qahramanat – The Remainderman (Frank Speech)

06-104 Triggering Chastity (abridged version)

2025-06-022025-06-02 admin

*1856 06-104 Coven observing Channah and Penny through shield*

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.

Stories

06-80 The Splaying of Chastity (abridged version)

2025-05-022025-05-04 admin

*1681 06-80 Perpetua and Felicity bring down the Colosseum*

*1683 06-80 With the fierce passion of St. Perpetua*

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.

Stories

06-79 The Disorientation and Abandonment of Penny

2025-05-012025-04-28 admin

*1666 Ring around the rosies, A pocketful of posies*

*1668 06-79 Beltaine! Beltaine! I think I’m in twubble*

PREVIOUSLY: Penny’s and Chas’s wrists are restrained, and they have been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste. Penny is still trying to fully comprehend what the spelled panties have done to her. NOW:

And it wasn’t just her sense of smell that had been taken from her: she couldn’t taste anything! She’d never even been aware her own mouth had a flavor until that was taken away. Indeed, she could hardly even feel her mouth properly, her tongue insisting that it could sense the shapes of her teeth and lips, but the total absence of any taste insisted equally to her tongue that anything it imagined it felt was a lie, because her tongue was clearly not working at all.

Thus left without sensation except the nerves in her skin, Penny was left to consider the true and full meaning of being “senseless,” and wrestle with the idea that having her last remaining feeling taken away would be… unbearable.

And then she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, urging her counterclockwise, insisting she turn where she stood. And after she had turned, the hands continued to urge her to turn more, until she understood she was meant to spin like a whirling dervish, around and around, faster and faster, prodded and finally, even lightly slapped, every time she was too slow or stupid to please her master, wishing she could still taste the salt of her own tear dripping down over her lip to confirm she was still alive. Her master kept spinning and spinning her until she started feeling so dizzy she couldn’t even keep her balance.

And at that instant, that very moment when her nerves were so jangled and confused she started to fall over, the hands were gone and she was on her own.

She careened, stumbled on her own high heel, and fell onto the hard stone, barely having the presence of mind to keep her head from cracking on the unforgiving, unyielding surface, even as her shoulder and back slammed into it. She had no idea where she was or how she was oriented except her memory’s and body’s insistence she was still on the same platform where she had been bound. But she couldn’t say whether she was facing the jungle gym, the bed, the glass platform, or the pool. She didn’t even know if she was facing the edge of the platform, or the stairwell in the center.

She wasn’t even sure she could get to her feet if she tried, certainly not in high heels with her hands cuffed behind her back. Not that she did try. What was the point? The very best thing she could hope for was to walk straight into the side of the pool or the crib or the jungle gym, and fall back onto her bottom again without cracking her skull. If she was unlucky, she would walk off one of the edges of the platform and fall two stories to a likely death upon impact. But supposing she survived the fall, she would be shredded or eaten or—whatever the hell devils and demons did to victims who fell into their midst. The only way she could get off the platform without such a gruesome fate would be if she managed to find her way to the stairway in the middle of the platform. But it was three flights—50 or 60 hard, steep stone stairs—down to the basement passageway, and she couldn’t even use her hands to steady herself. She reckoned her chances of making it to the bottom without breaking her own neck at close to zero.

Slowly, glacially, the absolute certainty swept over her that she daren’t do anything at all except to keep breathing (and even that was at her masters’ pleasure!) and wait for her Esmeray’s mercy. Hanim Qahramanah’s mercy, she corrected herself, mindful of how important it had suddenly become for her to keep the disturbing woman happy. Penny didn’t even have the wherewithal to find her and beg her for guidance; she couldn’t sense her, she certainly couldn’t catch her if she dodged or fled, and she couldn’t even risk moving to search for her.

So she half-sat, half-lay there, on the stone, elbow throbbing where it had slammed into the hard rock, contemplating the depth of her plight.

Hanim Qahramanah left her there for what seemed like forever…

So she lay where and as she had fallen, shaking and weeping, unable to even hear herself beyond the gasping in her own throat and the humming vibrations of her cries through her own flesh. She was pining and desperate for her qahramanah to come and touch her, perhaps even help her to her feet, or even use her as a footstool. Or an ashtray—she would take anything! She really needed Esmeray or Channah to touch her, pretty please with sugar on top! To reassure her she wasn’t all alone and abandoned on what surely, must literally be, this godforsaken platform.

But all she could feel were the stones beneath her and the hot, moist, still air around her. All she could hear were the half-crying, half-gargling sounds she made in her own throat and strangled to death before they could escape from around her gag. She smelled nothing, tasted nothing, saw nothing.

She’d never felt so helpless in her life. Hanim Qahramanah let Penny contemplate how very, very deeply she needed and craved being mastered.

Literature Section “06-79 The Disorientation and Abandonment of Penny”—Part 79 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—879 words—Accompanying Images: 1666-1669—Published 2025-05-01—©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.

Stories

06-78 The Sensory Deprivation of Penny

2025-04-302025-04-28 admin

*1662 06-78 It’s WAY too late for anyone to save you…*

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.

Stories

06-77 Dance of the Qahramanat XII

2025-04-292025-04-28 admin

*1657 06-77 I like making them pee their panties..*.

PREVIOUSLY: Queen Channah has decided to take an opportunity to teach Hanim Qahramanah about how to train her girls, and combines the occasion with an early start to her honeymoon. The girls are blindfolded and gagged with their hands secured behind their backs and their legs cuffed. For reasons of their own, Channah and Fang seem intent on degrading their jawari in public, before legions of the damned. NOW:

“The next question for you is where you want to go. I’ve seen you staring at your fellow qahramanah….” Channah began.

