Tag: sensorydeprivation


1996 07-03 Get thee before me, Satan
1997 07-03 Lambs trusting the Dragon
1998 07-02 Channah’s evil thoughts
1999 07-03 Let’s get this party STARTED, bitches!!!
2000 07-03 Barefoot and ensorcelled–just how Channah likes them

PREVIOUSLY:  For seven days and nights, Chastity and Penance have been tormented, tested, pushed, and bewitched by Channah, her succubae, her human operatives, and others, with every tool and tactic available to the succubae on Earth and in Hell, with the twin goals of perfecting a decade of training and preparation while bringing them mentally to their current state:  uprooted, lost, malleable, in need of comfort, and desperate for love.  Having taken them—figuratively and literally—through hell, Channah ushers them now to her paradise.  NOW:

Channah was still fully dressed, wearing her customary, splendid scarlet court gown and tall black shiny high-heeled riding boots, the same things she had worn since they left Fensmere and Earth this morning, which seemed like a lifetime ago now.  Or, at least, she wore the scuffed, dirty, oily, torn, abraded remnants of the clothes she had donned at Fensmere, insofar as they remained after the orgiastic, satanic rituals at Chang’an, the skyride across the Hell of Lust, their impromptu performance at the satanikoklus, and whatever she had got up to while the girls were tethered in the honeycomb at Sademtsaowah. 

Her girls were stripped, covered in so much oil and filth and dirt that they had caused the soiling of her own clothing, Kadidia’s and Esmeray’s clothing, and several square yards of the ritual site.  Their bare skin was marked with scrapes, minor cuts, ligature marks, and, more heavily, with bruises, some smoldering and purple, some still fresh and angry and red, from their training and discipline over the preceding seven days and nights.  To any observers, they appeared to wear only their collars, short leashes, navel rings, and the ropes binding their wrists.  Not readily visible, but certainly of equal importance in their experiences, were the four items—in addition to the roots of their navel rings—buried deep inside their bodies:  two plugs in their ears depriving them completely of any ability to see, hear, taste, or smell anything outside their own bodies; and the twisters and triggers that rested, churned, or swam by turns, at Channah’s command, inside their guts.  But even with all that, what they and she were surely most-conscious of at this moment, was how thoroughly (with the sole exception of their primary sexual organs hanging as obsoletely as appendices from their crotches) their bodies had been transformed from the male bodies they grew up with to their new, ultrafeminine curves.

She held their leashes over her shoulders, her hands in front of her belly, using their chastity cages hooked to and tangled in the leashes like handles for better leverage, casually forcing them to rest their chins on her shoulders and to awkwardly scramble, their shoulders and chests pressed tightly against her back, behind her.  She expected them to accommodate her own brisk and confident walk with theirs, and they were certainly in no doubt about that.  She was, after all, their superior.  She could feel the tension and stress in their bodies as they tried to keep their balance, keep their soft bare feet away from her boots with their sharp heels, and keep up with her using only their sense of touch.

She was snickering, well-pleased with herself and already teetering on the tingly edge of arousal when she led her girls through the honeycomb and up to the iron door separating it from her retreat. 

Gently pushing Penny up against the door, she put her hand up tight behind the girl’s soft hair to protect her from the door behind her, knowing she was about to startle the girl.  Only then, did she brush her lips across her young wife’s, refusing to let her pull back as her instincts tried to do when they felt an unexpected touch on such a vulnerable and personal part of her body.  Resting her lips softly there for a moment, while her girl calmed down, Channah pushed her tongue into Penny’s mouth, feeling her relax and wondering if she could tell it was Channah once it penetrated past her lips.  Perhaps she recognized something familiar about the feel or taste or smell of her, or perhaps even her kissing style.  Knowing Penny, she suspected she could.  Not because she obeyed the unspoken command to admit Channah’s tongue, but because she responded almost immediately, kissing back with a palpable enthusiasm, even of the closest thing to aggression Penny was capable of, making a soft moue of relief and welcome that warmed Channah’s heart despite herself.

Then she laughed, as Penny pushed herself forward and even flicked her tongue against Channah’s.  Pulling on Penny’s hair as she laughed at her, she broke their kiss, softly pecking at the corners of Penny’s helpless mouth as if to tell her that was enough.  Next, she turned around and relaxed back against Penny, smooshing her between the hard iron behind her and the soft swells of Channah’s buttocks and shoulders, really pushing into her so she knew she was being held in place and not forgotten, giggling and shivering with pleasure as she felt Penny’s lips and tongue begin attending to the sensitive back of her neck and shoulders.

Pulling Chastity in close to her, slowly enough she could tell it was a gesture of intimacy, she repeated the same soft initial brush pass she had used to signal her intentions to Penny.  Chas neither pulled back nor immediately reciprocated, but instead hesitated a moment before kissing her back, confidently but less ardently than Penny.  Raising her hands to Chastity’s ears, she removed her plugs and pocketed them, hearing Chas’s whimper of relief as she regained her senses. 

