verbally humiliated Penny while she sputtered and spat, trying to keep the stream of oil Rivqah was dribbling all over her face, out of her mouth.

Channah had known her knees would suffer on the stones without kneepads, but she felt herself becoming irritated and cranky anyway, taking it out on Penny by working harder than before, holding her wrists in a vicelike grip so as the rest of her body slid, her wrists slipped beneath her neck to an uncomfortable position, and by being careless with Penny’s sensitive new curves, alternating—one hand in her mouth, the next percussed on her curves, with a bit of hard pinching for added effect.  “You’ve got nice, classic lines Penny.  With those curves, you’re going to make a lot of men very happy.  And I do mean a lot,” she cackled as Penny practically flinched.  “So you’d better get used to that funny, intense feeling inside you.  Learn to enjoy it, if you can.  And figure out some way to get that girl-bladder under control, or you’re going to find yourself over the knees of a lot of frustrated clients being disciplined for disrespecting them!”  She shook her head, marveling as Penny continued to struggle to control herself. 

Suddenly she frowned.  “Whatever happened to your panties?  And Esmeray’s panties?  We could use those—to—unh!  Absorb all this!”  She looked up and chuckled when she saw Miryam wryly kicking off her boots and removing her silk stockings, even as Rivqah kept pouring oil on Penny—as directly toward her mouth and nostrils as possible—and then flicking the oily stream above Penny’s head to lubricate the stones ahead of her.

At the same time, Judah and Fang took Penny’s wrists from Channah and attached each one to a delicate ankle, using two carabiners that already dangled chains.  This freed both of Channah’s hands to explore Penny’s new girl body, even as she continued to tease and torment the girl by turns with pinches, slaps, tickles, light trailing brushes, and deep tissue massage.  And, of course, force-feeding her until Miryam casually dropped her stockings on Penny’s tummy and tucked them down between her legs. 

Channah used her control over Penny’s insides to squeeze her hard, even as Channah’s fingers seized and squeezed her victim on the outside, giggling as Miryam’s stockings prevented a fountain from spraying in every direction around Channah’s tightly-clasped fingers.  She used every bit of force she could to wring Penny’s insides, exulting while Penny’s orchestra of sounds and noises took on a choked, gurgling quality expressing the potent cocktail of feelings and experiences she was being compelled to imbibe by turns.  Her pitch soared and fell as the pressure intensified and peaked, and their audience laughed and applauded.

Literature Section “06-106[X] Squeezing Penny ‘til She Pops”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 106 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1059 words::Explicit 1186 words—Accompanying Images:  1866-1869—Published 2025-06-04—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

1860 06-105 It’s Kool-Aid for your brain…
1861 06-105 That’s a perfectly natural reaction.  So keep inhaling!

1862 06-105 You’re a silly little girl.  Keep puffing!
1863 06-105 I think she’s ready for us, Mistress
1864 06-105 NOW she’s ready… Bwa ha ha ha ha ha!
1865 06-105 Since it can’t be real, there are no consequences!^

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, chastity, watersports, urination, and prostatestimulation themes at 06-105[X] Channah Thoroughly Ravishes Penance at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah and Penny have just had the magical experience of a lifetime, turning Penny into a futa as their privacy shield fell.  Uncharacteristically experiencing a devastating top drop after falling from the dizzying heights to which they had risen, Channah has jump-started them both again with her magic and is ruthlessly overcoming shy Penny’s reservations and thoughts of resistance at the prospect of being royally and humiliatingly romanced in front of an audience.  NOW:

Whether from trust in and a desire to please her Master, the intensity of the connection surging between them, the magical fountain pouring into her, or simply the raw force of Channah’s shoulders on her ankles and hands gripping her wrists, after a final little flutter of resistance manifested in an aimless, anxious wiggling of her extremities, Penny calmed down and stopped struggling, making her legs relax as much as she could so Channah didn’t have to strain quite as much.  Penny meekly accepted being virtually folded in half, whining and panting and moaning into Channah’s lips as she was able to relax her muscles to accommodate Channah’s insistent demands on her and comply with Channah’s pleasure. 

Helplessly, with Channah romantically ravaging her, with Channah’s demon tongue snaking deeply into Penny’s delicate mouth, with Channah’s energy surging through Penny’s chakras, and with Channah’s shoulders pinning Penny’s legs back at such an extreme angle she could almost suck her own toes, Penny started to cry out, her cheeks fiercely red with the shame of her willing, indeed cooperative and increasingly ardent, degradation before so many people.

“Beg more,” Channah slurred around their lips.  “Show them all what a shameless little hussy you are.”  And when Penny turned even redder instead of speaking:  “Confess your desires NOW!”

