Tag: mindfuck

1949 06-121 The Evil Queen Bee seducing Her retinue
1950 06-121 Let ME find the path for you, my pretties

PREVIOUSLY:  A traumatized Chastity and Penance, naked and vulnerable, are led by Channah into the honeycomb, a mysterious structure used by the demons for travel, finding it dark and silent and sterile enough to make them feel like they are being cut off from the world all over again.  NOW:

With her sixth step, the silent darkness ruptured, practically exploding into light.  Despite Channah’s warning, of course, they were startled and surprised.  Of course, they jumped involuntarily, causing her to chortle merrily, as images swam into focus around them—organic shapes of flora and fauna, geometric ones of geography and buildings, on each of the six walls of the room, with a seventh billowing from smoke into clarity above them, and even a flickering below them like the floor itself might start to resolve into something—

“No!” Channah gasped as if scandalized, covering their eyes with her hands.  “I saw you looking down, Penance Batonnoir!  You saw the floor spark, didn’t you?  Clever girl—too clever by half for your own good, isn’t that right, Chas?”

“Very much so, Domina,” Chas had to agree, sounding amused and bemused at the same time. 

“Don’t you dare look down, Penance girl.  Just one stray moment of curiosity—and I know you, you’re curious about everything—and gravity might drag the three of us straight down before I could even teach you about the sheets of the Honeycomb!”  She giggled.  “And since you have no business leaving my sheet, so to speak, that’s a skill you’ll never need anyway.  So… let’s spend this week exploring my sheets only, shall we?  In your own sheet, it’s simple:  Back and to the left is always home.  Always.  Back and to the right is where you just came from, unless that happens to be your home, in which case it’s determined like the other four faces,” she kind-of explained, turning them 150 degrees counterclockwise and guiding them—with her hands still over their eyes and counting:  “One.  It’s already gone.”  But she kept her hands on their eyes until she announced:  “Two.”  Then she brought her hands back down around their necks.  “Three.  Four.  Five.  Watch your pretty toes!”  And then she finished authoritatively, “Six!” drowning out the girls’ tentative “Seven and a half” (precise Penny) and “eight” (casual Chas). As well-matched as they were physically, there was little chance there was any actual difference to speak of between their respective strides.

“Now.  I need you to move just over here…” she guided them to the right, and then forward, maneuvering them around the outside of the glass cube.  They immediately noticed there were chains hanging from the upper rail and rings embedded into the lower rail, on this side.  “Now kneel down, and stay over here on the side, out of the main path.  You don’t want to get in the way of any important people.  And since everyone who uses the honeycomb is a succubus or accompanying a succubus, you can presume there will always be at least one person much more important than you, in here.  Got it?”

“Yes, Domina,” they chorused unconvincingly, getting what she was saying, but not why she was saying it.

“For the same reason, to make sure you’re in a respectful position if any of your betters come across you, I want you down on your knees.”  She was unfastening Chastity from the leash she shared with Penny as she spoke.  “Go on, kneel, I know the floor hurts a little but we have a strict rule, animals left in the honeycomb are always hitched.”

“‘Left?!’”  Penny asked, scared.  “‘Hitched?!’” Chas protested.

“Ohh… come on, Chastity!” she teased her, thereby easily ignoring Penny’s question.  “Who’s your cowgirl?”

“You are, Domina,” Chastity answered, embarrassed but also a little excited.  “See?” she kissed the back of her head as she pushed the girl down to the floor.  “What good little hucattle you two are.”  And with that, she locked each girl’s collar to one of the rings in the floor, Penny’s to the ring nearest the iron door, and Chas’s to the ring nearest the honeycomb, spacing them about six feet apart.

“Mistress?”  Penny squeaked.  “Domina?  Please, you aren’t going to leave us, are you?”

“Aww… my little poodle.  You’re a grown-up!  Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of the dark, darling?” she asked, managing to sound both sympathetic and irritated at once, as she pulled up on Penny’s bound wrists, hard, causing the girl to whine and shuffle her knees forward to ease the pressure on her shoulders, before using one of the chains hanging from the top bar to hold her wrists up and behind her in the strappado position. 

“Not the dark per se, Domina,” Penny squeaked, sounding a little whiny and pathetic, even to herself.  “But, it’s just—this—today—after the trigger—the honeycomb, Mistress!”

“Aww… does the honeycomb bother you?”  she pouted distractedly.

