"You don't know the half of it," he told her. And waited. The cigar would ordinarily have taken much longer to burn, but its deep placement brought the lighted end much closer to the nether lips that held it.

"Aren't you going to squeeze me a little?" she asked. "Not that I care, as long as your meat is fired up like this, but it is an odd technique."

Prior mumbled something reassuring, his eye on the advancing glow. He began to experience apprehension. How did demons react to hotfoots in their cracks? By and by she hit the ceiling, almost literally. "Hot box," Prior remarked as she bounced down. Was that a set of footprints in the plaster up there?

The cigar shot out of her cleft and threw sparks against the rug as it bounced and rolled. The succubus took a moment to assess what had happened, rubbing her crotch vigorously. "You shithead pekkernosed pimpsucker," she said. Then she worked up to some ugly language.

By the time she got her first impressions out of her demonic spleen, she had converted to the male form. The incubus advanced on Prior, his monstrous penis projecting like a cannon. "I'm going to fuck your asshole right into your gizzard!"

"You can't," Prior said, backing away nervously. She was certainly overreacting, but the threat put an unholy fear into him. She? He. It was overreacting. "I'm not asleep, so your supervisor would object."

"It's supe's night off. He's fucking herself blind on sperm whale oil, so I can do what I want."

So an incubus/succubus could fuck himself! That would have been intriguing to contemplate, at another time. "Well, you don't have a load on yet."

"There's some stale stuff left over from last night. What did you think you were doing, ramming a lighted weed up my cunt?"

Prior eyed the menacing phallus with increasing apprehension. He had hoped she would go away mad. She was mad, but not going away. He had miscalculated.

"It's an invention. A—" Here he had a flash of sheer genius. "A tampon machine!"

"You shrimpcocked idiot! I'm a demon! A supernatural creature. I don't have periods. I never have the rag on." But the incubus paused. "What was it doing with a cigar?"

"I ran out of tampons."

The incubus pondered. His ferocious erection drooped slightly. "Oh, all right. We'll call it a nicotine dildo with a live fuse and forget it. Just don't do it again. Now let's finish our business."

Prior watched as the massive member shrank into itself and the flat male breasts swelled. It was a though the substance was being siphoned from the lower torso to the upper. Finally the penis was a mere button, no larger than a clitoris. In fact, it was the clitoris. Meanwhile the scrotum sucked up and became an empty sac, a flap, a wrinkle of skin, and finally a concavity. Prior was now looking at the lips of the vagina, and knew that the deep aperture was forming between them.

How convenient! The succubus received the semen in her inverted scrotum. When she changed into the incubus, it was right there. Probably her ovaries became his testicles—if the demon had need of either.

Somehow Prior's own genital remained quiescent. He had no slightest urge to entrust his precious penis to that demonic grinder again, or to let this spook retail his ejaculate. Not even to the polka-dot girl, who was a fetching number.

"Come on, come on!" the succubus said impatiently. "And I do mean 'come.' You aren't the only cock of the morn."

"I'm rather busy with my tamponer," he said. "Research and development, you know." Would the Hygiene Clinic be interested enough to bestow a grant?

"Well, I'm busy with my researches too," she countered. "I want to know whether your jism cures VD or not." She backed against the bed and sat down.

On the now-upright machine.

Water squirted as the after-smoke rinse started. "Mouthwash!" she screamed indignantly. "It fucked me with mouthwash!"

Prior grabbed her in time to prevent her from smashing the tamponer. She immediately exerted her sex-appeal on him, trying for a sneak collection, while he tried to escape.

In this moment of crisis he suffered his second consecutive flash of genius. "We can test them both out—box and juice—on the slots!"

She considered. "Very well. For now. The night is yet young."

She dressed, her dress magically flowing to her and enfolding her. He changed, and they both adjourned to a drugstore for a box of tampons and thence to the corner coin bordello. Here there were half-stalls in a row, each with its fleshy display and listed price. The most elegant cost six tokens; the cheapest was one token.

Prior brought out his credit voucher and bought a dozen tokens. This set him back, at present exchange rates, about sixty dollars. Not a major expense, but not chickenfeed either, for one experimental session.

"That won't go far," the succubus remarked.

"Far enough on the one-per slots," he pointed out. "Those are the VD slurps, after all. From two-tokens up they're inspected, and the fives and sixes are guaranteed germfree."

"That so? I never patronized a coinery before. Not in my line."

"You might consider it. Those are real whores in the booths, you know, mostly. Apart from the animals and machines, I mean. Figure it out. In the first place, it's completely anonymous; nothing but the business end ever shows. In the second place, it's concentrated action. A girl can get serviced maybe ten times an hour with normal traffic, ten hours a day. Even an average three-take ass can make three or four hundred dollars a shift. That's not bad pay at all."

"What use have I for money?" she asked disdainfully.

"But she gets a load each time, too. You could store up a week's worth, just like that."

"No go. I have to pass it along as I get it, or it loses its potency. One shot at a time."

"Maybe you could have two booths. Then when you get one load, you shift to a male-booth and dole it out at another couple tokens per squirt. You could go through your whole evening's business in less than an hour. If you don't want the money, give it to me. I'm natural, not supernatural; I have to eat to live."

"I'll think about it," she said, intrigued. They walked by the higher-priced models of the female section. Each booth contained a pair of buttocks projecting from the wall, the distaff genitalia plainly visible. About half were occupied: men stood against them, flies open, organs pumping. The more expensive stands had arm-holes, so that the customer could reach through and fondle or abuse the breasts and torso while thrusting, and the six-toke booths were partially transparent when activated so that the prosperous client could even see what he was doing.

Prior stopped by the first of the cheapies. The buttocks were plump—grossly so. The cleft was hardly visible, being buried beneath overlapping avoirdupois even in this flexed position. There were pimples, and the crevice was creasy. Perhaps it was only sweat—but there was a good chance that it was the flow from venereal sores.

Prior reached out gingerly and tried to spread the fleshy masses to verify this. They resisted. They were surprisingly hard, as though glazed. A sign lit, above: ONE TOKEN.

He drew out a token and pressed it edgewise between those mounds. There was a click as it entered the slot set in the anus; the disk vanished, something gulped, and the buttocks relaxed. Another sign came on. YOU HAVE THREE MINUTES.

"Well, shove it in!" the succubus said. "A four minute fuck is too long; you see the sign."

Prior did not want to admit that he still had no erection, and was unlikely to get one at this stop. This fat ass was repulsive. "But I'm not sure it's infected! If I shoot my wad and there's no VD to begin with—"

"I'll check it for you," she said impatiently. She poked a finger into the cleavage and slid it along the blubbery labia until it entered the sunken hole.