"In you go."

“In you go,” you say, popping Astarte into the bottle.

She squeals and kicks at the sides, grabbing for the rim, using all her strength to try to avoid being pushed in. She’s now only one inch tall, though, and completely stripped of all her immense demonic powers, so it’s not very hard for you to **** her. She slides down the sides, which are slick with oily residue, and curls up at the bottom. You can see her adorable little scowling face peering out at you.

“Good girl. Now, in you go, Sitri 2.”

“Yes, boss,” squeals the imp, who looks like a one-inch-high version of yourself. He’s the lowest, weakest, most pathetic demon in your entire army, which makes him perfect for the job. He darts inside the bottle with a giddy squeal and a puff of brimstone.

You put the cork in, permanently sealing the bottle off from the outside world. Now only you, Lucifer, God or a secret fourth thing you don’t know about could possibly open it. You hold it up to the light. For a moment, the inside is full of darkness.

Then, the mist clears. You’re looking at a teeny-tiny classroom. Astarte is in a schoolgirl uniform, bent over a desk, her panties down, being spanked with a ruler by Sitri 2, kicking her heels up and shrieking as he gloats over her misery. He has complete control over every aspect of her experience, and is motivated only by sadism, perversion and a desire to utterly and totally humiliate her. You can’t think of a better way for her to spend the next hundred thousand years or so.

You put the bottle up on the shelf of your downtown office, next to several thousand other bottles exactly like it, and look out the window.

Yep, the parade is still going on. Ten thousand red-faced naked witches marching in formation through the streets of Pandemonium. You liked it so much you decided to make it a permanent feature of the city. The looks on their little faces when you told them the embarrassment was, quite literally, never going to end! The laughter of the crowd is clearly audible, even from four thousand stories up.

All in all, another good day in Hell.

You kick back at your desk, putting your feet up. Was there something else? Oh, yes.

You snap your fingers. The door to your office opens. In crawls a blonde Valkyrie in pigtails, once the terror of the Baltic, now in Hell learning the hard way that God doesn’t actually like it when you kidnap wenches and **** nuns. She wears a sort of bikini of thorn briars that tightly squeezes her gigantic breasts and strong thighs, not drawing blood but certainly giving her a lot to think about. You snap your fingers again, and she obediently scuttles under your desk.

She unzips your trousers and takes your cock in her mouth.

Ah, yes. That’s much better. But was there one more thing you were supposed to do?