“Domina!” she gasped, her voice somewhere between a whine and a moan, before pushing forward against the older woman and almost attacking her mouth.  She laughed as she returned the kiss, carelessly using Penny as her cushion, hardly thinking of her as she focused her attention on Chastity, running her hands through her oily hair and over her dirty skin with gusto.  Earthy and about as far from neurotic as one could be, Channah was not fazed by anything as minor as a sloppy encounter.  In fact, she could even relish a bit of the funkiness and imperfection of the world because it was so visceral and real, especially when she knew the chaos and disorder was of her own causation, rather than reflecting any lack of attention or respect for her, coming from her partners. 

When they finally came up for breath, she giggled, stroking Chas’s cheek softly and saying:  “Penny’s turn.  Here, come to me.”  She wrapped her right arm around Chas’s head and pulled it in against her breast, forcing Chas to follow as she turned back towards Penny, managing to reach both of Penny’s ears, remove her plugs, and transfer the plug from her right to her left hand without ever releasing, or even loosening, Chas.  Pocketing the plugs carefully, she purred with happiness as Penny crushed her lips against Channah’s.

“Oh, oh, oh, mm…” she murmured around their kisses, sensing again how much more desperate and hungry Penny’s kisses were than Chas’s confident and content ones.  “It’s so nice to be missed and wanted.  I love you girls.”

“We love you Domina!” they both cried, pressing on her with enough force that she backed into the wall beside the door with both girls’ weight squeezing her in a way she found delightfully affectionate.  After a couple of moments, she loosened her arm and moved her hand so she was now holding both girls by their hair, allowing Chas’s face up and startling them—again without allowing either girl to even think of resisting—by pushing their chins and noses against hers, flicking her tongue across both of their mouths at the same time, their faces fitting against one another like three pieces of a pie.

Pausing, she scolded them:  “Where are your tongues?  Don’t be shy.  You’re sisterwives now!  You don’t have to enjoy kissing one another, but you absolutely, positively can never be hesitant or reserved about kissing me, just because you’re sharing me!”  Then she dove back in, her aggression, and the size of her tongue, coaxing her girls into responding.  Laughing again, she murmured:  “We are going to have the most wonderful week together….  Do you want to see my home?  Well… you’re my wives, aren’t you?” she gasped, sounding surprised, as she realized:  “That makes it our home, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Domina!” they agreed, happy and warmed by the idea.

Literature Section “07-03 Ready for Love”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 03 of Chapter Seven, “Channah’s Slavegirls:  Pawns of the Court of Lust”—1330 words—Accompanying Images:  1984-1988—Published 2025-07-04 (early a.m.)—©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.


1708 06-83 Fear of Falling
1709 06-83 Into the Abyss
1710 06-83 The Fear Unto Death
1711 06-83 Helplessly Entombed
1712 06-83 Sweet Dreams of Scarlet Salvation
1713 06-83 Can You Be Saved by a Fallen Angel?

Explicit version containing anal themes at 06-83 The Unconditional Surrender of Penance Batonnoir at Patreon.com/TheRemainderman

PREVIOUSLY:  Penny has been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, disoriented with her hands tied behind her back.  Walked to a waist-high guardrail along the edge of the castle parapet, she has just been pushed over it.  NOW:

Penny screamed ineffectively, silently, unheard even by herself and alone in her silence, as the combination of the shove in her back and the yank down on her leash propelled the top half of her body forward and down, and her center of gravity out beyond the rail, out beyond the relative safety of the edge, over the abyss.

As her head and shoulders plummeted down, gravity and the bar at her hips lifted her feet from the solidity of the platform and she went flying!  Inside her guts, the blind eel that dwelled there somehow connected to her emotions, and spasmed violently.

Until a moment later a sharp pull on her ankles stopped her from falling further.  It was so solid, so unyielding, her mind recognized she had not been caught by human—or even demon—hands.  Her bonds must have caught on something!  But that half-thought was about all she had in her and her body was out of control already, her deliberate mind having shut down and ceded control to the basest and most animal instincts, things so deep and distant she could not even recognize them as parts of herself.  Like foundry workers around an exploding furnace they were shouting soundless orders and alarms, flashes of sweaty muscles and hurrying silhouettes and panic-filled eyes rolling in trapped sockets, they made her body jerk and twitch in every direction, trying to free a hand, trying to catch on something else besides her ankles, trying to fall feet-first, trying and failing to do something, that would make a difference long after her will and intentions had shut down and closed their eyes, bracing for impact.

She flopped and jerked and twisted like a fish tumbling out of a net onto the deck of a boat.  In her absence, her body was trying to exert any slight degree of control that would allow it to survive and choose, if not with any specific haven in mind, simply to change what was happening already through no decision of its own.  Her body would take any fate other than the one her mind had told it to expect.  And her body would not give up, even without her mind to help.

