1693 06-81 Yar dee har! Ye’re a fine prize, lassie!
1695 06-81 Mayhap the flat of my scimitar’ll hasten your step
PREVIOUSLY: Penny has been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, disoriented with her hands tied behind her back and left lying on a platform knowing only that there is no way off it without risking death or serious injury. NOW:
Penny had no way of knowing how long she’d been left alone and abandoned. Half an hour? Less? More? But lying without any sensation other than the warm—actually, closer to hot—stone beneath her and the steaming air around her, and without any company other than her own fears and anxieties, made it feel much longer.
Suddenly—finally!—a boot pressed against her temple, pushing until she turned her head and bent her neck in the way her unknown master demanded. When her master was satisfied, the boot left her alone and a second later fingers brushed her hair toward the back of her neck and jiggled her collar. She figured it out only as the fingers withdrew:
She was being leashed.
A moment later, she was yanked, if not brutally, then much harder than necessary, even the sound of her choking stifled by the magic entombing her senses. Was the magic acting on her senses? Or the air? Could her tormentor hear anything from her mouth? Or could she (or he) choke Penny to death unintentionally, simply because she couldn’t hear Penny’s struggle to breathe?
Yanking Penny’s leash again almost immediately, her master demanded Penny move immediately. She wanted Penny to move faster and more effectively than she was managing to do with her hands behind her and her senses gone. Penny tried, but her leash holder was so intolerant and impatient! With great difficulty, and doubtless damaging her white gown, Penny made it onto her knees, gasping around the gag for breath, and tried to stand. But with her hands tied behind her, nothing to lean against, and the high heels on her feet, she couldn’t quite get enough balance to stand.
She choked and sputtered almost soundlessly as the leash was jerked back and forth by her frustrated master, and then she was struck across the cheek, a blow so fierce it made her head ring. A second attempt to stand failed, and she desperately ducked her head in fear—not enough to evade the blow, but just in time so it landed on her temple instead of her cheek, dazing her and knocking her over.
Scrambling desperately and whimpering in an ineffectual attempt to plead for mercy, she tried to shield her own head by pressing it down against the stones to give her the lowest profile she could possibly assume, and to limit whiplash or injury from any further blows when her skull was so close to the stone. Frantically she kicked off her high heels, hoping it was the right decision and one that would lead to less hitting rather than more. With them off, she struggled to her feet as fast as she could, in a race with the leash her master was dropping over her neck like a noose, soon pulling Penny directly by pulling on the actual collar with one hand, and a second hand that had caught the collar from both sides of Penny’s neck.
As Penny got to her feet, she tried to stand and felt her master’s resistance until she realized she was meant to stay bent way over. Was this Domina Fang? It somehow didn’t feel like her steady and subtle hand. Did it?
Only when she had satisfied her master by her stillness that she had learned her place was remaining in a crouch was she pulled, still rasping for breath around the gag, the collar, and the length of leash, her stocking feet on the stone, towards… wherever she was being taken.
Why were they moving so fast? Maybe any speed was too great for comfort when nearly insensate but surely they couldn’t be in so much of a rush after leaving Penny lying there for so long! Penny became nervous that the person hustling her would let her pitch off the side of the platform from carelessness, and tried to slow down, only to be jerked forward all the faster. Finally, really starting to worry, she was slowed down and then brought to a halt. After a moment of stillness, the hands moved her forward again, but with less force: what she interpreted as a signal to move forward carefully. Was she being urged straight to the edge?! Probing forward, her toes bumped into metal.
She stopped in confusion, was urged forward again, felt more deliberately with her foot, and confirmed she had reached a barrier of some kind. What did her master expect her to do?!
The hands loosened on her collar and leash, and she felt the person brushing against her shoulder and head. Then a yank on the leash again, from above and in front of her, and she figured it out: it must be stairs.
She raised her foot, daring to straighten just a bit so she could raise her knee, and set her foot down on a stair. She was meant to climb a staircase!
