The nightstand beside my bed burst into orange and red flame, followed by the sound of a four car pileup.

"Oh damn, I'm late! I'd better get going and see what Administration wants now."

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mendelbrot, but my friends just call me Mendel. They laugh and tell me I'm a brot short of a pack. Ha, ha, silly boys. We all live here in Hades, but our work takes us up onto the Earth. I'd hoped to make it to work tonight without being interrupted by my supervisor, but no such luck. Oh, and just by the way, I am an incubus.

If my regular alarm had gone off, it'd have been a small blue flame flickering on top of my nightstand accompanied by the dissonant tinkle of dropped silverware. This 'bursting into flame' business boded ill for me. My concern was that somehow word had gotten out that I'd lost that zeal expected of lower level daemons, that willingness to 'take one for the team', to go the extra league. If that's what it was, my ancient goose may be well and truly cooked to a delicate crispy glaze.

I took the lift down to my boss Scorn's office. His secretary Casket sat on a wooden stool encrusted with rusted nail heads, nothing too ostentatious. She herself was wrapped in grayish shrouds like desiccated grave wrappings, just her fat cheeks and red eyes showing. If she had been field dressed, she'd still easily top four hundred pounds. That bastard Scorn had his pick of the secretarial pool, and he always got the hotties.

"What do you want, Mendel?" Cask inquired, and her voice had a hollow sepulchral tone. Every time I hear it I get hard, I'll just go ahead and admit it.

"You tell me, Casky, my bittersweets. I got the emergency wake up call just now. I hustled my scaly arse right along to see what the 'emergency' is. By the way, can you be a foul little daemon and send the furnishers 'round? I'm afraid I'll be needing another nightstand. I forgot to douse it in my haste to answer my summons."

That was somewhat of a lie. I had whipped out my scaly willy and pissed on it as a demonstration of my respect for old Scorn, but the petrochemicals in my bladder just made it worse. Some nights it just will not go my way.

"You are way over budget on furnishings, Mendel. I'm not sure we can make that happen for you." Yada yada, the fucking nightstand would be put on order. Hades is chintzy in a lot of ways but they don't skimp on furniture. Just don't be stupid and ask for a Wii or anything enjoyable.

She ruffled through what looked like a pile of old tossed out newspapers and came up with a particularly crusty and stained leaf. "Ah, here we go, hot off the printer. It doesn't give much detail, I'm afraid. Just says to summon you for an interview immediately. I'll buzz the boss, let him know you're here."

She picked up a rusty horseshoe from a banged up waste bin and expertly flipped it over her shoulder. It did a couple flips in passage, went through an opening in the wall and landed on what sounded like a #2 zinc wash tub on the other side. The clatter was impressive, I must say. Scorn spares nothing when it comes to the perks of the job.

"Send him in!" A soft voice like a young virgin called out. "Oh crap, I'm in for it now!"

My mind raced, thinking of lies or escape options, but fear had me paralyzed. I couldn't think of anything to make my case look better. Scorn knows his staff, knows how to play upon their fears like Itzhak Perlman plays upon his violin. While shaking in my shoes, I still had to admire his style. Scorn hadn't been promoted to his niche low in the Infernal Hierarchy without reason.

"It's the small things, Mendel. Take care of the small things and the large things will take care of themselves." This gem had been offered at a previous interview. Scorn seldom misses an opportunity to instruct his underlings, and I swear the old son of a daemon knows every cliche ever penned. "The Devil is in the details!"

I had noticed more than one daemon around who had been detailed, and I didn't want that in my future.

The door rotated on a pivot in the center, giving forth a gravelly screech as it did. I strode in like Caesar returning to Rome from the Gallic Wars. If you can't knock 'em dead with knowledge, baffle 'em with bullshit. That's straight from Daemonology 101.

"Ah, Mendel. Damn you for being so prompt. Please, have a seat." The virginal voice was still there, grating on my nerves like tiny sharp cat claws. I sat in what appeared to be a dentist's chair, albeit a filthy one. "How do you like my latest acquisition? This chair has been certified as having belonged to the late and lamented Dr. Josef Mengele. Goods of this provenance are SO hard to find, don't you agree?"