It was several seconds before her reason could realize she still wasn’t falling, and work out they must have chained her ankles to something when they spread her legs.  With another lost expression, Penny sobbed and fell limp and ragged, her waist and her very life held by a solitary narrow iron bar, her momentum over it checked by her ankle cuffs, her arms still bound behind her back, emphasizing their uselessness and Penny’s own ineffectiveness as a living thing.

Penny screamed.  Penny screamed and wept, shaking and sobbing, her sense of balance telling her gravity still roared and slavered for her, wishing to snatch her away like the jaws of a wolf.

At first, Penny hardly registered, hardly had the room to register, that her dress and underskirts had been thrown over her head, before she was shocked and focused by something cold and hard and wet.  And the instant it touched her—

She felt absolutely nothing at all.

Nothing.

At.

All.

Not her own weight, lying on the narrow bar and tugging on the ankle chains.

Not voracious gravity, trying to devour her.

Not the hot and humid air pressing tightly around her.

Not her own heartbeat.

Not her own breath!

Not even the darkness and silence of her world.

A-B-S-O-L-U-T-E N-O-T-H-I-N-G-N-E-S-S.

And so Penny learned what complete and utter forlorn terror really was.

Was she dead?!

She must be dead.

But even death shouldn’t be so lonely and isolating.  So… naught.

She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would go mad.  And not slowly:  soon.  Maybe she already was.

Her mind was certainly thrown to mad thoughts without anything real to anchor it in any way.  Thoughts like these, that were real because they were the very world she was experiencing, raw and immediate, nothing esoteric about them:

What was happening to her body?!  Inside her own body?!  Her mind knew because it remembered.  When it was aware, it had rarely even realized how thoroughly it knew it was alive every second.  It felt its own breath, felt its own heart, sometimes even heard them or felt the rise and fall of its chest; sometimes smelled and felt the slick moisture of its own sweat.  Now, she could not even tell if her body—if she—was still there, or had ever really been there.  She didn’t know if she had ever even had a body at all.  Perhaps it had all been her imagination.  Or was her body being destroyed, inside and out, continuing the assault every sense she’d had, had been screaming at her to report?  It had to be; her senses were gone, unless reality was actually gone—and she had no way to tell.  Was she even now, falling towards the sea of devils and demons below, who would tear her to pieces for all eternity, over and over again?  Or had she died, and these were the last seconds of her consciousness, mere seconds stretching and lasting in a final desperate effort to cling to life?

She couldn’t say which was more disconcerting, more upsetting and unreal:  the loss of her body, or the loss of her world.  Because without her senses, she had nothing.  She had imagined she was lost with the mere departure of her sight, hearing, taste, and smell.  What she wouldn’t give to return to even that half-state of being!  To be without even touch, even balance?… Without anything, really.  Without the senses she had taken for granted, and the things they brought to her, reality itself did not exist.  She felt no gravity, and it was gravity that had connected her to this world all her life, like an umbilical cord to her mother, without her even realizing she felt it:  a sense of up and down, right and left, solidity.  Without the pull of the world she was utterly untethered.  There were no people.  There was no sun, no wind, no earth, no wind, no fire, no air, the very elements themselves dissolved, if they had ever existed at all.

Oh, Domina!  She thought, her mind crying where her body no longer existed to weep.  Her Domina! 

For the first time in her life, she felt a perfect clarity, a perfect certainty:

Penny knew, absolutely knew, with every shred and fiber of her being, that only her Domina could bring her back from… if she had had shoulders, she would have given up and shrugged.  She was nowhere.  There was nowhere to bring her back from.  But only her Domina could pluck her out of this absence and bring her back to reality, the world, her sweet smell, her soft skin, her warm love, bring Penny back to Penny herself, from this awful nothingness.

Oh Domina!  Please please please please please please bring me back to you!  PLEASE don’t let go, I know there is a golden spiritual umbilical thread between us, connecting us always, unbreakable and forever!  There has to be one because I need it, I need it so badly I can still feel it, because it’s the only thing that exists for me here!  The certainty you care about me is complete.  I don’t know why, I can’t understand your ways and wiles, and—and maybe I don’t need to.  A part of my soul knows I probably don’t want to.  But do need the fact that I know.  That you cared about something you perceived in me, with senses I don’t even possess, senses that must be able to find me now!  I just need to know you are going to bring me back to you!

You’re going to bring me back!  And that’s what I want, more than anything, to be back in your world, back at your feet, back where you want me.  Back where I BELONG.  I know it now!  Please hear me!  I’m sorry for having been so slow and suspicious.  I’M SORRY!!!  PLEASE!!!

I love you!  I need you!  I am NOTHING without you!  Not without you!

Please….

Literature Section “06-83[X]-The Unconditional Surrender of Penance Batonnoir”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 83 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—Abridged 1374 words::Explicit 1538 words—Accompanying Images:  1708-1712—Published 2025-05-05—©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.


1666 Ring around the rosies, A pocketful of posies
1667 06-79 Ashes, ashes, We all fall down

1668 06-79 Beltaine! Beltaine!  I think I’m in twubble
1669 06-79 I trust you. Kinda.

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.