Tag: protocol
Explicit version containing masturbation, chastity themes at 06-90X Tongue-Tied Penance at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman.
PREVIOUSLY: Penny emerged from total isolation to a crashing overload of sensation to find herself, physically naked and emotionally-wrecked, in Channah’s protective, affectionate embrace. Comforted by her, overwhelmed by the need and longing she had felt to be saved by Channah, and the reality of being saved by her, she accepts Channah’s kiss. NOW:
Penny melted into Channah’s kiss, something starting as a sigh becoming a moan of passion, her passion dissolving all conscious thought in her, her body twitching unbidden and unintended. Channah’s tongue tickled her lips, caressed her teeth, and flirted with Penny’s. Penny reciprocated, automatically, wanting to feel more of her Domina, and suddenly she felt Channah’s hand around her chin and cheeks, pushing her face away and holding her still.
Surprised, she whispered: “Please—don’t stop,” her eyes swimming back into focus and finding Channah’s, inquiring.
“I won’t,” Channah shook her head decisively, squeezing Penny’s cheeks with the hand that was holding them. Penny didn’t lift a finger to disentangle herself. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t even imagine it. “But you need to.”
“I–?” Penny didn’t even know what she was talking about.
“I like to tongue-dance, but reciprocating is a pleasure I associate with men. Are you a man?”
Penny stared at her, pinkening, before admitting in an embarrassed squeak: “No, Domina.”
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Oh, yess,” Penny gushed, practically swooning at the thought. “Please!”
“Then you need to keep your tongue passive when we kiss. It’s not to move more than minimally necessary, and it should stay on the floor of your mouth, out of my way, at all times. Anything else will be considered resistance and obstructionism. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Domina, ofph coursze,” Penny nodded, practicing and sensing what it felt life for her tongue to remain supine in her mouth. “But why?”
“Wait, remind me… do I need a reason?” she asked, curiously.
Penny reddened. “No, of course not, Domina.”
“That’s right! Do you know, my metalsmith and I invented restraint devices long, long ago? We did!” She sniggered with pleasure at the recollection, taking her hand off Penny’s jaw and moving it straight down the front of Penny’s body, tickling her and eliciting a whining sound she seemed to take delight in. “It looks like something’s pinching you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Domina.”
“Maybe I should talk to her about designing a restraint for your tongue. The trick would be, designing one that keeps your tongue under control without interfering with speech or eating. You won’t be of nearly as much use to me if you can’t speak,” she mused, her finger on her chin again, pretending to consider it seriously. “Perhaps a tongue stud with a little chain, connecting it to a post in the floor of your mouth?”
Penny was scared. “What are you talking about, Domina? I don’t understand! I don’t want to do anything wrong, Domina, I promise. I want to be your good girl.”
Relenting, she smiled fondly. “I know you do, dear. Then obey me. If I really needed your tongue to stay inside your mouth, you would be in tongue-restraint, to keep it away from females of any species—human, demonic, or otherwise—by even a quarter-inch. I’m just commanding you to be passive when we kiss because I like it! I like reminding both of us I’m your Domina, and you’re my jariya. Do you have a problem with me exercising my prerogatives to humiliate, belittle, or otherwise put you down for no reason other than my own pleasure?” she asked challengingly.
Penny shrank back slightly, eyes wide, and shook her head, disconcerted as always by the part of her that liked the way she treated her. “No, Domina. Not at all, Miss.”
“Oh, that’s good,” she snickered. “ ‘Not at all, Miss.’ I like that answer. Then keep every part of you, however… small…” she smiled wickedly, tickling Penny again. “Out of my mouth. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Domina. I’ll be good,” Penny promised, opening her mouth and leaning up towards Channah.
Channah leered at her, bringing her hand back up to take hold of Penny’s jaw and shove it back down, considering Penny.
“Ahm sahy,” Penny apologized, keeping her mouth open and her tongue down.
“You look ridiculous! No—hold it open, I like it when you make a fool of yourself for me.” She laughed, both at Penny’s obedience, and how crestfallen she looked. She moved her hand back to Penny’s body again, enjoying Penny’s desperate squirming. “Does it hurt?” she asked archly, both of them knowing exactly what she meant.