I actually did agree with the old monster, so I nodded and replied, "Yes, that is so true, but I'm sure you have your sources." I wasn't about to reveal that I'd twigged onto a cache of goodies owned by the late Pol Pot.

He laughed lightly, a sound like spring rainfall, jacking up the tension level.

"Yes, well. To the subject at hand then. Will you give me a moment while I finalize a few details?"

I simply nodded, what else was I to do? Scorn came to the chair, put my thumbs into receptacles I'd failed to notice and turned the thumbscrews. He didn't stop until my back was arched and my feet were juddering on the footrest from the intensity of the pain. Sweat stood out on my brow, and from my infernal temperature competing with it a fine steam wafted upward. Scorn leaned over me and inhaled deeply, favoring me with a tender smile. "I just love the smell of Incubus in the evening." Note to self: be sure to give Scorn a 7th Cavalry hat for Halloween.

"Now, what is this I'm hearing about you, Mendel? Word is you aren't enjoying your work. Word is you have mentioned putting in for a transfer. Tell me now, what seems to be the problem?"

As I was becoming somewhat accustomed to the pressure of the thumbscrews, I pondered what little bastard had thrown me under the cart. I have no friends, no confidants, no one I'd expressed my problems to about my work. Old Scorn was taking a wild shot into the dark!

"I see here from your field reports a certain dullness. A kind of 'same old same old' in the tone. Have you gotten bored with the job, is that it? It's a very good job you have, Mendel. It's a job coveted by legions of your brethren. They are hopeless though, as there are NEVER any openings in MY department, and there sure as HELL aren't ANY transfers!"

Scorn had jacked up the volume to roughly the equivalent of an ice pick piercing an eardrum.

"Think for a moment, my young daemon. I, like you, answer to a lower power. I, like you, have reports to file. I, like you, have eyes watching me, from both above and below. Consider now, how would it look if members of my staff wanted to transfer? The natural question arises as to why. Is Scorn losing touch with his staff? Is he losing control? Let me tell you, that will FUCKING NEVER HAPPEN! Do you grasp the concept of never? That's the same as eternity, an impossibility of EVER happening. The time spent considering the very idea is a waste of time, even to ones such as you and I who have an eternity of it to waste!"

I felt sick inside. I'd never been subjected to Scorn's rage before. Displeasure, sure, but never a full out hurricane outburst. In my fear I felt admiration for the old haunt, impressed with his mastery of both the facts and of myself. I believed the rumors I'd heard, just a little, that before he was made a daemon Scorn had been a lawyer.

"What do you have to add to our discussion, Mendel? Please, enlighten me, help me to understand." Scorn flipped a switch on the chair and the footrest started to quickly heat up.

I gritted my teeth and said "I hate my job, sir. I resent those bitches, the Succubi. Those whores get all the press, all the acclaim. They are the ones written about in the Penny Dreadfuls. They get depicted in art. They have poetry written about them. You'd think the Incubi are fucking chopped liver!"

"Good boy!" Scorn roared, a smile beaming across his lovely mouth. "That's the spirit, that's what we like to hear down here, a bit of the old competitive spirit among rivals! So, are you saying my concerns for you are unfounded? Are you saying that you do not wish to push any transfer requests downstairs? Help me to help you, my boy. Tell me what I want to hear."

"Yes, your Evilness, what you say is true. I'm suffering from Jealousy."

"Ah, I see. I'll have that little bitch Jealousy reprimanded then. No sense in having discord in the ranks because a little tramp of a daemon is getting out of line with the crew. Remember the rules, Mendel. No fraternization between employees. A tight ship is a dry ship. So, are we done here, my boy? You're late for your shift as it is."

"Yes, sir." No more detail required, just an agreement was what Scorn needed to hear from me for this to be finished. I know when to shut the fuck up.

"Very well, then, I think we're through here. Now, go out there and get busy deflowering!"

Scorn flipped the switch again, and the footrest stopped humming. Damned good thing too, it was starting to glow a dull red. Didn't they know what a fucking fuse was in Nazi Germany? He unscrewed the thumbscrews and the rush of returning blood to the site of their gentle ministrations awoke the nerves. The pain was exquisite. Scorn smiled and said "That's just a little bonus, from me to you Mendel. No thanks necessary."

