Clean

Jordyn sat cross-legged on the glossy wooden floor, back against a tall metal cylinder, a red rubber hose cascading over her shoulder to lay dormant in her lap. She busied herself tying off a brightly-colored balloon, fingers tripping over each other in an effort to resolve the tangle of ribbon and latex. Finally, with some difficulty, she knotted it and moored it to a rack of folding chairs wheeled out into the center of the gymnasium, where it bobbed up to join a depressingly small multi-colored bundle. She leaned back and sighed loudly.

"Twenty down, two hundred billion to go."

To say that Carmen was built like a brick shithouse would be great praise to brick shithouses, or a great insult to Carmen.  Her height and musculature outstripped every man she met, with a sculpted, powerfully built figure.  At the same time there was no small degree of femininity to her, with thick thighs, firm breasts larger than her head - let alone anyone else's - and an enormous mane of flowing auburn hair held up in a high ponytail.  She attracted attention in the open-air gym, especially in a form-fitting sports top and shorts, though doing curls with barbells bearing

“You said you had a bird problem!” Mavis fumed in front of the sandwich shop owner at the counter.

The man was middle-aged, portly with tannish skin, beady eyes and a bushy top lip. He winced, and nodded in acknowledgement at the pest doctor’s peeved glare.

"What do you want?"

The succubus hovered before her summoner inside a circle of shimmering air that rose up to the ceiling of the room. The chamber beyond wasn't the most ornate she'd been in by far, but it did speak to the material success that typically engendered such transgressive desires. A young professional's master bedroom, grand as its owners ambitions, yet strewn with keepsakes and tomes on case law and prosecutorial strategy that marked it as lived-in luxury not yet progressed into calcified opulence.