“It’s just… kind of upsetting, Domina…”  Chastity chimed in, her voice a little uneven, sounding even to herself like she had doubts about what she was saying.

“Oh, you poor little dears,” she said regretfully, locking Chastity’s arms into the strappado position.  “Unfortunately, I have to make an appearance here at Sademtsaowah.  Half an hour is  about the minimum I need to linger here to be confident I’ve given all—well, almost all—of the damned enough time to wrap their empty skulls around the fact they need to attend to me here.  Most of them react faster than that most of the time, but taken as a herd…” she shrugged.  “It takes time to keep the number of stragglers down.  Now,” she began, stepping over the bar into the cube, heading toward the iron door.  “You g—”

“Can’t we please come with you, Domina?”  Chastity pleaded frantically.

“Please, Domina, I promise we’ll be good girls!”  Penance added.

Sounding firmer, she emphasized:  “I have a great deal to do here and want to get as much of it done as possible, in those thirty minutes so I can give you sweet little love muffins mommy’s full attention on our honeymoon!”  They heard her turning and stepping toward the door.

“Please can you leave us with the guards Domina, please?!”  Chastity pleaded.  “We’ll be ever so well-behaved!”

“We—we’ll be a credit to you, Domina!”  Penny assured her.

She hesitated, and then turned back towards them, slowly, seeing the hunger in their eyes, not just for her, but for the light she was radiating.  A thoughtful, calculating look crept into her eyes, and just the hint of a smirk lifted the corner of her lips.  When she saw that both of her girls had caught the look on her face, and that it made them both quail like red-headed stepchildren, she bit her lip and pressed her knees together, sniffing deliberately and sighing with pleasure at their sudden burst of lambchop panic….

Literature Section “06-121 Led Astray”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 121 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1101 words—Accompanying Images:  1949-1950—Published 2025-05-20—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

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.

1809 06-92 Channah acts surprised Penny feels violated
1813 06-92 Penance’s Manipura ring (pre-grafting)
1810 06-92 Penny may not be able to sleep tonight
1811 06-92 … Make that a week…
1812 06-92 In fact, Penny may never sleep again…

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.  NOW:

“What I want now is your full-fledged participation.  I love you, honey, and I’d really like to fuck you.  But if you’re not ready, that’s okay.  I’m never going to force you again.  Unless you beg first,” she amended flirtatiously.  “If you’re not interested in loving me, I can exclusively take my pleasures elsewhere.”  She shrugged, looking disappointed, and started to lift off Penny, watching curiously at the intense emotions overwhelming the girl, washing and flashing across her eyes.

“NO!  No, no, Domina, I realized—I swore—in that place—I’m yours.  I love you, I’m yours,” she clarified emphatically, reaching to take Channah’s hand urgently, pleadingly, and kiss her knuckles with her eyes closed in passion.  It was the first active motion she had made since being ordered to show passivity towards Channah.

“Aww… that’s sweet,” Channah conceded, meaning it, and settling back down on top of her, their bare flesh sparking with electricity as Channah pretended to rearrange herself, letting them feel one another sliding against each other, separated only by the cruel barrier securing Penny.  She frowned curiously, as if she was confused.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Domina.  Yes, ma’am, I’m sure.  I’m sure!”

“But…” she raised her finger to her chin, looking into space thoughtfully, then sharply looked back down.  She was making fun of Penny, and Penny felt the heat in her face.  “But… I thought you knew what I wanted.”

“I do.  I do, Domina!”

With a twitch of the lip revealing the fun she was having, she leaned down again, resting her elbows on Penny’s shoulders and folding her arms, looking straight down into the submissive girl’s eyes.  “What’s that?” 

“what, Domina?” Penny asked in a small voice.

“It’s not a difficult question, darling girl.  What. Do. I.  Want?  I just want to make sure you understand.  Because this time, it will be about your thorough and enthusiastic participation.”

“My—” Penny’s face went red, her eyes popped, and her voice turned into a squeak.  “What?”

Channah kept her lips pressed together but laughed merrily behind them, in the worst attempt ever to conceal mirth.  Finally she rolled her eyes and gave up, sounding positively delirious.  “Penny, my love, I’ve never seen such a face before!  Regretfully, while I appreciate your efforts, it doesn’t seem like you’re serious about wanting what I want.”

“I am, Domina, I swear!  I want you to get what you want!”