Sobbing, Penny begged, as wantonly and desperately as she could, absolutely in earnest because her silence had been the modesty of not wanting to reveal her truth, rather than a reflection of any inner calmness or perspective.  Because she had none:  By now, Channah was her whole world again, and pleasing Channah her whole and sincere purpose.

“Take me Master!” she pleaded, nearly crazed with the abandon, as much as arousal, of throwing all her own sensibilities and modesty to the winds in order to submit to her Domina and fulfill her Domina’s desires under such conditions.  Responding to Channah the way she commanded and demanded required her total surrender to her Domina, to her fate, to her shame, to her extremely public degradation because it allowed no half-measures.  There was nothing, not one shred of personal dignity or self-respect, that she could maintain and obey her Domina as she had to do and as she longed to do.  Her personality and feelings were being shredded into confetti by her Domina’s desires and the resulting conflicts tearing her apart.  “I don’t know what you’re doing to me Master!” She wailed hysterically, her voice muffled and interrupted as Channah kept kissing her and she kept kissing back.  “Ah!  Ah!  You’re—omigod, what you’re doing to me!  It hurts!  Why am I so eager, Master?”

“Because you’re a girl.  And I found the sweet girl spot inside you.  I—knew it was there!  I knew it!  I could tell!” she bellowed triumphantly.  “Some girls, a very few, are born that way,” Channah lied easily, enjoying scrambling her head as hard as she was her insides, “and now that I’ve finally found it, it’s brought your true self to the surface!”  She growled roughly, resting her forearms on her futa’s ankles to hold them down so she could use her fingernails to tickle her futa’s extremely sensitive and ticklish soles, watching Penny’s breathing turning into a desperate gasping sound, her head moving from side to side whenever Channah’s lips permitted as if she were searching for more oxygen.  Seeing Penny’s state, Channah allowed herself to use her tongue to gag her until she almost passed out from lack of air, just because she felt like seeing if she could. 

Channah reveled in her total power and command over her wiggling, wriggling, wailing, mindless futa love doll to which she had reduced a previously normal and clever boy.  But she knew there was more to it than that, the way she was feeling higher and higher and almost crazy with lust.  She was dimly aware she needed to stop feeding her own lust before she tore the girl limb from limb but she was loving the effect her magic was having on the girl, too much to stop feeding their connection just yet.  “It hurts a girl the first time, silly ninny,” Channah laughed, “surely even you know that much?  And a girl born like you, inside-out, I’m sorry, sweetie,” Channah laughed, “It’s gonna hurt a little bit every time.”  And Channah shivered with pleasure at the thought.

“I can’t stand it omigod ogod ogod I feel like I’m going to explode but I’m not even enjoying this!  Ohh… oh, no… It hur-ur-ur-ur-ur-ur-urts!  What’s happening to me?!?!”  she wailed and cried and shook her head and rolled her eyes and practically melted down into a puddle right in front of Channah’s devouring eyes, her warm, soft, passive, obedient body and over-the-top passion of agony and ecstasy all rolled up and intertwined together, bringing Channah to another emotional and physical peak.

The succubus threw her head back and howled like a wolf with glee, briefly meeting Miryam’s and Rivqah’s amazed, aroused, envious eyes.  Inspired, she barked:  “Oil.  Gallons!” tipping her head towards the smooth black stone past the edge of the mattress above Penny’s head, before she turned her attention back to her victim, nipping her bottom lip and tugging on it before smothering her in more kisses and stuffing her mouth again with demon tongue.  The Demon Queen relished the exquisite, delightful way her prey thrashed and bawled with painful confusion and panted and whined with passion all at once. Penny was utterly overwhelmed, unable to process all the conflicting, confusing, clanging sensations that were wracking her body.  “My body!  I hate it but I want it whatever you’re—I maybe—!  What’s happening to me, Domina?!  The things you do to me Master!  And now I’m….” she wept.  “I think I’m losing control!  I’m so ashamed!”

“You should be!”  Channah scolded her fiercely, looking down and laughing. 

Literature Section “06-105[X] Channah Thoroughly Ravishes Penance”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 105 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 979 words::Explicit 1078 words—Accompanying Images:  1860-1865—Published 2025-06-03—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Your Grace.  Th—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Your Grace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hongzhi, Your Grace.”

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

“Yes, Your Grace.”

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

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

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

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

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

1852 06-103 I love you! f you love me, you’ll be a good little white rabbit
1853 06-103 Good white rabbits stay in their cages
1854 06-103 You DO want to be my good little white rabbit, don’t you?  Un-huh, yes, ma’am
1855 06-103 You want me in THERE? Alice giggled.  I’ll barely fit!