They both looked at the glass panel where Hong had taken her jawari to begin their dance. They remained staring for a moment, mesmerized, at what Hong was doing to her jawari, and what her jawari were doing for their qahramanah. Indeed, one could hardly resist the urge to gawk at something like that. Esmeray finally tore her eyes away and looked back at Channah:

“I admit Hong… may be able to teach me something.”

“You think?”

“But… comparing myself to her may be too much… pressure the first time.”

“I’d tell you it’s not a competition, but, well… you’ve made it one. You can’t avoid her for long. However, I agree with you: you need to focus first on your own hive.” Channah shrugged. “And in fact, if you need extra practice time with your jawari, you may have it whenever their other duties permit. I will inform Fang the normal limitations on hetaraslakos time are not to apply to you and your girls until Hong agrees you are qualified to instruct them.”

“Until she—” Esmeray began, eyes flashing at Channah until she saw the logical trap there. Her shoulders relaxed as she backed down from trying to challenge something she had first taken as an insult. “Yes, Mistress.”

Channah nodded approvingly and swept her arm towards the opposite edge of the platform, the jungle gym. “May I suggest…?” Esmeray nodded her assent. “But before we take our girls to the edge…”

“Is that where we’re going?” Esmeray asked. “Perhaps the first time—”

Channah made a sound of negation. “We always take them to the edge. The very edge.”

“So the damned can see them?”

“That’s a consideration,” Channah agreed, “Although they hear, smell, and even feel everything we do here at a very visceral level, it’s even better if they have a direct line of sight as well. But it’s as much, or even more, about the experience of the girls. The first lesson they need to learn is how utterly, completely, and totally they depend on us. We are their mothers” (both boys stiffened and gasped, reacting instinctively and viscerally to that shocking suggestion, one they never would have imagined) “in the fullest meaning of the word: their protectors, their caretakers, their helpers, their managers, their teachers, their guides, their bond, their apron strings, their heart, their masters, their very world. They must learn that first.”

“How?”

“By taking away almost everything from them, reducing them to helpless, almost senseless, creatures. Having only enough control to hurt themselves if they do anything other than obeying us completely, and only enough sensation to feel and anticipate the consequences of their own actions.”

“By using these.” She produced four small, red rubber pellets from a small leather pouch, holding them out so Esmeray could examine them curiously.

“Red? Like the blindfolds and—”

“Exactly,” Channah agreed approvingly.

“But not in Fang’s gift?”

“They were in the fourth box. Too valuable and too vulnerable for hucows—except you, once you’re shown how to treat them—to be messing about with them, because unlike the others they’re heavily magicked.”

Esmeray looked at Channah, frowning, then half-smiling. “And…?”

“And what?”

“There’s something else. Something…” her face faltered. “Something you’re wondering how to tell me. Because… I’m going to hate it.”

“Not after you understand,” Channah dissembled, but admitted: “At first, you may be startled, but truly, you don’t need to be agitated.”

“I’ll—fuck.” Esmeray’s hands subconsciously moved to her waist as Channah gave a wintry smile. “The scarlet panties.”

“The scarlet panties. You’ve been wearing them three days?”

“And nights. It’s been disgusting.” She made a revolted face and shivered.

“Then you’ll be happy to be rid of them, won’t you?”

Esmeray turned crimson herself and strangled: “It’s mortifying.”

“It’s magic. Everything has a price. You know that better than most. And you’ll need to do it all over again next week. But first, attend carefully. We are about to make these girls ours—utterly and completely.” Channah held up her palm with the four plugs, picking up one with her left hand and using her right hand to catch Penny by the ear, startling her. “Be still,” Channah hissed, again intimidating the younger girl into compliance.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

Penny, will you trust me?

I will, Qahramanah.

Do you promise?

Yes, Mistress. I promise to trust you.

Do you promise? I promise….

Blind, gagged, with her arms now bound behind her back, the words echoed through Penny’s head like a mantra, or a security blanket, she could only hold onto desperately. Panic tried to rise like bile from her gut if she would let it, so she repeated the phrase desperately in her mind, flipping back and forth like her own stomach was doing, sometimes feeling comfort, at other times, realization of her own anxiety. She had given up every bit of control she ever had, to move, to speak, even to see. Helpless, almost senseless, creatures. Channah’s words resonated too in her mind. The awareness of her situation settled around her like a stiff, chilly blanket taken from a freezer, that she could do nothing but wait: Wait, to be commanded or forced to the will of another—by her Domina, her Qahramanah, or anyone in whose hands they might choose to put her. Taking away almost everything from them… if they do anything other than obeying us completely.

Trust… she had promised to trust… It felt at the time like the exchange had been a mutual pledge, as Channah had talked about it: It was Penny’s place to trust, and Esmeray’s to protect. Only… Esmeray hadn’t actually promised to protect Penny. Had she? And even if Penny hadn’t promised to trust Esmeray, she didn’t have the ability to do otherwise anymore, did she?

Penny was helpless, utterly helpless as a newborn lamb who could barely even hold her feet, in front of a tigress who had asked her: Will you trust me?

What kind of lamb would say that to a tiger? And have meant it? What had she been thinking?!

I promise…

She had to trust; she had made sure to put herself in that position.

Only… now, in the worst moments, she wasn’t sure. Did she really? Or were her thoughts those of a child whistling to reassure herself against the dark?