She snorted, turning up her nose.  “Not quite the same thing, is it, muffin?  And certainly not enough for me.  I’m not bargaining with you, I’m explaining how it is.  Drawing a line in the sand.  No more half-measures, sweetie.  No more pretending to be a damsel in distress while I play the bad girl.”  She shrugged, sitting up and rolling Penny’s nipples between her fingers.  “Unless, that is, you’ve already convinced me you really, desperately want me to be your bad girl, and you to be my sweet little damsel in distress.”  Penny drew a sharp breath, as startled as she pretended to be confused and fascinated.  “Well, I love to act and to play games.  You know that.  But with my wife, I want more.  I want to know you’re really with me.  That you like appeasing me.  Is that so unreasonable, for a Domina to want that from her housegift?” she asked, with wide-open innocent eyes.

“No,” Penny croaked, “Of—of course not, Domina.”

She smirked, tickling Penny’s nipples.  “You showed your true colors already, under me in the satanikoklus, didn’t you babygirl?”  She laughed, and laughed even harder at Penny’s mortification to be reminded of how submissive she had been for Channah.  “Look at you.  You’ve been waiting for me your entire life, haven’t you?  While trying to pretend you weren’t.  This time, I won’t shoulder that burden for you.  Playing is one thing.  Hypocrisy and denial are another.  This time, I can’t have either of us experiencing any doubt about whether we’re playing together, as a couple, or if I’m being some… beast,” she pouted, her fingers tracing Penny’s chest.  “I need to know, and even more… you need to know, sugar pie.  Well, to admit it.”  She looked off towards one side, speaking too casually:  “This isn’t just about my insecurity, or a wife making her Domina feel loved, you know.  The magic simply won’t work unless you’re totally sincere.”

“The… magic?”

“In all the excitement and being overwhelmed, you haven’t even noticed it yet, have you, my sweet little cherry?”

“Noticed what?” Penny asked, hoarse again, eyes darting and scanning.  Channah raised a finger and circled it in the air, like a hawk circling and watching for potential prey, the circles getting smaller as she brought it down over Penny’s torso, continuing to tighten in until her finger pressed on Penny’s navel.

“Is your belly-button a little sore, darling?”

“What—yes!  My whole tummy but I thought—” she exclaimed in surprise, raising her head to look down at her stomach, feeling disoriented, almost a touch queasy, at more evidence of how thoroughly she had been separated from her body, from the world, from reality itself.  A tiny ruby fruit, round like an apple, but with distinctive gold prongs ringing one end like a crown, glittered in a gold setting, pinned to her body with two gold piercings, one in the center of her navel, and the other in the flat skin immediately above the edge of her navel.

“The ring—more of a wire, really—stretches down into your tummy and anchors it around your intestines and spine.”  Penny gasped in a fascinated horror at the idea, and at the idea of the ring penetrating her—if it had even been her, when she was, well, gone.  Horrified at being penetrated at all, freaked out about the penetration being so deep, and especially feeling uneasy that such a thing could have occurred without her knowledge.  “Anchoring it to your spirit there.”

“What—what is it, Domina?” Penny asked fearfully.

“It’s your Manipura ring.  Of course,” she shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “Stuffy old swamis and yogis would quibble with our understanding and usage of the chakras and related concepts.  But how would any of them know more than us about succubaean magic?  Or where to seize and pin down parts of the souls of humans?”  The answer—to Channah, but certainly not Penny, who had no idea what she was talking about—was obvious:  “They wouldn’t.  Do you recognize it?” she asked curiously, with a mischievous smirk.

Penny, staring at it, made the connection and recognized it.  “It’s—it’s the same thing, the fruit, on the paddle—a medlar!”

“Very good, child!  But describe it accurately.  My paddle, acknowledging my ownership,” she corrected.  “Or recognizing your chattel status, your paddle.  Either one is acceptable, but not merely ‘the’ paddle.”

“Your paddle, Domina,” Penny corrected herself, red-faced.

Literature Section “06-92 Channah Demands More Penance”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 92 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1154 words—Accompanying Images:  1809-1813—Published 2025-05-16—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.


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

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

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

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

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

She was being leashed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the next moment, three things happened simultaneously: 

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

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

Literature Section “06-81 The Perils of Penny”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 81 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1747 words—Accompanying Images:  1693-1696—Published 2025-05-03—©2025 The Remainderman.  This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions.  It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.