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, chastity themes at 06-103X Consent Violations at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah and Penny have just had the experience of a lifetime, more than either of them could ever have imagined, touched with magical forces neither of them fully comprehends.  Penny is still lost in a daze.  Channah is consumed with a desire for more and cannot bring herself to let it end.  NOW:

Always grateful for her existence—once as an angel, now as a succubus—Channah loved herself, and her life, without suffering from either humility or disappointment.  And the combined flavors in her mouth—first, of the top drop, almost hangover-like in its intensity following the burning out of every single one of her nerves; and second, the crestfallen woe of being separated from Penny, were as unacceptable as they were unfamiliar.  Refusing to accept the intolerable situation, she did something she could not recall ever having done before, simply because she had never felt the need to:  She capitalized on her nature by using her powers to feed her own heat, feeling the low, struggling flame within her ripple dangerously before bursting into a full raging inferno.  Penny groggily began moving her head back and forth, her human body so much more shredded than Channah’s by the forces that had ripped through them, she needed more time and heat to come back.

Frantic for Penny’s consciousness to come back to her, and irrationally irritated with Penny for not responding faster than her species was capable of, Channah saw the girl’s soft, sticky little pastry curled between her legs, as delicious and unthreatening as a snail cooked in butter, and decided on a wicked plan to interest her and punish Penny for—whatever it was she wanted to punish for.  Promptly, considering it only from the lens of her own desire without even considering any negatives or what Penny would feel beyond what Channah wanted her to feel, Channah converted her intentions into action, snatching up Penny’s cage from where she had tossed it aside and locking it again.

Then Channah resumed her undulating motion, rolling her hips against Penny’s.  Her supernatural energy pulsed through both of them like an electrical current, even as Penny’s twister pulsed and squeezed, animated by Channah’s will to resume what it had been doing before, enveloping them in a pulsing rhythm more intense than nature could have achieved unaided.

Channah groaned before Penny was even back present with her, aroused to a fury by Penny’s tight little booty, and her peaceful feminine features. 

Penny’s peaceful feminine features…

Something about the phrase tugged at Channah’s mind until she gasped in amazement, incredulous at how long it had taken her to get past her own shell shock to register the obvious.

And just as Penny shook her head, blinking rapidly and focusing on Channah with a dreamy, loving, seductive smile that made Channah’s heart jump in her chest, Channah proclaimed, as genuinely as any pathetic human punter: 

“Penny!  I knew it!  I’m so happy!  You’re beautiful!!!  I’m so happy!  You did it!  And you’re MINE!!!”  She picked up Penny’s hands and laid them gently on her girl’s firm round breasts, urging her to feel them and marvel, praising Penny’s beauty and femineity, doing everything she could to help Penny assent to what had just happened to her.  Penny had to accept it, her new body and appearance, at a minimum—she must!  And ideally she would see the beauty and opportunity in it, which would turn Channah on even more, and would certainly improve Penny’s life and disposition from this point forward.

Penny gasped, looked shocked, and then turned fiercely, brightly, practically a luminescent red, her hands moving gently and automatically over her own breasts and nipples, hyperventilating again and squeaking:  “I turned into a girl!”

Channah wolf-whistled, aroused by her own magic but even more, she knew, by Penny’s distinctive, innocent speech and way of speaking, even as she embarrassed Penny and the Coven members laughed and applauded, understanding the importance of Penny’s acceptance and doing all they could to encourage it.  At the same time, they distracted Penny and drew her attention to them and caused her to squeak again, covering her new breasts with her hands.  At the same moment, both to control and distract Penny, and to satisfy her own soul if she had one, Channah rose up onto her feet, using her weight as leverage to kiss her girl forcefully again.

For a moment, Channah could see, Penny’s mind wanted to resist the swirling storm of natural and supernatural (and perhaps even unnatural) emotion around her and within her.  The Penny she had always been, wanted to cover herself, no matter the feelings roaring and raging through her, her eyes rolling around wildly in their sockets like those of a panicked horse, taking in the sights around her.  Miryam, Rivqah, Judah, Fang, and the other eight members of the Coven watched them with hungry, desiring, rapacious eyes and the tense posture of predators aroused by the sight of their alpha feeding on desirable prey, hopeful despite themselves and imagining taking their own turns.  Esmeray and Hong watched too, with their five blindfolded, bound jawari kneeling before them, Hong coolly appraising and evaluating with, Penny might imagine, just a hint of contempt in her eyes; and  Esmeray fierce and attentive, eyes darting everywhere, with the attitude of a parrot whose feathers have been ruffled reclaiming her dignity, half as unsighted to Channah and Penny in this moment as the blinded jawari before her.