Memories crowded her and crowed at her, pointing her attention toward the satanikoklus where she had been married, the futon in the private chapel, even the nettle field and the pigsty: A bed-wetting tour of all the places she had been taken advantage of, helpless to stop what was being done to her, what Her Grace the Countess of Warwick had wanted for her, demanded of her, commanded others to do to her. But I love her… she loves me… doesn’t she?

I promise…

Literature Section “06-77 Dance of the Qahramanat XII”—Part 77 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1152 words—Accompanying Images: 1657-1661—Published 2025-04-29—©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.

Stories

06-76 Dance of the Qahramanat XI

2025-04-282025-04-24 admin

*1653 06-76 Which sacrament is this, father? (Chas)*

*1655 06-76 I’ve never dressed like that before, sir (Chas)*

Last Chance to Run

“Last chance, girls, to prove you’re still wild and free things before we bind you,” she offered archly from her squatting position by their sides, looking up at them, curious to see how they reacted, while Esmeray looked at her like she was crazy. “What?” Channah asked innocently, standing and walking to the box to look through it for what was left.

“You’re practically daring them to run away,” Esmeray protested. “Implying they’re… domesticated little rabbits if they stay.”

“Ooh… I like that idea. But they are my domestic little pets. If they love me. If they respect me. If they trust me, they will stay and wait for whatever their Domina decides is best for them.”

“So much for ‘establishing control’ and ‘limiting variables,’” Esmeray exclaimed, exasperated.

Channah laughed, deep in her throat, perhaps a faint pink of embarrassment touching her features. “You’ve got me. I’m sorry, you’re right. This is definitely a case of doing what I say, not what I do. Do you know how long I’ve been controlling girls?”

“Some say five thousand years. Others insist you were born at the dawn of time itself.”

“Is there a difference, darling?” Channah asked loftily. “A long time. Sometimes I long for something… anything! New and challenging. And you are hardly one to complain about people who are too impulsive and defiant to follow good advice!” Apparently in a mood, she looked up and snorted. “Penny, dear, I would have expected you to offer some valuable and insightful riposte here. Oh, wait, you can’t because we’ve gagged you!” Both women seemed to think that was hilarious, and even Chas grunted behind her gag, while Penny, chagrined as she was, could only shake her head.

The sight of the brass crosses distracted Esmeray from her giggling, and she held one up. “I want to use these, er…. Whatever they are?”

“The fact you can’t figure out what they’re for, dear girl, should suggest to you they’re rather advanced equipment. I promise I’ll teach you how to use them… when the girls are ready. We can keep them here and see if we feel ready next weekend. If we tried them today, the girls might bolt after all!”

“They didn’t think that was quite as funny as we did,” Esmeray observed.

“They won’t think it’s as funny when we use them, either. But let’s just start with these.” She handed Esmeray several pieces of heavy gold jewelry, each a good-sized ring with a spring-loaded hinged segment.

“I haven’t seen these before,” she frowned.

“Carabiners. My operatives discovered them recently in the Holy Roman Empire. I like to wear them on my wrists so I have them whenever I need them,” Channah demonstrated, stacking three on her right wrist and keeping the fourth ready in her left hand before walking behind Chas again, tugging her wrists behind her, and pulling the clasp back long enough to interlink it with the smaller gold rings attached to Chas’s wrist cuffs, securing her hands behind her.

Esmeray smiled and did the same to Penny, but said doubtfully: “These are very convenient, but not very secure. If they were left alone for a bit, they could probably escape.”

“Oh,” Channah laughed. “You’re right. We have locks and more-secure rings for leaving slaves bound. And heavier ones still for unwilling partners and other prisoners who are more masculine. These are made for one of two situations. First, situations where you’re paying enough attention to the girls to prevent them from escaping. That’s something these cuffs give you ample opportunity to accomplish, even with two brats on your hands. Or second, to secure your bitches in a position where they can’t reach the rings no matter how hard they try.”

“How would that work?”

“I look forward to showing you, love,” Channah smiled happily. “But the purpose of these is to allow you to actively control your partners, and to easily reposition them for your pleasure. You’ll be amazed how effortless it becomes. For you.”

Channah pulled two more brass frames from the box, these simple straight rods with rings at each end and periodically along the length. She set them over her right shoulder as a soldier would carry a polearm to march, while she stepped beside Chas and took her by the arm with her left hand. Esmeray again followed her example, but a little more impersonally, holding Penny’s upper arm in her hand and using her sleeve as added leverage, rather than intertwining their arms. “Because they can’t see, you have to guide them and keep them safe, and they have to trust you, completely and implicitly. In all things.”

“They’re helpless and dependent as infants,” Esmeray grinned.

“Like this, they are. And they have to be as trusting as infants. Whereas we can do anything we want with them.” The girls shuffled nervously as this conversation transpired.

“Or to them,” Esmeray’s face darkened as her expression hardened.

“Breathe, Esmeray. Breathe.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

“You’re ready,” Channah assured her, holding her eyes and calming her.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re ready for…” Channah shrugged “whatever you’re ready for.”

“What does that even mean? Mistress,” Esmeray added, recognizing her skepticism came dangerously close to sassing.