I mumbled something and headed for the door. I was in a hurry and the gravelly scraping sound increased to a high pitched scream as it rotated. I hardly slowed down as I blew past Cask's desk. She said "Don't come back, Mendel." I thought that was an excellent bit of advice and I planned to take it deeply into my cold dead beating heart.

I got on the lift and it took me up to my floor. I entered my apartment, just a single large room. I was one of the luckier daemons though, I didn't have to share it with another. We daemons don't tend to play well together, too much negativity in one place. The heap of ashes beside my pallet bed bespoke of how this evening had started. The rancid scent of the ashes lightened my mood, probably it was the piss highlights that gave it that certain ordure.

I grabbed a light snack to tide me over. We Incubi are expected to get our food from our hosts, stealing it from what was often a very meager larder. Every little thing to gain a few points in the hierarchy, that's my motto. My snack had been purloined the previous night. It was a cold slice of fatty mutton between slices of home baked bread. I'd had to let it sit out all day to ripen before I could choke it down. Too bad there was no cheese, I'm just mad about desiccated cheese. But, as someone will eventually say in a song "You can't
always get what you want to."

I went out of the apartment, into the lift, up to the cavern level. I, along with a small gang of Incubi, were slated to work the village of Gradz tonight. Our tactic was to drift on the air until we got the scent of an erotic dream. That was a lure we cannot resist; we are compelled to go to the dreamer. As Incubi, our nostrils are attuned to the scent of female dreams; our counterparts the Succubi are drawn to male dreams. In route we scan their thoughts and get some idea of the form of male they are attracted to and morph into that form. It's tiresome at best, and outright drudgery at worst. Every woman in town lusts for the local hunk, all bulging muscles and good hair, tall and lean with a cock to die for. I take the form, enter the bedroom and do what needs doing.

That's where my dissatisfaction comes into play. I can barely keep from retching as I pull the covers from the sleeping form of some dreaming virgin. Every one of them has attained womanhood, grown past the age to consent, seen sixteen birthdays come and go. Younger than that and it's a no go, the protections afforded by Heaven are in full effect.

Consent is also a factor: to sin is a choice, and it is legally binding. Any acts done prior to the age of consent are null and void, therefore wasted effort.

Every fucking night the same thing. Never a night off to go swill the local grog, no round of checkers with the lads, no feast for the holidays, none of the things that mortals enjoy. They haven't been invented yet, but when they do I'll be forbidden to go to McDonald's and get a fucking McFlurry! All I do, night after night, is fly out and deflower virgins, hump my cracked ass off and what do I get for it? A visit to see Dr. Mengele's fuckin' chair, that's what!

I'd come to hate these nightly forays into the bedrooms of women. Every one was different, some slender, a few deliciously fat. Almost all of them are young women. Older women are wiser, having lived beyond the fictions woven from raging hormones and hope. They know the fact that sex, though it can be exquisite, finally becomes just sex. That coupled with the fear of getting pregnant keeps their lustful dreams away. So, here I am, flapping my way through the friendly skies to deflower another fucking virgin. Steak for dinner every night after a while just becomes a dead fucking cow on a plate.

Incubi don't father children, that's not what our purpose is. We are tasked with deflowering, corrupting, keeping alive every vile imagining which springs forth from the mind of woman. One of my mates in the creche had told me once that "Your fuckin' kids would be too ugly to live anyway, mate." I think he was just trying to make me feel better.

A few of the outriders had peeled off, descending on a wave of dream lust. There weren't many of us, just a handful really as this burg was small. Just a few dozen small dwellings dotted the wintery landscape below us.

Most were little better than huts with tendrils of smoke coming from the stone chimney. That smoke was from the fire which had cooked the evening meal, the main meal of the day. It was usually a thick gruel of root vegetables, cabbage, and a few bits of meat if they were fortunate. This and a surprisingly hearty peasant bread were the daily fare. Water was the usual drink, though a steeped concoction of crushed acorns and dried berries or leaves was often consumed. The children sometimes had milk from the few cows and many goats the people owned. Milk was usually reserved for making cheese or butter, the thin whey remaining used to moisten the coursely ground flour or cornmeal used in the bread making. Milk was too valuable to waste on children.

