The Incubus Detective

by Breccan Storm

  “I’ve had about all I can handle for tonight,” he said. “We have a different penis to discuss, anyway.”

  “I guess I’ll have to settle for that.” Dionis crossed her arms over her chest, doubling down own the breast play.

  “You need to do some digging on Stanley Belman.”

  “Belman?” She asked. “Kinky guy.”

  “Yeah, you know him?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘know.’”

  “That’s better than nothing. He’s been hanging around a dancer named Double D.”

  “Cute name.”

  “I know. Can you track her down?”

  “Anything for you.” She gave him a few gentle slaps on his cheek and was about to fly away, but decided to walk away instead. After a few paces, she turned to see that her strut had achieved the desired effect. Maven was checking out her wonderful, athletic ass.

  Chapter 5

  “Outta my way, ladies,” Dionis said, freshly invigorated with the instructions that Maven had given her. She stepped into the delightfully musky air of Charlie’s Blue Bawlers Bar.

  “Not polite,” Olga said.

  “Not at all.” Helga shook her head. “What can you expect from someone that hangs around a walking piece of fungus all night?”

  Dionis ignored them, and kept walking. A groggy voice boomed out from down the bar, riding waves of Scottish brogue.

  “Look what the fookin’ cat dragged in,” The Pour Man wiped his face with his sweaty hand, suddenly struck by misery.

  “Easy, Reds,” Dionis said. “Down boy. Before I come over and sit on your face.”

  He drunkenly stood, knocking over his stool, and called out to Charlie. “Let me know when she leaves. I’m fookin outta here. Just remember that every second I’m not at that bar, you’re missing out on a heap of profit.”

  Dionis rolled her eyes at the dramatic exit and leaned back against the bar, chest out, scanning the room. In her time working with Maven, she learned that finding people that were “in the know” was the same to her side work of luring priests into dirty places.

  Don’t look to eager, and they’ll come to you.

  She knew that Maven had been in here poking around, earlier. The way Blue Bawler’s worked, word of that had already spread around. Someone out there had heard of Maven’s snooping, and knew what he wanted.

  Dionis’ eyes swept over the room until they met the only pair that was staring back at her. She beckoned the stripper with a gesture so subtle that it was imperceptible to humans, but still effective. The dancer approached using her well-honed walk, designed to turn the simple act of moving across a room into a boner-inducing parade.

  “Name?” Dionis asked with a grin.

  Don’t look too eager. Don’t say too much.

  “Cherry Bombs.”

  “Cute. You know mine?”

  The dancer nodded, moving her hands along her hips and rubbing her fish-netted thighs together.

  “Good. You know who Maven is?”

  Another sultry nod.

  “Nice work. Now here comes the big one.” Dionis leaned forward, it was her turn to do a little seducing. “You know anything that he and I don’t?”

  “I might. But I talk better when I’m dancing.”

  “What a convenient condition for you.” Dionis grinned. “I’ll bet the dance isn’t free either, is it?”

  Cherry Bombs shook her head. Dionis pushed away from the bar and extended a hand, indicating the private rooms.

  “Lead the way.”

  Cherry Bombs took the outstretched hand and pulled Dionis toward their inevitable encounter. As they walked, Dionis felt that special kind of warmth that she reserved only for girls. Sometimes, she got so caught up in her work with men, priests specifically, that she forgot to enjoy the finer things in life. Shaved legs, firm tits, and wet panties, to name a few.

  Once they found their private room, the natural blend of arousing and sensual motion commenced without words. Dionis took her seat, gazing up at the swaying dancer with eyes that said, “closer.” If Dionis wanted the right information, and all of it, she would have to make the dancer loose in her lips, which could usually be accomplished by making her wet somewhere else.

  The little succubus had to be careful with her seductive powers. Taking a subject (or more accurately, victim,) from zero to horny too fast could be unsettling and raise suspicion. No, turning someone on in just the right way took finesse. That went double for women. As fun as it sounded, Dionis needed Cherry Bombs to talk, not turn into a lustful fuck machine. Maybe that would come later. Dionis put it on her mental “to do” list.