“I mean, you’re the one in control, sweetheart. You get to decide what you and Penny do tonight. Or don’t do. Or if you do anything at all. Look at poor Penny.” Channah made a pouting face. “She’s blindfolded so she can’t see, she’s gagged so she can’t speak, her arms are locked behind her back so she can’t do anything with her arms or hands… She’s not going to be deciding anything, is she? What she wants or doesn’t want from you doesn’t matter at all.” Esmeray perked up a bit, nodding thoughtfully, as Channah continued: “You’re the one who brought us here. Otherwise, my housegifts and I might already be celebrating in paradise. And you were right to do so. I’m already overflowing with… all sorts of ideas. Penny’s possibly the gentlest, most innocent girl her age in England. She would positively bore women looking for adventure and a challenge—sorry, sweetie,” Channah patted his cheek, maybe sounding a little bit sorry even as she sounded a great deal spiteful, “But that makes her the perfect first plaything for you. Even so. If you just want to enjoy the feeling of her stockings? That’s up to you. If you decide you don’t want to do anything with her? It’s your prerogative as her Qahramanah.”

Staring into space and swallowing, Esmeray took a deep breath, and looking Channah in the eye, reached down into the box and removed an item made of leather dyed black. She breathed: “Is this….”

“Oh, yes,” Channah confirmed. “Like the cuffs: for you to use on the girls, not to be used on you. Unless you want to—”

“No,” Esmeray shook her head decisively and matter-of-factly.

“I certainly don’t need to use it,” Channah smirked. “Unless you really want to punish Penny hard—and I won’t let you do that right before my honeymoon!—you’re also going to need this.” “I guess,” Esmeray shrugged, unconvinced, but accepting what Channah had proffered to her.

Literature Section “06-76 Dance of the Qahramanat XI”—Part 76 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1212 words—Accompanying Images: 1653-1657—Published 2025-04-28—©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.

Stories Uncategorized

06-75 Dance of the Qahramanat X

2025-04-272025-04-24 admin

*1650 06-75 I trust you unconditionally, Qahramanah. (Penny)*

“Do you trust me, Chas?” Channah asked next, and again.

“I do,” she pledged like an eager bride, to all appearances grateful for the chance to repeat it. Like she’d be happy to repeat it all day.

Esmeray considered, and then nodded to her girl: “Penny, will you trust me?”

Penny swallowed. “I will, Qahramanah.”

“Do you promise?”

Penny nodded. “Yes, Mistress. I promise to trust you.”

“Good.”

“See how easy that was?” Channah concluded. “Now reward her. Show your appreciation.”

“How?” Esmeray asked suspiciously.

“Pet her hair, hold her hand, run your fingers down her arm… some gesture of intimacy,” Channah demonstrated by resting her hand on the side of Chas’s neck, making her gasp.

Esmeray looked Penny up and down, and finally placed her hand on Penny’s dress, along her side, just at the base of her ribs, forcing a small but unconvincing smile.

Channah snorted. “Buy gloves. Before we return. I want you to have a pair when we meet you here again.”

She met Channah’s eyes and nodded her agreement.

“Now stand up, Chas.”

“You may rise, Penny,” Esmeray pronounced, deliberately ostentatiously, goofing around.

Turning Chas around, Channah replaced her blindfold as Esmeray imitated her with Penny. Then the two women returned the girls to their back-to-back positions.

Donning the Purple

When she met Channah’s eyes, the Queen smiled and held her finger over her lips. “Pick another item from the box,” she said, while with her hands, she mimed placing a bit in her mouth. Esmeray nodded, smiling slightly. “Now that the girls are blind, they will feel extra vulnerable. It’s why we started with the blindfolds. Being able to see is one of the most important forms of control, especially for a trans girl. But it applies to everyone.” With an impish look, she gently pushed Chas into Penny, and the two women laughed at the way they struggled to avoid touching one another again, reacting to any touch as if they’d been shocked with static electricity.

Channah took one of the two gags, lifting it over Chas’s head without touching her, then leaning in tight to the girl’s back, startling her, with her lips inches from Chas’s ear. Esmeray imitated her. Almost—not quite touching Penny anywhere, but getting close, looking very serious and thoughtful about it. “Open wide, girls,” Channah commanded, popping the horse bit between Chas’s teeth and tugging back. “This one you don’t want to be tight in the back—you want that little bit of distance. But in front, it’s another matter. It’s okay to stretch those lips a little bit.” She laughed deeply in her throat as Esmeray surprised Penny by tugging harder so she could ratchet the strap far enough to reach the next hole. “Their lips shouldn’t be so tight they’re white or stiff. But a little bit of discomfort is okay. You can test for extra stretch in their lips, too, if you’re willing to stick your finger in their mouth.” And she demonstrated, tugging the corners of Chas’s lips a bit to demonstrate they still had room to extend further, her voice becoming more sing-songy. “I like them to remember they’re suffering for our pleasure. Something bearable so it doesn’t distract them from us, but intense enough to assure me I’m on their minds constantly.”

“Yes…” Esmeray nodded slowly, pleased with the idea. “Are you uncomfortable, little girl?”

“Yeph, khawamannath,” Penny murmured around her bit, nodding her head while the women laughed at her pronunciation. “Pleeff nopsahbite!”

“Well, I couldn’t understand that at all,” Esmeray protested and shrugged, meanly but not quite convincingly, clapping her girl on the shoulders and reaching back into the box, frowning and looking askance at Channah.

“Did you find something… interesting?”

“Yes, Mistress,” she agreed, holding up two hollow brass bars shaped like Latin crosses, with rings at the end of each side arm and at the end of the long bottom arm, while the top arm curved like a scorpion’s tail, ending in a glass bulb. They clanged slightly against one another, catching the girls’ attention.

Channah shook her head, containing her urge to smile. “Let’s stick with purple for now.” And she nodded with approval as Esmeray handed her one arm cuff, and then a second.