“Yeshmaahm,” Penny nodded earnestly, making her laugh even harder.
“Good. Suffer for me, my little pretty.” And like a bird of prey diving to rip some hapless little fish from a stream, or some harmless little varmint from a field of grass, she dove her head back down again, sealing their mouths together and slithering her tongue back into Penny’s mouth again, relishing Penny’s moans of combined lust and discomfort, while her hand continued to play gently with Penny as her tongue ravished Penny’s mouth.
Penny raised her arm towards Channah, not to be uppity, but automatically, wanting to touch her more, and she laughed into Penny’s mouth as she seized Penny’s wrist and slammed her arm back onto the mattress.
Rolling expertly on top of her jariya, she broke their kiss just long enough to raise her dress above her waist before sliding down to straddle Penny’s hips, cooing and sliding her other lips up and down over Penny’s chastity as her tongue got back to its ravishing.
Her tongue, much longer than Chas’s, and apparently more flexible, not only tickled her lips, caressed her teeth, and petted her tongue, it went wherever it wished, sliding between her jaws and her cheeks, and when she felt particularly devilish, ramming down into the back of Penny’s throat with eye-watering, gag-inducing force. Channah obviously relished every second of Penny’s suffering, her eyes dancing as Penny choked and gasped, struggling for breath and baffled by the confusing messages on the back of her throat telling her body to swallow and to reject the invader.
She broke their conversation for a moment to ask: “Can you feel the way I feel about you?”
“Oh, yes,” Penny groaned helplessly. “Your skin is so slippery and smooth. Ow it hurts…” she protested, not talking about Channah any more.
“I love it! And I love you, my passive little bitch,” Channah growled, continuing to slide up and down, up and down, pressing harder for her own sense of closeness, before smashing her face back down on Penny’s, using her tongue to drive so deep down her throat that pure reflex made Penny try to escape, while Channah used the mattress beneath her and Channah’s mouth above her to trap her and hold her in place, leaving her little mouse with nowhere to flee.
Literature Section “06-90[X] Tongue-Tied Penance”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 90 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1081 words::Explicit 1144 words—Accompanying Images: 1803-1805—Published 2025-05-12—©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.
Literature Section “06-89 Mothers’ Day (Southern Style)”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—21 words—Accompanying Images: 1739, 1741-1742, 1744-1750, 1754-1762, 1764-1773, 1791-1798, 1740, 1743, 1763—Published 2025-05-11 to 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.
An Old Southern Tradition (05-11)
1754 06-89 Honoring and respecting Mothers is an Old Southern Tradition worth keeping!
This photo essay is as close to real as my work gets. The Old South was FUUUUUUCKED UP. Happy Mother’s Day!
Images 1740, 1743, and 1763 are fully-consistent with DA’s published guidelines and with US law, but because I don’t trust DA’s algorithms and don’t want to be kicked off again, they will be posted on May 12th and 14th at 06-89 Mother’s Day (Southern Style) at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman.
Literature Section “06-89 Mothers’ Day (Southern Style)”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—21 words—Accompanying Images: 1739, 1741-1742, 1744-1750, 1754-1762, 1764-1773, 1791-1798, 1740, 1743, 1763—Published 2025-05-11 to 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.
Explicit version containing masturbation, orgasm, asphyxiation themes at 06-80X The Splaying of Chastity] at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman
PREVIOUSLY: Penny’s and Chas’s wrists are restrained. They have been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, before being spun until losing their balance and sense of direction and falling onto the hard stone platform. NOW:
Chastity lay on the stone, breath quick, heart beating rapidly, every fiber of her being focused on her periphery. Like a bullseye lantern sweeping across a dark room, she scanned her own skin, from cute blonde locks to painted little toes, waiting for first contact: anywhere, anything, stimulation, a signal that it was starting, and the first hint of what it might be.
She could not see. She could not hear. She could not smell. And for good measure, she could not even taste. They had taken everything external away from her except the warm stone beneath her and the hot, moist, still air around her; the air that pelted every inch of exposed skin with specks of sand every moment without the air itself joining. That was her entire world.