With an incoherent noise of anxiety and alarm, Penny started to flail; but determined to make this moment last, and recover her equilibrium by fucking Penny again, Channah shook her head commandingly and murmured “hunh-unh!”, all with her mouth pressed against Penny’s.  Grabbing her girl’s hands, Channah pulled them up and set them to hold the back of Penny’s ankles, helping Channah pull on her own legs.  Channah shivered with delight at the way the sensations she was delivering overwhelmed her little girl, her eyes bulging.  Channah felt happy in her current, odd mood, even knowing her own magic was affecting her and, she realized (a much more serious risk, in her mind) trusting Penny—or herself with Penny—to let her guard down enough to allow herself to be affected by magic.

Literature Section “06-103[X] Consent Violations”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 103 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 993 words::Explicit 1247 words—Accompanying Images:  1852-1855—Published 2025-05-30—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

1844 06-101 Channah claims Penny as she has never done before
1845 06-101 Penny is Channah’s plaything now
1846 06-101 Pray all you like, Penny dear… it’s adorable
1847 06-101 MINE.  Questions?

Explicit version containing sodomy, analpenetration, orgasm, and prostateorgasm themes at 06-101X Consummated and Consumed (unabridged version) at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

INCLUDE PART IN PREVIEW FOR CONTEXT:  Channah is on top of Penny.  She couldn’t tell what Penny was babbling on about, and she didn’t care—doubting he knew, either.  She was doing what she needed to do, for her.  NOW:

Nor did anything that came out of Penny’s mouth thereafter, help to clarify anything except her surprise:  Penny’s speech was rapidly degenerating and sputtering into an incoherent, pathetic, inarticulate, jumbled mess of words and half-words and sounds that cycled between bafflement and submission and made no sense beyond that, conveying only one message, again and again and again:  how lost and confused she was in submission to Channah as Channah scrambled forward, asserting herself, her attentions to the weaker girl given a cyclical rhythm by Channah’s not-so-gentle efforts to protect Penny from chafing, repeating the sequence, Penny’s speech degenerating further and further, her wail rising to a higher and higher pitch, the unexpected intensity of exactly what Channah was doing, the very special place she had found and focused on preventing Penny from any traditional enjoyment, until—at the very second Channah reached her goal—

Penny made a screaming howl of mixed joy, surprise, and plaintive frustration, even as the privacy shield around them dissolved, immersing them back into hell.  The sights and smells were intense; the sound, overwhelming.  Of course, Penny did not know, but their solitude had begun to end when Channah started pouring oil on her, Channah’s coven bringing them swimming back into the visibility of everyone on the platform.  And even more importantly for the succubae’s purposes, at that same moment, the passion, intimacy, and degradation coming off them in waves like heat from asphalt in summer had begun forcing itself into the perception of the damned below.  By the time Channah had taken the next step, the chaos below had exploded into a maelstrom of sound and movement such as none of the ancient succubae on the platform could remember, staggering and shaking all of them to the core.

And in the moment Penny and Channah were done, together:

Pandemonium extremis maximus.

A madness like nothing any of them, human or demon, could have ever imagined.  Like nothing any of the succubae had even dared hope for.  The howls of the damned below topped out, interrupted by jagged screams of wildly oscillating pitch abruptly ending in popping and tearing noises, like popcorn popping and flesh being ripped away by raptors’ teeth, all at once. 

At first, Penny—and almost, almost Channah, as experienced and powerful as she was—were oblivious, lost in the moment and the intensity between them, their eyes locked, Channah’s burning with the power, hunger, and savage joy of the taker; Penny’s wide with the wonder and acceptance and dizzy peace of the giver.  Their shared sensations, and the pandemonium wave, were both so uniquely intense their bodies and minds had nothing to compare them to, and so at first they blended into a single sensation, changing in flavor but not intensity as it flooded them both.

Channah began to come back into some kind of focus first, whispering incredulous curses so vile and dark they could not be expressed in any human language, and therefore could not be spoken at all—only roared in a savage animal sound older and rawer than words, more dragon than human, as her hips slowed and her eyes closed, overwhelmed with the combination of afterglow and power refraction.  The waves tearing through her had the strength of a black hole’s gravity to spaghettify any sun or lesser celestial body within their reach.  A moment later Penny’s mind was able to begin its own return from its own bliss into something less pure and much more violent, savagely and intensely joyous, flowing through Channah and then Penny, a total connection that neither of them had experienced ever before, or could imagine experiencing ever again.

