PREVIOUSLY: For reasons of their own, Channah and Fang seem intent on training their qahramanat to degrade their jawari in front of legions of the damned. Penny and Chas are already handcuffed, blindfolded, and gagged; but Channah and Esmeray are just getting started with them…. NOW:
Reliving the things that had been done to her, Penny made a quiet, desperate whining noise the rest of the world ignored, if it carried outside her body at all. She had promised to trust. She had to do that—had to trust in her Mistresses, and do what she had pledged to do. Surely, that would get her through. But why would it? A traitorous part of her brain screamed that she had put herself into the hands of demons and madwomen. A larger part told her she’d never had any choice in the matter.
Heaven help me!
She made a whining noise nobody heard. But she didn’t even know if heaven could hear into hell. She sobbed, the sound immediately lost in the screaming din of the shouting devils and demons from below, eating sand again because Channah had stepped away for a moment, trying to tell herself she was grateful at least that being blindfolded, she no longer had to worry about her eyes.
Suddenly she jerked, feeling Channah’s fingers pinching her ear.
“Be still!” her Domina commanded her, an intimate whisper in her ear, as she pushed something through Penny’s ear canal inside her head.
As she did, that ear just… stopped. More absolutely, more completely than Penny had ever experienced. Unlike the thick, vague, bass sounds one could still hear in earmuffs or with hands over ears—suddenly, her left ear heard nothing. The whole left side of her body felt—nothing! Not a whisper. She knew she still had sensation in her arms, legs, fingers, toes—but the totality of the silence on that side of her body caused her body to wonder, to demand, that the whole side of her had been numbed because nothing else made sense to it.
I promise I promise I promised….
When she felt Channah’s hand on her right earlobe, she jerked away, reflexively, even more strongly than she had before, crying out involuntarily, around her ball gag only to hear Channah laugh, quickly move her left hand under Penny’s chin, and pull her backwards and up into Channah’s shoulder.
“Oh… it’s way too late for that, young lady. You’re ours. Body and soul.”
And with that, she settled her hand against Penny’s neck to hold her tight, bit and held her ear in her teeth, enough to make Penny squeal in a painful protest, and used her right hand to press the second earbud in tight.
Penny wailed in ineffectual, girlish protest, shocked as every scrap and hint of sound was eliminated from her world. Her universe became instantly and totally silent. It was as if she had been sealed away in a vault. She was sure she was whimpering, but if she was, she could not even hear any hint of it through her own ears.
Her feet hurt, holding her weight in her high heels. Her wrists were held tightly in the cuffs locked behind her back, her sight blinded by the blindfold, her mouth stuffed by the ball gag. She was hyper-aware of the saliva gathering in her mouth, trying ineffectually to digest the heavy ball between her teeth; and of the fact that soon, very soon, she was going to start drooling, helplessly, like a dog.
Smell! She could still smell! And Channah’s intoxicating, seductive succubus smell was perfect and brilliant, as if the scent of her managed to slip through the membranes of Penny’s nostrils and sinuses and seep straight into her brain, bathing and soothing it like a mother whispering to her baby at night…
Could she smell the sulfur of hell? Yes, it was there, faintly; but like the sour under-note of a perfume, complemented and pushed to the subtle background by the sweeter and more-powerful notes of Channah, and Channah, and Channah…
There, down, far at the bottom, Penny found the subtle and vaguely-decayed smell of earth: desert sand and black stone, perhaps mingled with a slight whisper of fungus lodged deep in the stones and their grout.
And she thought she smelled another, the scent of a person, hidden behind Channah’s at first, like a shy maiden in shadows behind her mother’s back, a musky smell demanding it be craved, a smell Penny couldn’t consciously remember ever smelling before, but suddenly identified because it was human and feminine and fiercely distinctive and she had been denied the benefit of most of her other senses: Esmeray.
Now, still trying to recover some sense of normalcy and control after being deprived of hearing, Penny was turning her head from side to side and sniffing, trying to notice if there were any differences in different directions, and to confirm her memory of where she stood based on those differences. But with Channah near—merciful as that was—there was no swirl of air or dust around them, nothing to bring more distant but localized smells to them. If devils and demons had a smell separate from the brimstone and decay, she could not use it to locate herself.
It was at exactly that moment she felt it, fabric being pulled over her head. A hood? Really? Wasn’t that overkill? She already was unable to see or hear a thing—and as it came over her nose her shoulders slumped with the obvious realization.
It was a strong smell, a good one, nuanced and heavy and loaded with pheromones targeted straight at Penny’s deepest and oldest urges and memories: Esmeray. Esmeray’s panties, hung on her head. She flushed as deeply red as she ever had, realizing what a stupid, helpless, pathetic idiot she was, and now looked like, dressed like a belle of the ball—the kinky bondage ball—in the middle of hell with a pair of another woman’s panties hung on her head like a scold’s bridle.
She started crying, even before the next change, as whatever magic Channah had been talking about, or working, went into effect and she could smell nothing. Nothing—immediately insisting to her brain she was locked in a clean, odorless, clinical space or Earthside desert. In a way the silence and the darkness had not done, it fought; it persistently jarred, her senses fighting with her memory, the one insisting she was in a peaceful well-kept place on Earth, the other that she was on a sand-swept brimstone-stinking platform of Castle Chang’an in Hell, surrounded by her Mistresses and an army of demons and devils.
Literature Section “06-78 The Sensory Deprivation of Penny”—Part 78 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1071 words—Accompanying Images: 1662-1665—Published 2025-04-30—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.