“Hold your arms up for me,” Channah ordered Chas, using her own hands to guide his where she wanted them, and nodded to Esmeray, who told Penny:

“You too, Penny. Hands up to your waist.”

Channah shuffled counter-clockwise so she was looking at the girls from the side and began cuffing Chas’s right wrist, while Esmeray did the same to Penny. Penny made a slight whimpering sound.

“Hot,” Channah responded, leaning in and kissing him lightly on the cheek. “So glad you girls are gagged so we don’t have to contend with your words and ideas anymore. Just your raw feelings. Be good and stay still, sweetie. You don’t really have any choice, do you?” she taunted her. “You’re in hell, my hell, surrounded by the damned and my guards. Accepting bondage is just a way for you to prove you trust me. So romantic…” she sighed, rooting through the box for the remaining wrist cuffs and handing one to Esmeray. “Let’s swap girls,” Channah giggled, fairly confident she was the only one in this small group who would understand the joke. Maybe Chas… maybe. But she was only a libertine by England’s tight-laced standards.

“Same little-finger test, Mistress?” Esmeray asked, checking Penny’s right wrist before turning to Chas’s left.

“Always, child. It’s still tight enough they can’t slide them over their thumbs, but you can always double-check if you’re concerned.” And she demonstrated, making sure the cuffs were narrower than Chas’s wrists.

Next, after finding the four purple leg restraints, the woman squatted down beside the girls and bound their ankles. Channah ran her hand over the girls’ calves and ankles, drawing a curious stare from Esmeray. “I love the way the stockings feel on their smooth legs. All silky and slippery.” Hesitantly, Esmeray ran her own fingers up Penny’s leg, liking the way she could make the girl shiver when her fingers slipped up behind her knees to her thighs. Channah paused and watched until Esmeray became self-conscious of her observation and stopped. “Do you like it?”

She thought, and admitted: “I like the gags because I can tell them what to do but they can’t engage me back in any way. No questions from Little Miss Bigmouth—what?”

“That’s exactly what Fang called her,” Channah chittered.

“It fits. As you warned me. But now: No questions, no complaints, no protests, no arguments…. And,” she set Chas’s ankle cuff down for a moment, running her hands up and down both girls’ legs, a little more relaxed than a moment earlier. “I like the stockings for the same reason: I can feel them, even imagine them, but I’m not actually, you know…”

“Touching them?”

“Exactly.”

Literature Section “06-75 Dance of the Qahramanat X”—Part 75 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1155 words—Accompanying Images: 1649-1652—Published 2025-04-27—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.

Stories

06-74 Dance of the Qahramanat IX

2025-04-262025-04-24 admin

*1647 06-74 Boss Esmeray. The same chains bind us all*

PREVIOUSLY: Queen Channah has decided to take an opportunity to teach Hanim Qahramanah about how to train her girls, and combines the occasion with an early start to her honeymoon. While discussing trust and discipline, Channah surprises Esmeray by reminding her of a time she thought she had run away undetected. NOW:

A Trip Down Memory Back-Alley

“Of course I knew, my little runaway,” Channah laughed musically. “You were a clever teenager, and clearly a wild one, but we’ve been wrangling hucows since before human history even began. What was so important about that flight, do you think?”

Esmeray opened her mouth as if to answer, then snapped it shut, eyes darting around as if searching for the right answer in the air around her. And then, amazingly, they seemed to find what she was looking for, widening, and flitting briefly past Channah’s, before she looked intently down at the floor.

Channah stared at her silently until she whispered: “That was the last time I left. And the first time I came back on my own.”

Channah beamed. “And have I asked you to take risks since then?”

Esmeray laughed. “I should think so!”

“So why are you here, helping me now?” Esmeray looked anywhere but at Channah. “Because you’re not stupid, Esmeray. Because even with everything you experienced, all the times your trust was violated, you still know that trusting someone, sometimes, is unavoidable. And have I ever betrayed your trust, Esmeray?”

“Not yet,” she admitted hoarsely.

Channah rolled her eyes but otherwise let it go.

Trust Games

“Now I want Penny and Chas to learn to trust you. While I train Chas, I want you to begin the process of teaching Penny that she belongs by your side, or at your feet before you. Schooling her so she’ll never run away from you, even when she’s back near the places she grew up, because she’s learned that she’s better off and happier with you.” Channah smiled thinly. “Even when you’re a total bitch.”

Esmeray met her eyes for a long moment, and finally nodded. “I’ll try.”

“I don’t think you have to try to be a total bitch, my dear,” Channah snickered cattily. “But the really hard part for you is, if you want Penny to trust you, you have to learn to trust her. Just as I trust you.”

“You—trust—” Esmeray looked down at Penny for a moment, startled by the idea, then startled that the idea of someone trusting her, itself startled her. Finally she looked back at Channah. Exasperated, she repeated herself: “I’ll. Try.”

“Good. You’re already Penny’s world. Can you see that? How sincerely she’s been attending to you since I asked her? She’s a good girl. Now you focus on her.”

With a deep breath, Esmeray squared her shoulders and met Penny’s eyes, continuing to hold her wrists and wrapped fists. She stood about a foot away from the smaller woman.

“Ask her to kneel to you.”

“’Ask’?”

“Yes. Of course, as Penny’s qahramanah, it’s your prerogative to order her to her knees any time you want for any reason, or for no reason at all. Penny knows that as well as you do. Don’t you, Penny?”

“Yes, Domina.”