“The… Power!…” Channah gasped, stunned, sagging forward as Channah became something close to dead weight and Penny something close to unresistant and rubbery, the two of them so overwhelmed and full of pure light, water, fire, earth, and air rushing into them like all the energy and mass of the universe collapsing into a single black hole, they could do nothing—not act, not feel, not think, not even be aware.  Only by giving every ounce of themselves to it, they could just barely hold on and ride it out, surviving it with all the agency of an unconscious person carried racing through whitewater rapids.

Channah began returning to something like conscious, some kind of reasonable awareness, staring down on her girl’s closed eyes and open mouth, her heart pining in a way Channah was not familiar with; and she felt… lonely and devastated, human feelings she neither liked nor wanted.  She could tell her girl was still twenty thousand, forty thousand, and more leagues beneath the sea away from her.  Channah wanted to be with her now.  She ached for the connection they had shared when they went under the waves together, something she had never experienced before and wished she never had experienced, if the knowledge of what she was missing was going to make her this unhappy now.  Her heart, or whatever organ or part of her was capable of such neediness, insisted on—demanded to—have it back. She had to bring Penny back to her, surrounding her, enveloping and connecting with her and making her more than she could ever hope to be on her own.

With a cry, almost subconsciously, a pure reflex by her body insistent to reconnect rather than a conscious thought, Channah resumed her assault, wanting—needing—to be back where she had been a few moments before.  Her sense of incompleteness was total.

And she saw, instantly, the path for a succubus to achieve the connection she required.

Literature Section “06-101[X] Consummated and Consumed”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 101 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 936 words::Explicit 1026 words—Accompanying Images:  1844-1847—Published 2025-05-27—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.


1814 06-93 You need to be at peace with your place, slave
1815 06-93 Oh, did I forget to mention the scary side-effects?

PREVIOUSLY:  Channah has been passionately and aggressively dominating and making out with Penny, teasing the girl relentlessly.  Now she wants more than Penny’s consent to take advantage of her.  Oh, and there was something about unexplained magic having to do with the jewelry partially implanted in Penny while she was insensate… NOW:

Channah snorted at Penny’s choice of pronouns.  “I knew you would choose to call it mine,” she shook her head, lips tight and flat in a mixed expression of amused, but exasperated, affirmation.  “Still so hesitant to admit who you are, and how invested in our… entanglement you are.  We’ll continue working on that.  Yes.  It’s my fruit, the medlar.”  Pressing on it, emphasizing Penny’s tenderness for a quick second, she explained.  “It’s the last of my wedding gifts to you.”  She looked up expectantly.

“Thank you, Domina,” Penny managed, knowing she expected it and wanting to please her even while she was in shock about being locked up with yet another chain by her Master.  This one had been not merely locked onto her body—like her collar and cage—or stuffed into her body like the tickler, but had been threaded through her organs and skeleton in a way Penny had only seen meat being sewn up for cooking.

Channah nodded briefly, pleased, and was about to speak further; but Penny’s anxiety about what had happened to her while she was banished from the world—and thus, from her own body—was so great that despite her training in passivity and receptiveness, she couldn’t help herself.  She blurted out:  “What does ‘Manipura’ mean, Domina?!” Her own voice sounded to her like the wail of an imperiled maiden struggling not to panic.

Fortunately, delight in her distress seemed to displace any irritation with Penny’s uppityness and with a surprised look, she observed:  “You’ve never asked before.  I thought perhaps you were familiar with the chakras?”

“No, Domina, please explain them to me?” Penny pleaded.

“In India, Hinduism and Buddhism have a tradition of practicing meditative arts known as tantra.  The chakras are various focal points in the body they concentrate on in a variety of their meditative practices, to help influence energy flows within the body.”  Channah shrugged.  “The actual human connection to the divine…. Isn’t known to us, regardless of which tradition—that is to say, religion—it falls under.  As far as we know, influencing energy flows may be genuinely part of the divine or simply a conceit by superstitious humans.  Or, most likely, it may be a form of magic acting on them internally.  That’s what we use the chakras for—to manipulate the flow of magic through living bodies.”

She noticed Penny’s frown of confusion and frustration, and held up her palm.  “Don’t even bother to ask me about how or whether tantra actually works.  For us, what matters is, the same or similar focal points are useful in directing the flow of magic through the body.”  With a smirk, she placed her hands on Penny’s collar and neck, pressing down and squeezing enough to remind Penny (as if she needed the reminder) of Channah’s strength and control.  “The Vishuddha is where we begin.  It relates to communication and thus to hierarchy and interpersonal relations.  It’s why your collar is so effective at linking us together, practically melding our souls to one another.  As you already know, it also has to do with longevity.”

