"Bucket of tentacles."

“What,” says Janet sourly, “is that?”

It’s been a relaxed week, hanging out in Hell, shooting the breeze with your secretaries and checking in to see how the demonic legions are doing. During the day you poke your head in on Meg to confirm that, yes, Hell Week is just as humiliating as Tiffany promised. During the evenings you study with Florence, planning your **** on some of the most powerful goddesses in creation. The rest of the time, you’re free to pursue some of your hobbies.

“That’s a bucket of tentacles, Janet.”

“Boss?”

“Yes, Janet?”

“What exactly do you expect me to do with that bucket of tentacles?”

“I’m so glad you asked, Janet! I want you to sit on it.”

Janet, your buxom redhead office manager, scowls and crosses her arms under her gigantic breasts. The plastic bucket full of squirming, writhing, slimy purple tentacles rests on a milk crate behind her desk, where her chair’s supposed to be. “That’s disgusting,” she says, primly.

“Janet, you’re not disobeying a direct order, are you?”

“...no, boss.”

“You know what happens to naughty office managers who disobey direct orders, don’t you, Janet?”

“...yes, boss.”

“And it’s much, much worse than having to sit on a bucket of tentacles, isn’t it, Janet?”

“...yes, boss.”

“So what are you going to do, Janet?”

“I’m going to sit on the bucket of tentacles, boss.”

“Good girl, Janet.”

Janet grits her teeth. Determinedly, ignoring your leer and the impolite comments of the besuited incubi who’ve dropped by to watch, she hoists up her floral dress, wiggles her panties down around her thighs, and lowers her bare bottom onto the bucket of tentacles. It’s a perfect fit.

Her eyes shoot wide open.

“Boss!”

“Yes, Janet?”

“May I get off the bucket of tentacles, please, boss?”

“That’s an interesting question, Janet. Submit it in writing and I’ll get back to you in three to ten business days.”

“Boss!”

“Yes, Janet?”

“I’d like an answer much quicker than that, please!”

“Well, Janet, it’s a breach of protocol, but since I like you so much I’ll make an exception. No, Janet, you may not get off the bucket of tentacles.”

“But, boss, they’re…”

“Yes, Janet?”

“Never mind,” mutters Janet, eyes screwed up tight, face a deep red as she squirms in place. The cold slimy tentacles have, of course, shot right up her ass and pussy and are now leisurely pumping away. “Will… will that be all, boss?”

“I think so, yes, Janet. For now. Have that report typed up and on my desk by close of business, will you? Now, ladies, I believe you have a question.”

The secretaries glance at each other nervously, huddled before you. Behind them is a vast open-plan office, big enough to hold hundreds of people. Before every typewriter, under every desk, is a bucket and a milk crate. “Um… no, boss.”

“Really? Are you sure? It sounded like it was important.”

“No, boss. I… I think we understand now.”

“Very good, ladies. Now get to work.”