Channah petted Penny’s hair absently as she continued speaking to Esmeray: “Remember, this moment isn’t about force. This moment is about Penny acknowledging her place, admitting her acceptance of your dominance.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Channah caught her eye and mouthed “Pleaser,” as she ruffled Penny’s hair a second before dropping her hand. Out loud, she said: “I’m afraid you’re going to have to take that risk and see.” Leaning forward, she emphasized: “That’s the point.”

Staring solemnly down at Penny a moment, Esmeray breathed deeply again—and then looked back up at Channah: “Ask?! I—I don’t like to ask. I prefer to tell.”

“I know you do,” Channah chuckled. “And I feel similarly. But the question that distinguishes us right now, is why?”

“Because it’s easier.”

“But why?” And when she looked confused, Channah explained: “I’ve been Queen of Hell longer than the Pharaonic dynasties ruled Egypt. It’s almost always easier for me to order than to ask because I know from long experience, I can trust my own knowledge and judgment. But is that why it’s easier for you? You’re an impressive young woman, but you are just that: young. A mere quarter-century young. Are you so sure you have all the answers already, or is it easier not to ask, because you’re afraid to leave the decision up to them?”

Esmeray stared at her blankly, eyes losing focus as she considered the question, and perhaps even how it might apply to her. She didn’t seem to reach a solid answer, but she did look a bit frustrated.

Channah pointed at Penny from behind again, and repeated silently: “Pleaser.” Then Channah moved in front of Chas, took her hands, and silently commanded the attention of her eyes. Not that Chas could see anything else with the vision of Channah before him. Channah smirked back at her, pleased. “Be sure to use Penny’s name when you address her. Frequently. Using her name, while she addresses you with your title, will both reinforce the natural hierarchy between you; and make you feel closer to one another. Now, follow my example. If you want to change the words, good. The more unique and authentic your words are, the better. But I want you to get similar commitments from Penny, that I receive from Chas.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Esmeray agreed.

“And when I say ‘similar,’ for example: Chas already trusts me. Don’t you, Chas?”

“Oh, yes Domina!” she assured her earnestly. It was not yet the love Penny felt, but it was as close to that as it was to mere trust.

“Whereas you do not trust that Penny trusts you yet. You have just revealed that.”

Esmeray looked discomfited, and sounded almost accusatory: “You’re going to tell me that’s somehow a sign of weakness, too, aren’t you? Even though only suckers trust other people.”

“Correct! Or perhaps more precisely, it’s a sign of a lack of confidence in your own ability to command the trust of your lessers. Learn to act like you trust others, even if you do not.” Channah gave her full, undivided attention to Chas, smiling softly and looking into her eyes.

“Will you please kneel to me?”

“Oh, yes, Domina,” she sighed, sliding down to her knees like a leaf floating to the ground.

Channah looked at Esmeray, who glanced at her before addressing Penny: “Penny, I would like you to show your trust in me by kneeling before me. Will you do that?”

“Yes, Qahramanah,” she answered, sliding to her knees without taking her eyes from Esmeray’s. Esmeray smiled despite herself.

“Now, can you step closer to her?” Channah asked, stepping forward so she was immediately in front of Chas, her legs pressed against the girl’s shoulders and arms, her crotch directly in the girl’s face, the two of them sharing a playful laugh together as she craned her neck to keep Channah’s eyes. “Like this. See how it forces her to strain for you?”

“Standing against her,” Esmeray intoned. “Right up against her.”

“Or even further,” Channah winked at Esmeray, then down at Chas, stepping several more inches forward, pushing Chas backwards so she had to strain her muscles to hold her position. “I’d push her all the way until she fell back on her hands, except I don’t want to scuff their lovely new mitts. But it’s always a move to consider.”

Esmeray snorted, and made herself step forward, forcing Penny to rear back a few inches, just like Chas. “It’s not so bad,” she reported, her tone leaving it open whether she was talking to Channah or to herself; her slight shiver making Penny promise herself to do her best.

Literature Section “06-74 Dance of the Qahramanat IX”—Part 74 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1252 words—Accompanying Images: 1645-1648—Published 2025-04-26—©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.

Stories

06-73 Dance of the Qahramanat VIII

2025-04-252025-04-24 admin

*1644 06-73 Channah rescues Penny in her dreams*

“Here, let’s try something,” Channah decided. “Chas, will you be still and patient for me?”

“Yes, Domina.”

“Good girl.” She squeezed Chas’s hand reassuringly and stepped around, removing Chas’s blindfold and then turning her to face sideways. “Stay,” she smirked at Chas, then removed Penny’s blindfold to find her staring curiously but acceptingly at Channah. Spinning her back to face Esmeray, Channah announced: “Penny, I want you to give Esmeray every bit of your attention. Chas, you can listen, but when I’m ready for you, I want you to give me your full attention as well.”

“Of course, Domina.”

“Penny, I’ve taken off your blindfold for a moment so you can watch Esmeray, and listen to her, and give her every one of your senses.”

“Yes, Domina,” she agreed, seriously, looking up into Esmeray’s eyes.

“Esmeray, I want you to take Penny’s hands.” Esmeray stiffened, and Channah repeated soothingly: “It’s okay, Esmeray. Here—even better…” She reached down into the box and removed two pairs of something that looked like purple mittens with short belts attached, handing one pair to Esmeray and commanding the girls: “Penny and Chas, hold up your hands in front of you and make them into fists.”

“Domina?” Penny asked, surprised and even recoiling a bit, while Chas did as she was told.