  As Cherry straddled Dionis, getting closer and rubbing thigh against thigh, she leaned in, silently begging for Dionis to get lost in her cleavage. Closer still, and now she was inviting Dionis to whisper in her ear. The succubus took the opportunity.

  “Double D. You know where she is?” The only response Dionis noticed was Cherry’s hand against pressing against her ribs, just below her breasts. The dancer made a “come here” gesture with two fingers. The beckoning wasn’t for Dionis, though.

  Money. Payment.

  Dionis had completely forgotten that nothing at Charlie’s Blue Bawlers was free. She forked over some cash, chiding herself for not making the dancer wet sooner. That would have lowered the price, put the goods on sale. The dancer’s hand was still extended.

  More? Dionis groaned. Inflation is destroying the economy.

  Now, before things could get any colder, Dionis put the heat on, piercing into the Cherry’s soul, giving her a warmth the likes of which she had likely never felt before. That did the trick. Cherry leaned in, trying to keep from moaning, trying to appear as though she was still in control, and said, “She’s been missing.”

  “How long?”

  Cherry inhaled sharply, moving in and quickly increasing the amount of skin on skin contact they were having. Dionis started to wonder if maybe she had overheated the girl.

  “Days,” Cherry said. The tremble in her whisper told the whole story. Definitely overheated.

  …woops.

  “It’s weird for the new girls to skip their days,” Cherry’s trembling had spread from her voice to her body. “Something’s up.”

  Something was up. Libido, temperature, all of it. Dionis felt Cherry’s hand press into her ribs again, but this time it wasn’t an invoice. Cherry’s fingertips drifted down, and down, then under Dionis’ tight skirt. Maybe this was going to be more for fun and less for information.

  The seducer would not be seduced, though. Dionis started to press for more information on the missing dancer, but was interrupted when Cherry pressed a finger against her lips. The other hand reached around and slipped something—a note—into Dionis’ panties.

  Cherry’s eyes explained it.

  Not out loud. I just gave you what you need.

  Dionis grinned. She was impressed that the dancer pushed through the pleasure and managed to do something so covert. Cherry was definitely a professional.

  Dionis wasn’t one to say, “Let’s do this,” but she thought it. What little holding back she had managed made what followed that much better. Cherry pressed her hand all the way beneath Dionis’ skirt, and Dionis mirrored motion. They rubbed each other, sweating beneath the room’s red light, making hushed gasps. Hands ran through hair. Hips rolled. Dionis was pleased with her subject. Females were so much warmer, wetter, more inviting. They had so much more to offer than the standard male machinery.

  Speak of the devil…

  A male dance room attendant, seemingly summoned by the moans, glanced in the room and made the mistake of catching Dionis’ eyes. The succubus had a knack for reaching into minds and throwing switches, but when she was hot and bothered, her powers seemed to know no bounds.

  Rather than using her telepathy to send the guy away, Dionis effortlessly convinced him to stay.

  Time for you to do your own dirty jerk, guy.

  The man dropped his pants to th
e floor, belt jangling, right on command. He was hard in seconds. Cherry barely seemed to notice the action at the door, barely cared, thanks to Dionis’ attentiveness. The dancer was red in the face, her hair mussed. Dionis picked up the pace of the rhythm that was driving her fingers. There was something so satisfying about making a stripper cum, such a feeling of power.

  Once that power came, Cherry completely lost control and let out a moan that she had been holding back for years. The very sound of Cherry’s voice was so arousing that Dionis briefly questioned if the dancer was faking it and maybe had a background in porn, but no, that wasn’t the case. Cherry had just been taken to a whole new level.

  That whole new level, as it turned out, garnered the attention of Charlie, and Dionis heard the dwarf’s voice thunder across the dance floor at the male attendant. It was tough to tell exactly what obscenities were being hurled, but “pervert” was definitely one of them. As the poor guy’s trance broke and he stumbled back, struggling to pull his pants up, Dionis wondered if he would still have a job in the morning. She made a mental note to vouch for the guy; the whole thing was really out of his hands.