She twitched her hips:  “Your Svadhishthana… maybe you understand this one already?  Maybe you feel it?” She taunted Penny mercilessly, laughing archly at her wince of pain as Channah caused her to push her literal and unforgiving limits.  “It is all about sex, procreation, and creativity.  Lift your legs,” she commanded, rising up higher on her knees, and when Penny hesitated she prompted him:  “Come on!  Legs up!  Right now!”  And as soon as Penny raised them, confused, she reached back to swat her, hard, on the bottom, then slammed back down on her midsection knocking her legs back down to the ground.  “Your Muladhara is your root.  It goes to basic trust, core emotional state, and foundational energy.  Does my presence there make you feel vulnerable?”  And she twisted Penny, not brutally, but across a range of her insides so broad it took her breath away, making her feel like she was so full everywhere she was about to explode.

“Yes, Domina, yes!” Penny yelped, her frantic expression and wide eyes giving Channah a thrill of pleasure. 

“I’ll bet you do.  I’ll just bet.”  And she relaxed her grip, a vise becoming a warm supporting hand.  “And when we’re united, top and bottom together, as we should be?  A whole?  When you’re good to me and obedient and when I’m pleased with you, so we feel trusting and connected to one another?  How does that make you feel, sweetheart?  Safe and secure?”

“Yes, Master,” Penny sighed, so relieved and submissive she almost sounded strangled. 

“Which brings us to our fourth bond.”  She played with her belly-button, then ran her fingers over Penny’s tummy and chest, causing her to gasp.  “Your new Manipura ring.  It’s about enhancing your wisdom and power.  It will also make you see more clearly and make your feet more sensitive.”  She giggled throatily.  “I’m going to take full advantage of that, believe me!  Today, here, in the hetaraslakos, is all about power.  But I’m sure, becoming more powerful doesn’t worry you.  It’s the acceptance of wisdom.”

“Why—why would wisdom worry me?”  Penny asked fearfully, knowing full well there was something Channah was preparing to drop on her.  Something big, that Penny was going to find upsetting.  Unless she’d just been messing with Penny’s head earlier….

“The ultimate wisdom is knowing and accepting—no.  More than that:  knowing and embracing!  Enthusiastically embracing who you are and the world you live in so you can live the life you were meant to live.  The Manipura ring provides the magic to help you realize the person you truly are, if you’re worthy enough. But you have to be able to admit it to yourself.  If you can’t, our connection will never be complete and we can never have the relationship I want us to have, that I’ve been trying to build with you.  It’s so important, Penny, I hope you can see that.  It’s called a realization spell.  Whoever you are, whatever you are, at your most basic level… the magic senses it, and helps you become the person you want to be.  It relates to morganatic marriage because it helps ensure a good match for the Domina and a loving, unconflicted girl who can focus her energies on her Domina’s problems, instead of selfishly obsessing on herself.  The subordinate, or base—” she pointed down at him “that’s you, precious—proves that she is worthy of the marriage by surrendering herself completely to her top.  And in return, having shown that her true self is devoted to her master, she gets to become that true self.  I mean…” she began, convincingly, as if she felt shy about discussing it, lending a charming vulnerability to her speech.  It seemed she was barely able to meet Penny’s eyes but had to steal up to meet with them until Channah’s clear, innocent eyes were Penny’s whole world.  Somehow, at some point, while Penny was being tied in knots by Channah’s entrancing face, her hips had started to move again down below, talking to Penny’s body behind her back and bringing the pain and the aching, aching deep desire back up to the maximum.  “I keep calling you my ‘wife’ and my ‘bride’ and my ‘housegift.’  Could I spell things out any more clearly?”

“What?”  Penny whispered, her mind whispering that she knew, but unable quite to accept it or to put it all together.

Literature Section “06-93 Penny’s Yoga Lesson”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 93 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1254 words—Accompanying Images:  1814-1815—Published 2025-05-17—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.