That indicated they were either at the jungle gym or the pool, she thought. Surely not the pool—she’d drown—
But nobody was waiting for her to have a think. Another hand slapped her, hard, on her bottom and she made her way with difficulty up one stair, feeling her feet press into a metal grate as the stair took her weight. Then when she was urged forward, she took another stair, and a third. The metal grating cut into her soft feet uncomfortably, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to stand on the metal for long.
She hadn’t noticed stairs specifically when she’d first glimpsed the structures around her. How high did these go? And where, exactly, did they lead to? In the event, she stepped up six times before being pulled forward again across a short platform. Just when she started moving forward more naturally, she was jerked to a halt with a punishing yank. It was so forceful—was it desperate? Had she been about to walk off an unprotected edge of some kind?
She was granted a moment’s worried stillness, then a pair of hands coming from the opposite side of the leash-holder, gripped her, one on her stomach, the other on her buttocks, guiding her forward until she bumped into a horizontal bar that hit her right around the tops of her thighs. Pressing her hips forward against the bar to signal she should remain where she was, tight against the bar, the hands moved to her left ankle and tugged her by the cuff to make her spread her stance. Obeying, she felt tugging on her ankle cuff until her legs were fairly wide apart.
Now she felt a boot against the back of her right leg and complied fearfully with what she knew was expected of her. When her legs were spread far apart, at least 3 feet apart or even more, the boot was withdrawn.
With a moue even she couldn’t hear, Penny knew she had been spread against a railing—but not where, or why, or what would come next. She panted, trying to get her breathing under contr—
A hand shoved her between the shoulder blades, jerking her forward. Reflexively she tried to straighten back up again, only to be shoved a second time, this time the hand remaining in place, feeling her master step up against her, pressing against her leg and hip, reaching forward—
Then the leash pulled her collar sharply down, and Penny realized the person to her right had threaded the leash under the railing while a second firm hand of the person behind her, joined the first on her shoulder blades, pushing her firmly and insistently forward.
Penny started leaning forward, not sure how she was supposed to keep her balance if she had to lean forward too far, and then panicked when it hit her: both her tormentors were on this side of the bar, trying to get her to bend forward over the far side of the bar.
Terror shot through her. She was at the very edge of the platform, being asked to lean forward over its edge, above the red sand and howling devils far below them!
Now instinct and raw fear combined to cause her to resist with all her might, shaking her head and making incomprehensible, frightened noises of protest as she tried to fight. The woman behind her responded by shoving back all the harder, even as the woman beside her pulled down on the neck chain using her full weight.
Penny was crying now and shaking her head violently and making muffled sounds with as much force as she could muster, rapidly burning air faster than she could replace it, every inch of her body resisting as strongly as she could, even as pain shot through her neck and back, but moving with such an instinctive sense of survival that she managed to resist her two larger and stronger masters, until the woman behind her changed tactics:
She moved to Penny’s other side and shoved her fingers with their sharp fingernails between Penny’s collar and neck, grabbing the collar in her fist, and helping to pull it down with one hand, while her other hand rapidly went fishing under Penny’s skirts.
What was she doing? Was she going to lift Penny off her feet and make her lose her balance?! Penny tried to screech, only serving to wind herself faster, as the clawed fingers of the woman’s right hand clenched around Penny’s purse, her fingernails digging into the sensitive flesh even as her fingers clenched around them, as hard as she could, crushing Penny’s shameful little testes.
In the next moment, three things happened simultaneously:
First, Penny came close to unconsciousness as extreme pain exploded from her crotch, straight up her spine towards her head, making everything turn black for a second and making Penny pray she would be knocked out so she didn’t have to feel any more.
Second, Penny screamed in terror, the lonely kind of scream nobody else could hear, using up the last of her breath. And third, the shock of the pain caused Penny’s muscles and control to fail her utterly for a moment, her resistance collapsing just long enough for the hands to cause her to pitch forward, her body tipping over the bar and her feet coming off the platform beneath her as gravity became her third master, pulling the top half of her body forward and down and pulling the bottom half of it over the bar after it.
Literature Section “06-81 The Perils of Penny”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 81 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1747 words—Accompanying Images: 1693-1696—Published 2025-05-03—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.