  Then again, every last bit of it had been in his right hand.

  Chapter 6

  “The details are fine, D, but they’re not really what I’m after.” Maven couldn’t get over the fact that every time he sent Dionis for a favor, the girl would come back with a long story about a sexual exploit. He didn’t blame her for indulging, but he didn’t always have time to hear about every tremble, drop of sweat, and wide-eyed orgasm. “Can we focus on the case, please?”

  “Wait, I’m almost done.” She wasn’t, really, and proceeded to bring to life her entire encounter with the stripper and the private room attendant. The girl was really wound up today, or was that every day?

  It was an early morning, so Maven’s tattoo shop was fairly empty. Who was he kidding? The place was just as dead at noon and night. He enjoyed the craft, but at this point it was merely serving as an office for his investigation agency, which in turn was serving as a front for his nightly conquests of the finer sex.

  Facades on facades.

  Demons, Ink was located conveniently close to Trinity Church, founded in 1697. Announcing its presence with pride, the entire front of the store was covered with demon faces and bizarre pictures. Even the front door, though it looked strictly decorative, was the actual open mouth of a sharp tooth demon.

  “…and once I left, guess what I found in my panties,” Dionis said, giving an open mouth smile that said, you’re gonna love this.

  Maven didn’t have the energy to guess. “What did you find?”

  Dionis held up a tiny note. It was folded so tightly over itself that when she threw it, it sailed through the air and landed perfectly in Maven’s lap. He opened it, turned it right-side up, and read it’s contents out loud.

  “Nicky Smiles? Isn’t he that—”

  “That’s the one. From the Castellano family.”

  “I was going to say the obnoxious, pain-in-the-ass, up and coming drug pusher.” Maven caught himself before stepping into a trap, and pointed an accusing finger at Dionis. “Don’t make a joke about ‘up and coming.’”

  “I wasn’t going to.” She shrugged like she was clueless and innocent. “You know where he got the name, right? ‘He makes the ladies smile,’ or so he says. Here comes the shocker. He likes dancers! Charlie’s dancers.”

  “You’re right, that is a shocker. Good work, D. Guess I’ll have to pay him a visit tonight. Wanna come with me?”

  “Always,” Dionis said, lifting her tight skirt to show off what’s underneath, barely concealed by a pink-laced thong. “On your desk? Against the wall?” She let her fingers glide down to that warm haven that had baited so many. Maven was impressed with how blatant the nymph’s approach had been this time around. Instead of going wide-eyed, he kept it cool.

  “That’s not what I meant. It’s a bit early for me anyway. I’m not much of an ‘early riser,’ if you know what I mean.” He confidently looked her up and down one more time, not shying away. “You’re looking great, though. Maybe you should go and see your priest friend. Get some enlightenment.”

  Dionis let her skirt back down, squinted quizzically at Maven and said, “party pooper.”

  Once D left him in peace, Maven rubbed his face with his hands, pulled out his phone, and prepared for what he was sure would be unpleasant business. Before he could start the call, The Outfield's Since You've Been Gone began to play, as if on cue. Maven shook his head. "Fucking store's possessed.” Musing a little longer over the not-so coincidental timing, he added, “Good song, though."

  "Hello, this is Ashley."

  "Sorry to call you so early," Maven said. “But I’ve uncovered some unfortunate news in the investigation.” He always found that forcing official language past his animalistic desires made things better, somehow. “I wanted to let you know that Stanley was found murdered in his hotel room, Ashley. I'm very sorry."

  Maven waited. There was an uncomfortable silence that seemed to last a decade. Crying worked its way across the call, but it didn't seem altogether heartfelt. The tears were as brief as they were shallow, and Ashley recovered with surprising speed. Maven expected a flood of questions from her, but received none. She wasn’t even curious about her husband’s fate.

  "I'll spare you the details for now," Maven said, trying to normalize the lack of response.

  "Thank you, Mister Drake. I want to stare that person in the eye and tell him that he took away the love of my life."