1727 06-85 In the Realm of the Senses
1728 06-85 In the Realm of the Spirit
1729 06-85 With a Devil on both shoulders…?
1730 06-85 The Maddening Discordant Orchestra
1731 06-85 Frenzy

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny has been completely deprived of all sensation—vision, hearing, smell, taste, and feeling; even their auxiliary aspects like balance and orientation and the awareness of her own heartbeat and breath.  Outside her isolation, the world moves forward, with Esmeray trying to murder Chastity for defying her and disrupting Channah’s spell.  Trying to recover, Channah has just put Chastity’s earplugs back in, cutting him off again.  NOW:

Fang crouched over the effectively-mummified Penny, with her hands steady on Penny’s ajna, the third eye in her head, and muladhara, the basic center of trust in her root—or as close to them as her hands could be.  Channah and one of Hong’s girls knelt on the restrained Chastity.  Hong and her other three jawari struggled to restrain the still-livid, almost-rabid Esmeray.  Like Penny and Chastity, when she could keep her skirts down, Hong almost appeared to be fully-dressed, if sweaty and disheveled with a whore’s slightly smudged makeup.  Unlike them in one respect, the plunging neckline of her cheongsam had already been ripped open, revealing the inner edges of her breasts in a manner that would have been most fetching if it weren’t for the exigencies of the moment.  Hong’s girls were disheveled, and naked, from head to toe, even their cages discarded on the other side of the platform with nothing to interrupt their shiny sweaty perfect cinnamon skin except the marks Hong had made on them with her fingernails and her stiletto heels.  All of them had been forced to interrupt their own ritual to come running to the aid of their overlords in separating the murderous Esmeray from the rebellious Chastity, while the band played on, in accordance with its standing orders, to doggedly play until they were told to stop no matter what they saw or heard or felt, no matter what happened to them.

“Those fucking little bitches!  And of all the times for this!”  Channah spat, furious, astonished, and amused all at once, and shaking her head ruefully.  Yet for all that, she couldn’t help but reveal the genuine, sharp concern beneath:  “How is she?!”

Fang, like Chas and all the others, would have known who she meant, even if she hadn’t been caring for her.  “She’s fine,” Fang assured her Queen soothingly, still snickering herself, meeting her Master’s eyes insistently to convey her seriousness and certainty despite the irresistible lightness of her mood.  “Everything is fine, My Liege.  I promise!”

“Then why are we both laughing?”  Channah threw up her hands in exasperation as she stood, flicking her head at Hong’s girl and watching from the corner of her eye as the girl hopped to her feet and darted to help her sisters, her little noodle flopping irrelevantly.

“Because it’s funny!”  Fang laughed merrily like bells pealing on a sweet summer day.

“It fucking is.  It really fucking is!  Isn’t it?”

“IT IS NOT FUNNY YOU INFERNAL WHORES!”  Esmeray screamed and spit.  Only unlike Channah, Esmeray was so out of her mind there wasn’t anything figurative about the spitting.  “Bintāni al-haram!”

Hong and her girls gasped, mortally terrified to be so close to the woman, even in her vicinity, their eyes fearfully sidling to those of Channah and Fang for their reactions, to see if the five of them should dive down the stairs back to the protection of the castle in pursuit of minimum safe distance, or if they should continue to hold the defiant madwoman down.

Channah and Fang looked at one another in a shock that rapidly dissolved into even harder laughter, trying and failing to appear stern and judgmental, slowly shaking their heads in wonder, their eyes alight with gaiety, sharing an intimacy that was rare and profound because they found themselves in such a rare situation it was fresh, taking them back to their own youth.  Esmeray, an even more rare specimen than Penny:  A human, throwing the truth of what they were in their faces in an almost naïve attempt at disrespect, instead of hiding and burying that truth, which every human who knew or imagined the ancient succubae dreaded in their heart in the dark of night.

Without looking away from Fang quite yet, Channah extended her arm straight out towards the tangled knot of clothed qaharamanat and naked jawari, snapping her fingers decisively in command.  “Don’t you dare let the truth-speaker go.  Keep her here, in the hetaraslakos.  Do not break the ritual.  Bind her if you can, but I want her conscious and don’t you dare let her interrupt us again!  Then mount them both on the rails!”

“You biiiiiiitch!” Esmeray screeched, and “Yes, Domina,” Hong solemnly swore, and “Yes, My Liege!” the four naked girls imitated Fang.  And that was the last Channah paid them any mind, the sound of them fading as Esmeray’s speech devolved into a profane mishmash of bastardized Turkish and Arabic that almost complemented the discordant, insistent music of the band.  Below and all around them, incredibly, the roar of the damned had grown even louder than before, louder than either Channah or Fang could remember hearing.

The moment was so real and genuine, Fang felt comfortable breaking through the centuries and millennia of formal fealty that had calcified their once-passionate relationship, the bond they’d shared before they understood their new reality, even back before their Fall, to tell her what she needed to know:  “It’s kind of your fault, Channah,” she laughed.  “Stop, and experience!”