“Did you see that reaction, Esmeray?”

She nodded slowly.

“What did you see? How did she react when she wondered if I was going to have her be aggressive?”

“She—didn’t like the idea,” Esmeray nodded uncertainly.

“Correct! No, she did not. She’s very sweet and trusting. Even more than the others. That’s why she’s perfect for you to practice on.” Then, turning back to Penny, Channah clarified: “Obviously you girls will leave the mucho toro macho posing to the mamluks. I meant, curl your fingers and thumbs as if you were trying to make weak little fists. Imagine your lover is carrying you away against your will and you’re going to beat ineffectively on his chest in a futile gesture of protest.”

“Domina!” Penny protested weakly, turning pink and breathing faster, while the women laughed. But she held her hands up in loose little fists.

“See how her thumbs are outside like they’re supposed to be? Actually, she’s been trained to fight like the rest of them. She just doesn’t have the… let’s be honest, the cojones to be a toro.”

“I see that. More of a vaca marica.”

“Qahramanah…” Penny whined softly.

“Is that resistance?” Esmeray snapped, and when Penny swallowed and shook her head, she concluded: “I didn’t think so.”

“Slide the glove over her fist. Pull it as hard as you can, and then fasten the belt around her wrist,” Channah instructed, demonstrating on Chas.

“I’m not sure it’s big enough…”

“Fortunately, the two of them are almost identical in size. One of the many reasons they make such a perfect pair. And they’ve been carefully measured in the past few weeks. Do you remember, Penny?”

“Yes, Domina. For… grown-up clothes,” Penny blushed charmingly again.

“Physically grown-up, at least. As much as you’re going to. As a boy anyway.” When they were both done binding their girls’ hands, the straps around the wrists locking their hands into fists inside the thickly-padded gloves, Channah stood back and repeated: “Now you can touch the leather instead of the girl.”

“And she’s—she’s really quite helpless already,” Esmeray marveled, facing Penny and holding her by her leather-cuffed wrists and leather-bound fistettes.

“Now, this is a very important and intimate moment,” Channah cautioned her. “Imagine she is your daughter.”

“She’s not going to like that,” Esmeray shook her head, something ugly and fierce stealing across her face and eyes, as Penny quickly looked down, gasping.

Channah considered a moment. “Have you ever had a pet?”

“I had a puppy once. On the streets of Constantinople. We protected each other.”

“Imagine she’s your puppy. That puppy.”

Esmeray suddenly beamed. “I like that idea. He’s—she’s—my little savior. I’d love to make her my pet. She’d be perfect!”

Channah smothered a smile. “Then the stars have aligned for you, Esmeray dear. As Penny’s quaramanah, she is yours to do anything you see fit to when she’s under your authority. Anything your heart desires. Your puppy, your plaything, your piglet, your placemat.” Channah shrugged. “Anything you want to fashion her into.”

“Good. You’re my puppy now!” she informed the girl gaily.

“Yes, Qahramanah,” Penny answered, uncertain but unresisting.

“What I want is for both of you to learn to trust one another and be close to one another. Partly that’s about force, Esmeray—showing her you’re always in charge, correcting her immediately for any infraction, and occasionally reminding her how utterly she is yours, even when she’s been a good little doggie for you.”

“Yesss,” Esmeray nodded, looking down at Penny with an odd light in her eyes.

“But you don’t want a Spartacus who’s only obedient as long as he has to be. You want a pleaser who genuinely wants to submit to you. Penny’s naturally submissive so she wants to obey and follow. But you want her to feel that submission for you, especially for you. More for you than anyone except for me.”

“But trusting is stupid,” Esmeray frowned and shook her head, disagreeing, looking troubled. “Penny’s not stupid. Discipline is better.”

“Actually,” Channah agreed, “none of your slave girls are slouches in the intellect department. We don’t recruit many idiots. There’s no reason to, unless they have some extraordinary compensating talent. Everyone on this platform, almost all the mamluks and jawari, are smart.”

“Then—” Esmeray made a frustrated gesture. “What are we trying to achieve here?”

“Trust, Esmeray. I thought that was clear. As it turns out, you are wrong about trust. Discipline is useful, but discipline and trust go together. They’re not substitutes. Not when molding a servant. Every one of my vassals and slaves on this platform proves it: trust is smart. Yes, trust can always be betrayed. And yet it’s necessary—humans couldn’t survive without it.”

“I survived.”

Channah cackled. “Ah, Esmeray, the memory plays tricks. Do you remember where I found you?”

She reddened.

“Locked underground like a half-drowned rat, likely bound for the inquisitor’s stake? Do you remember the first time I took you back to Constantinople, a few years later, and you ran back to your old street? Alley, really?”

“You—you knew about that?!” Esmeray gasped, surprised and worried.

Literature Section “06-73 Dance of the Qahramanat VIII”—Part 73 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1076 words—Accompanying Images: 1641-1644—Published 2025-04-25—©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.

Stories

06-72 Dance of the Qahramanat VII

2025-04-242025-04-24 admin

*1637 06-72 The Master and Apprentic*e whisper and plan…

*1639 06-72 We have to trust our Domina and Qahramanah. I do…*

PREVIOUSLY: Queen Channah has decided to take an opportunity to teach Hanim Qahramanah about how to train her girls, and combine the occasion with an early start to her honeymoon. NOW:

The Art of Control

“Let’s get these girls dressed for the dance,” Channah began. “Knowing how careful Fang is, there should be two of everything in the box. We should start with the blindfolds. Can you find them?” And when Esmeray handed her one, she continued: “In a situation like this, with two girls trapped between us, at our mercy…” she flashed a wicked grin at Chas, as she reached up and spun him around to face Penny. Esmeray, on the far side of Penny, followed her example. Since the women were taller than the two girls, barefoot or in heels as they were now, they could see one another over the girls’ French Hoods, and Channah could now see Penny’s eyes over the back of Chas’s shoulders. “And in most situations when I am playing with more than one pet,” meeting Penny’s eyes and relishing his uncertain, worried look, she continued, “I like to keep them herded close together.”