  Maven's bullshit meter was going off the charts. Whatever Ashley wanted, it wasn’t that.

  "Yes, Ashley. I'll remain on the case and do my best to find Stanley's killer. I'll call you when I find out more. In the meantime, you can make arrangements for Stanley. His body is at Mercy Hospital on 26th. They've agreed to keep things...private."

  "Yes, yes, of course," Ashley responded. "And I hope to see you soon."

  Maven hung up, sensing Ashley's underlying excitement. "Fucking hell," He said, but not about Ashley’s mysterious behavior. Dire Straits’ Money for Nothing had begun to play.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Meanwhile, beyond the boundaries of the world, through clouds of black, and over rivers of fire and blood, Gazrog sat in his high, black, stone castle. He and a staggering six hundred and sixty-five other arch-demons sat in what looked like a stadium sized “board room of the damned.” The enormous table that joined the hall was composed of bones and skulls, which formerly belonged to the aforementioned “damned.”

  The power granted by those damned, the black castle, and the ring of hell on which it sat, allowed the gruesome table to display Maven’s comings and goings, as he lived out his sentence on Earth. It was like a night at the movies, only the night was eternal, the movie was centered around suffering, and the audience was entirely demonic.

  An array of jeers and grumbles permeated the darkness of the hall, as demons of various power watched Maven’s predicament unfold. Gazrog himself, though, remained silent. Maven’s little exploits in his personal purgatory hadn’t been entirely disappointing. He was a demon, after all. But still, there was still the lingering possibility of an issue.

  Maven’s blood was a horrible mix, tainted by his angelic mother. It was that internal conflict that made Maven so fun to watch, but it remained to be seen which side of himself he would ultimately embrace. Supposedly, he was serving out his sentence on Earth in order to regain his place at Gazrog’s side. The question was, though, did Maven actually want to leave Earth and return to Hell? Gazrog had bet “yes” against an arch-angel, and he didn’t like to lose.

  Perhaps it was time to throw a curveball Maven’s way, a test. How hard was Maven really willing to work to regain a seat at the table of the damned?

  “We’ll send down the attorney!” Gazrog’s sudden outburst made it seem as though the issue had been a topic of debate all along. The demons immediately next to him quit thei
r yammering and turned to him. Soon this focus of attention spread through the great hall like a wave. Gazrog repeated himself, louder, and then added, “What is a life… devoid of STRIFE?”

  The hall seemed to like that. Strife was exactly what the entertainment had been missing. Now, though, things were about to get interesting. All of the demons went into an uproar at the impending excitement, and random jeers broke out.

  “Send the attorney!” One shouted, reaffirming the decree.

  “Make him work for it!” Yelled the other.

  Gazrog sat back, confident that he had made the right choice. His reverie was broken when his pitiful demon servant approached.

  “Gazrog, sir—was that—sorry, did you mean… you want to send Aubrey, right?”

  Gazrog slowly turned and peered deeply and sternly into his assistant, a look that usually preceded the harshest of punishments. The assistant backed off.

  “Yes, of course, sir. Stupid me. Who else? An attorney. Of course its Aubrey.”

  Suddenly hopeful that punishment would not be coming on this day, the assistant rushed out of the hall with great purpose, narrowly escaping a wrath of pain.

  Chapter 7

  “What the fook are you doin in my place again?” The Pour Man shouted from his end of the bar. “Take your stench elsewhere, ya little Italian fook bastard!” After this final expletive, the devil laughed himself into a raspy cough

  Nicky Smiles, the aforementioned Italian fook bastard, sidled up to the other end of the bar with his handsome, young face and a few hired cronies to backup his ego.

  “Just here to dance, old man, maybe a little business,” Nicky said. He had a presumptuous way of speaking, like he and the Pour Man were old pals. This was far from the case. “Don’t you ever leave this place?”

  The Pour Man simply stared at the kid, bags under his bloodshot eyes, then turned that same sickening gaze to Charlie. “Your fookin’ bouncers need better training. They let a rat in.”