“But Penny—”

“I’m telling you, she’s fine,” Fang assured her master, understanding Channah’s concern.  Every moment she was cut off from her own metabolism, Penny was at extreme risk:  In life, her soul needed her body, inhabited her body; and her body incarnated her soul.  With the connection interrupted by the Ajna-nerve wall, Penny’s mind could go mad—a typical mind would have already—and her body could die.  They couldn’t do anything for her mind beside monitor it, because the wall was something they were doing to it already.  The most powerful sorcerers debated whether a soul in this state even was alive, but agreed that at best it was on a knife’s edge.  But what Fang could do—and was doing—was reassuring Penny’s body in her absence, persuading her Penny was alive, that she was alive, reminding her heart to beat, her lungs to breathe, every cell and organ of hers to continue going through the motions necessary for life.   Indeed, the actions arguably constituting life. 

That was what Channah had been doing when Esmeray lost her shit, throttling Chas and bowling Channah over in the process of her violent struggles with the thrashing, desperate, senseless Chastity.  A particularly violent jackknife by Chas had thrown Esmeray full-on into Channah’s back, impossible to ignore, impossible even to weather, knocking her away from Penny and breaking her sacred contact.

Back in this moment, frowning curiously at Fang, Channah did make herself pause to experience this moment, this place, comprehensively—with her full complement of outer senses, and also with her third eye, taking herself out of her narrow focus…

And gasping. 

“Yes!”  Fang nodded excitedly.  “Discordance… on a potentially astrological scale.”

“Yesss….!”  Channah agreed, breathing faster, practically leaping to kneel beside Penny, opposite Fang, restoring her connection to Penny, and joining Fang’s consciousness and hands at Penny’s ajna and muladhara.

“Feel her, Channah!”

And then Fang saw something she never saw.  Something that no one saw, not from the Queen of Lust:  uncertainty.  Almost fear.  In this moment of connection, Channah whispered her confession, as she needed to:  “I’m not ready!  I don’t feel ready—”

“My liege, you’re ready,” Fang assured her, moving the hand on Penny’s muladhara to be on top of Channah’s so she could give her a reassuring squeeze.  “She’s ready.  Finally,” she widened her eyes for emphasis, reminding Channah how long she had been working towards this.

“But—we haven’t even shared solitude—”

“Then do it now,” Fang urged her.  “Use the wall.”

“How can I know she’s ready, when I couldn’t even—”

Fang nodded with understanding.  “The one thing you can’t do, in all of hell and Earth, because it’s beyond your comprehension.”

“But then—how did Chava—?”  She shook her head uncomprehendingly. 

“Maybe she didn’t.  Maybe it was Penny.  Most likely, it was just an accident.”

“Our plan—it’s hubris.  Madder than Esmeray!  Pure good can never surrender to pure evil.”

“We know that.”  Fang struggled to conceal her exasperation.  Of course, it was the steadiest of all who didn’t, perhaps couldn’t, really internalize the doubts until the moment of crisis.  “You know that already, My Liege.  And that’s not what we’re doing.  We’re just doing what can be done, the closest we can come.  A makeshift bridge.”

“And if it doesn’t work—”

Fang laughed at Channah, to show her the absurdity of the last-second surfacing of doubts they had harbored from the very start.  “You know this.  Then we start again.  Or if we can’t make it happen, we wait for it to happen again.”  She shrugged and smiled, the immortal’s joke:  “It will give us something to do.  It will happen.  Again, and again, and again.  Every one of our enemies has found one—”

“And ultimately failed!”  Indeed, it had been their very success in the attempt that had been their undoing in the world.

Which was why Channah had waited for so long before she even considered it.  Perhaps it was the only reason the Succubae alone still roamed the Earth:  because demons could not understand the good, and therefore struggled to use it instead of corrupting it.  Fang honestly didn’t know what the correct course of action was.  After so many millenia, she wasn’t even quite sure she cared.  She was pretty sure the High Coven, maybe the whole Court, had agreed to go along out of some brand of inertial boredom or simple fatalism, rather than a careful analysis of their enemies’ mistakes and how to avoid them.

Fang shrugged, doing and deciding what she urged Channah:  “It is a mystery.  It will always be a mystery.  You must know even better than me.  Experience it and tell me—is this the best moment we are likely to have?  Or not?  Decide, don’t decide, roll the dice.  Time and heaven don’t care.  Only we do.”

Literature Section “06-85 Penny’s Astrological Discordance”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 85 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1653 words—Accompanying Images:  1727-1731—Published 2025-05-07—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She felt absolutely nothing at all.

Nothing.

At.

All.

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

Not voracious gravity, trying to devour her.

Not the hot and humid air pressing tightly around her.

Not her own heartbeat.

Not her own breath!

Not even the darkness and silence of her world.

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

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

Was she dead?!

She must be dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please….

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