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
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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.