“For control?” Esmeray asked.

“Yes! Very good. For control…” she snickered. “And especially, with trans girls, because it embarrasses them.” She used her hips to bump Chas forward until she and Penny were touching, trying in vain to keep their crotches from bumping and turning their heads slightly so they weren’t kissing.

“It really does!” Esmeray laughed appreciatively, watching and imitating as Channah raised the blindfold over Chas’s eyes, with the padded silk side towards her, adjusted it, and then strapped it behind Chas’s head. “She looks afraid!”

“They both do! Wouldn’t you be?”

“Don’t they know you well enough to trust you, Mistress?”

“Maybe. Maybe not enough, yet.” She met Esmeray’s eyes and winked. “Maybe too well.” And they both laughed. “Seriously, girls, we’re married. How many times have I told you, I have plans for you? Plans to have you by my side, serving me, for a long time. You should know by now I’m never going to hurt you… too badly. Certainly not injure you, you know, permanently.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Both of us will even protect you from anything that’s worse than what we have planned for you, when you’re in our control. But Esmeray and I—and every succubus and qahramanat set over you—reserve our rights to torment you and test you…. To push you, even a little bit past what you thought your limits were.” Then, after a final adjustment to the blindfold, she turned Chas’s head and showed Esmeray her little finger under the strap at the back of Chas’s head. “See how my pinky fits under Chas’s blindfold, here where it’s tightest?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You might think the straps should be super-tight, but that’s not so. And it can even damage your girl. If you make anything too tight, your girl may not be able to mind you any more because she’s so focused on the pain from an overly-tight bond. Or to serve you properly because she’s lost feeling or use of an extremity. And somehow, the bonds can make the blood move unevenly through the body, making some parts too sanguine, and some too dry, injuring your girl. A broken girl is a joy, but an injured girl means more work for you.”

She nodded approvingly, as Esmeray checked Penny’s blindfold. “Obviously, you want to make sure everything is secure, and certainly that your jariya is not able to escape anything you choose to bind her with. But secure is different from tight, especially with leather and metal restraints since they’re harder to stretch or fray than rope. If these were wild boys or girls, it would be different. But with tame girls like these, you can even ask them.”

“Ask them?!”

“Here, like this:” And she leaned close to Chas, running her hands down the girl’s sides, raising goosebumps. “Chas, honey doll, how does your blindfold feel? Too loose? Too tight?”

“Neither, Domina,” Chas answered. “It’s well-fit.”

“And how about your eyes? How much can you see?”

“Nothing, Domina.”

“Not even a sliver of light from around the edges?”

“No, Domina.”

Channah raised her arm, as if saying “ta da!”

“How do you know if they’re lying or not?”

“You have to know your girls. Really pay attention to them and get to understand them. If they’re really tame and trustworthy, they’ll tell you the truth. If they’re a pleaser.”

“What’s a pleaser?”

“Oh dear, you are new to this. A sub who actually wants to please you. It doesn’t mean they can. They may be too small, or too nice,” she pointed at Penny and Chas, bringing a smile to Esmeray’s face. “But at least they’re minded to try. Some of these girls will lie, but it’s usually because they’re trying to keep you happy. When it comes to their own safety and comfort, or their own limits, they’ll over-promise what they’re ready for, and underestimate your demands.”

“So… if Penny lies about the strap, it’s because it’s too tight and is going to hurt her, not because she’s trying to escape?” she asked, doubtfully.

“Head of the class! Which means you have to be alert to signs your pet is overheating or shutting down, more than getting ready to bolt. Especially if they have a relationship with you: They want to please you, even if they’re too ashamed to admit it, even to themselves. Also, unless they’re especially stupid hucows, they have to know their top is going to figure out whether or not they’re playing games, sooner or later. Ultimately, the better you know your slave girl, the more accurately you can predict her, anticipate her, control her, and—when necessary—defeat her.”

“We—the succubae—have been training these two for years. And they’re not stupid. Can girls panic and make mistakes? Yes. Trans girls, especially, when they’re embarrassed by their feelings. And when they do, you absolutely punish them, severely,” she reached around Chas with both hands, squeezing and wrenching her cage in one hand and Penny’s in the other, to demonstrate, as they each flinched and cried out. “They’re so at our mercy, it’s easy to make them bitterly regret it every time they don’t trust you with their total truth and obedience. As their superiors, we need to teach them—and they need to learn—to trust us completely, with every one of their most-private dreams and fantasies, and their very-deepest and most private secrets. Every so often, you should make it a habit to pull them aside, individually, and ask them about what they’re feeling and thinking—so you know it. “Yes, Mistress,” Esmeray answered thoughtfully.

Literature Section “06-72 Dance of the Qahramanat VII”—Part 72 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1092 words—Accompanying Images: 1637-1640—Published 2025-04-24—©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.

Tag: qahramanat

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

Last Chance to Run

Donning the Purple

A Trip Down Memory Back-Alley

Trust Games

The Art of Control