There was fear; but her elevated pulse wasn’t entirely about fear. She remained buoyed by the boundless, youthful expectation that what was coming would be better than before.
She had fallen on her back, shoulders and head raised on her elbows, legs spread wide, and she hadn’t bothered to think about her modesty.
When the first touch came, it was a soft kick to her side. When that produced no response, it was followed by a harder and more insistent kick, immediately repeated, prompting Chas to struggle to roll herself over onto her front. Next was a kick to the bottom of her shoe, repeated again until she moved it, bending her knee and then in response to a blow to the other sole, moving her other knee. The kicks were repeated until she lay on her knees and her shoulders, one cheek pressed against the stone, like a frog with its arms tied behind its back.
Someone lifted the back of Chas’s gown, pulling it up like a curtain until the entire dress, causing Chas a quick shiver. She next felt the boots that had been kicking her sliding up the outsides of her calves, before being withdrawn. A moment later they returned, this time between her legs, nudging her insistently to force her legs apart, the woman’s—she assumed it was one of the women—standing behind her, legs pressed against her hips.
The woman did something with Chas’s chemise, the light linen smock under her dress—Chas couldn’t quite tell what, because it was such a light garment and only one among the many she wore.
The next thing she felt were fingers, insistent fingers, tugging fabrics around her sacrum and yanking them down around her knees. Chas groaned, startled again by how much weaker and deeper her own voice sounded when every noise outside her body was taken from her absolutely. She felt fabric being stuffed between her panty strings and her hips, before being used to tug her panties down.
Then the hands were gone, abandoning her back to her isolation, causing Chas to croak out a useless, drawn-out sound of protest. How long would she be left here this time? An hour? Or only—
—a moment. She was kicked in the side again and obediently rolled back over onto her back, like a dog being trained in the kennels.
Lying flat on her back hurt her arms and with a nervous swallow, she worked her elbows up towards her shoulders with difficulty, raising her shoulders again.
Hands finished removing her unnecessaries.
The she felt boots between her legs again, pressing.
Chastity grinned, her skin tingling with anticipation…
Nothing.
Nothing happened. Her smile faltered, and blurred into confusion and disappointment.
They’d left her! For the first time she thought of Penny, her friend—and felt a stab of jealousy. Were they turning their attention to her now?
Don’t ignore me! Her mind hollered uselessly, so thoroughly separated from the world around her it could only express its longing with a rather desperate-sounding and ambivalent grunt of protest.
Finally it came, a testing of how easily he moved from side to side, to confirm what the carelessly-named Chastity already knew. She felt her lips tightening again, in another pleased, only-slightly-guilty smile.
The hand withdrew and Chas moaned in disappointment. Then gasped when two hands returned, tentative hands, not assured ones like the first. These made no contact whatsoever with her skin; they were hyper-careful. Chas felt no warm palm resting on her leg, no stray fingertips brushing the pulpy flesh at her base; only its housing being shifted, first to one side tentatively, then a second time, decisively, straight downwards, making her moan breathily. Chas gasped as she dared to hope she knew what it portended…
Small movements around the place where the parts of her Svadhisthana device met. Yesssss! Chas sighed raggedly with relief and breathed even faster, panting, rolling her hips in silent entreaty for more attention, waiting to feel more aggressive hands…
Where were they? She moued, only half-hearing the sound herself, the part inside her head, nothing after it left her body. She brought her knees together and up to her chest, frantically moving them, breathing harder, unsure if she could even press hard enough. Any second, she expected hands to stop her movement, prevent her from continuing; and when they didn’t come, she began hoping she could make it—
—she finished! She just barely managed to, enough for relief but not satisfaction. She longed for the velvet glove of a woman holding him the way he was meant to be.
She could hardly remember the last time she had been left in such a place of gratitude and dissatisfaction. Even as she felt the comfort of the afterglow, if she could have cried out properly, she would have remonstrated with fate and demanded a do-over! She wanted more…
Literature Section “06-80[X] The Splaying of Chastity”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 80 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 948 words::Explicit 1199 words—Accompanying Images: 1681-1684—Published 2025-05-02—©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.
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.