The Incubus Curse

"I imagine ya have."

You nod. "Yeah... They're male ssssex d-d-d-demons. I think they c-c-came from myths in the m-m-middle ages and were-"

"Oh, they're real," Mable interrupts after taking a bite of a Dorito. "They're just stealthy about it. Incubi like to sneak into open windows and fuck the sleepin' to feed. But they're real arrogant and big-time control freaks. If the person they're feedin' from ends up flippin' 'em over and toppin' 'em, then ridin' 'em so hard they overfeed, they get pissed. It's like woundin' their very pride and losin' their dignity. On the way out, bloated and humiliated, they put a curse on their victim just to be a sore loser."

You can't help cocking a blonde eyebrow. "Sssseriously?"

Mable swallows her mouthful of Doritos. "Seriously. Now, what this curse is is entirely decided by the Incubus, but they usually base it around whatever impression they got of their victim's personality and their own personal sense of irony. As you can imagine, it's pretty fuckin' hit-or-miss as a result. Some victims find it pretty benign, others actually end up fuckin' lovin' it, others suffer their whole lives. Doesn't help that, if acquired young enough, Incubus Curses can even cause unusual hair and eye colors in humans."

She lets that sink in, just so you can put two and two together about her golden eyes and green-tinted hair. She grabs the undersides of her breasts and lifts them up, leaning back so she can drink from her bottle of Mountain Dew without having to take it out of her cleavage.