Fires were left to go dead after the cooking was done. Wood or peat was too costly to be used for heating. The people used coursely woven blankets for warmth. On cold winter nights everyone huddled together under all their blankets. The children in the middle, the grandparents if still alive came next, and the parents took the outer positions, enduring the cold for the sake of their weaker relatives.

I caught a whiff, a tiny tickle to my nostril. I peeled away from the dwindling pack and started my descent. I saw my destination, a humble little hut not much different from so many of the others. The chimney was cold, no smoke coming out. I lowered myself down this easy entrance way and stepped from the fireplace onto the hearth. It was clean, neatly swept after the fire had exhausted itself.

On the bed I saw the dreamer. I was in luck, under the covers poked out the head of Goody Cain! We'd seen the fresh earth turned in the small chapel cemetery but knew not who had moved into that final abode. Her husband, Goodman Ephraim Cain, had fallen prey to the pneumonia going about, I supposed.

Here's a little bit of information for your edification. While most older individuals seldom dream of sex, or even dream at all for that matter, the loss of a loved one often re-ignites their spirit and dreaming begins again. This is usually a short lived phenomenon , lasting from a few days to a few months. This, to myself and my brethren, is the equivalent to morel season, when the tasty succulent morel mushrooms burst from the moist earth free for the gathering. Also, I find it rather poetic, the drawing of life from the dead
resulting in a saprophytic gustatory delight.

I stood there looking at Goody, sampling her dreams. She was young again, and young Ephraim had her in his arms. "What's this, can this be?" I asked myself gleefully. Goody's small bony hand was moving under the coverlet, making small circles in the region of her groin. I smiled and my fangs glistened in the moonlight coming through the frost rimed glass of her small window.

I quickly shape shifted, shedding my visage of horror, exchanging it for the form of Goodman Ephraim Cain. I adopted the form of him from her dreams, the strong young farmer with the wheat straw hair, the twinkling blue eyes, the broad sun tanned face. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, his thighs like the trunks of young hickory trees. His hips were lean and he had an amazing cock, one which curved upward like the horn of a rhinoceros! It was thick at the base, sprouting from a thicket of hair like dried field sage.

I approached the bed, grasped the coverlet and pulled it slowly down. The cold roused her, shocked her eyes open slightly. When she saw me they flew fully open. Her surprise formed a silent 'O' on her lips. Then she smiled softly and murmured "My love, you have returned to me. I thought that could never be. I am so happy once again!"

"Yes, my love, I have been allowed to visit you again, just for this one night. If you are willing, may I share your bed as I have done these many years?"

Permission must be given. Humans are creatures of free will, have the right to accept or deny. Coercion or force are to no avail, gain no points. Persuasion however is completely acceptable.

"Oh, my Ephraim, I desire that so much. You have been gone only days and it feels like centuries. Please, will you join me under these cold blankets?"

I smiled and skinned off my clothing, standing naked in the moonlight for her eyes to drink in. I can't help myself, I'm a born ham that way. That made me giggle, a born ham clambering into the bed of a daughter of the tribe.

As I pulled the covers lower to get in I saw her form. Straight as a stick, long and bony, tiny nubs of breasts, an absolute wealth of paucity! No rounded arse, no buxom breasts piled up in a heap for me this night! I was going to ride this old woman like a witch rides her broom!

I got into the bed, the old straw in the mattress crinkling and poking as I settled beside her. She nested herself against my frame and said "You are so cold!"

I nuzzled her neck and said, "It is for you to warm me, my love."

Her hand moved under the covers, found my cock. She wrapped her bony fingers around it and they felt as cold as she professed me to be. It was delightful. She squeezed me hard, started to stroke my cock, making it grow from a stone into a mountain. I in turn rubbed her tiny breasts and the nipples exploded into hard little nubs, like acorns under her rough shift.

I dropped my hands, found the hem of her rude shift and raised it up her shins, across the dessert of her bony knees, up her shriveled thighs. She paused what she was doing to my manhood (daemonhood, actually), raised her bony arse and made it easy to finish making her naked. Her breasts were like tiny fallen cupcakes capped with abrupt nipples, so very special.

We lay so closely together now, front to front, the covers pulled up over our shoulders, being miserly with her heat. I dropped my hand to her crotch and felt the brush of her thatch, thinning now in her advancing age, winnowed by a weight of years.

My fingers insisted and she opened her thighs to my touch. I felt her shriveled lips, a dried up spring between them. I pulled my hand free, brought it from beneath the covers and told her to close her eyes. She obeyed and I bit my thumb, drawing a freshet of blood. I took my thumb, painted her crease with it and succeeded in pushing my thumb into her with the aid of my lubrication. "No pain, no gain." Scorn again, quoting a self improvement book he'd gotten his scaly claws on. I do so hate that old prick. But rules are rules, there must be blood.

I moved myself, got between her legs and put my cold cock to her time ravaged cleft. I forced myself inward and she grunted from my intrusion. I wasn't too concerned, as the time period hadn't been known for its delicacy in things l'amor, particularly among the hoi polloi. I bottomed out, her scant flesh offering nothing in the way of padding. Her hips bones jarred against me as I thrust myself into her.

I was surprised to find my movements becoming easier, more fluid. Either she still had the ability to lubricate or I'd broken a blood vessel. I laughed low in my throat and redoubled my efforts. Goody started responding, raising her hips to meet me in the air. Her clawing fingers raked my ribs fiercely, drew long welts down my back. I love a woman who knows how to give as well as receive. Her bony heels were locked behind my calves, imprisoning me between her thighs. She was riding hard and high and ten seconds wasn't in her plans.

Let's be honest. I pummeled that old woman with my cock for better than an hour. She never complained, never tried to escape, never brought up the time I'd - it wasn't me, but the living Ephraim- broken the dishes handed down to her by her mother. She wasn't a quitter, not by a far stretch. She kissed my face and neck until her lips started to swell. She bucked under me like an unbroken wild stallion. I stayed in the saddle, just barely. Finally, she tensed and erupted in a high pitched squeal as she had her orgasm. It's probably the first one she'd had in decades and did she enjoy it? You bet your fur, she did. Old Ephraim hadn't been able to keep it up for an hour, not even in his heyday. She'd gotten her money's worth and it hadn't cost her a single copper.

I released my cum into her as she was cumming, a cold flood of thick sticky fluid. I don't think she even noticed the cold, just continued to corkscrew herself onto my cock as I flooded her.

I withdrew myself from her, my cock still erect and she wrapped her bony hand around it again as she kissed my mouth.

"My time draws nigh, I must be away my love."

"Must it be so soon?"

Soon? Are you fucking kiddin' me? I'd hammered this old wreck for an hour and she thought it was too soon? I may have created a monster!

"Yes, I must. Thank you for a memorable visit. If we are fortunate perhaps we will be joined yet again."

"That is my wish too, my love, my darling Ephraim."

I rose from the bed, the stinging cold caressing my skin. I pulled on my rough clothing, bent and kissed her yet again and whispered into her ear, "Sweet dreams, my love. Now, sleep."

At my command she did sleep, her soft breathing becoming snores, which quickly escalated into a roaring which would have made a lion quiver in dread. Nothing like that post coital sleep, I always say. I stepped across the hearth and rose up the chimney, bursting free into the night air. A tiny crescent of a moon rode just above the tree tops, the constellations wheeled overhead. A flock of geese honked their way in the semi darkness toward the south.

I adjusted my course and headed for the cavern, another night's work done, another mission accomplished. If I was lucky I'd have a new nightstand when I got there.

"Fuck!" I burst out loud, an ejaculation of shock. "I forgot to bring anything with me for my dinner!"

I subsided into a giggle. It was my fault after all. I had been so enraptured by Goody Cain's attentions I'd forgotten to steal her food on the way out. Such are the vicissitudes of love, I thought, and giggled again as I picked up speed.

I screamed into the night, "I love my fucking job!"