"Morning, Janet!"

“Eeeiiaahh!”

When the grey mist clears, Meg is dragging her own, much heavier Rock of Shame across a devilish version of the Upknott campus. She wears nothing but really small satin panties, which give her a super-intense permanent wedgie and have been filled by you with tickle-prickle powder. As usual, all the demons are laughing at her.

You briefly check in on Professor Susan Smart, who’s sound asleep in her comfortable feather bed. You sneak into her **** mind, and sculpt for her a nightmare about showing up to give an important lecture in nothing but really small satin panties. You leave her to it, and zoom down to your office in Pandemonium to see how business is going.

Amy, the librarian demon, is strapped down to an infernal sybian in the lobby of your office building, in full view of all the people coming and going. The bit gag in her mouth is chained to her nipple clamps so it pinches her whenever she turns her head. You ruffle her hair and give her a kiss as you stroll past, enjoying her outraged glare and her drooling desperation as she struggles to cum. Looks like the lemures in front of her **** are going easy on her today.

You hop in the elevator.

Your business headquarters take up three hundred floors of the enormous Beelzebub Tower in downtown Pandemonium, with magnificent views of the Styx and the ever-shifting cityscape far below. It’s a huge complex of bustling offices, staffed by minor demons and thousands of trim little secretaries, recruited from among the ranks of the fallen female souls who it’s your sacred duty to punish. The demons all love their jobs. The secretaries, not so much.

You stop by Registration to check out this month’s intake of lost souls. Mountains of paper lie on every desk. Harried young ladies in 1960s dresses and hairstyles tap away at typewriters, answer phones, make coffee, struggle to use clunky photocopy machines. Incubi in business suits wander around with their hands in their pockets, chatting to each other, supervising the girls, making sure they know everything they’re getting wrong.

Your office manager, Janet, stands before a crowd of swarthy lemure workmen in overalls, patiently trying to get them to understand where she wants the new watercooler installed. They seem not to understand her at all. It’s very frustrating. In life she was the tyrannical queen of a small Anglo-Saxon kingdom, famous for the cruel torments she inflicted on those brave warriors who defied her rule. By an odd coincidence, she happens to look exactly like Christina Hendricks does in Mad Men.

She hasn’t spotted you yet. Her loss.

You sneak up invisibly behind her as she lectures the lemures on proper workplace etiquette. You grab the hem of her floral dress and take her by surprise by yanking it up around her hips, exposing her lacy white panties and her stocking tops to the lemures, who whistle in appreciation. Janet shrieks and hastily shoves the skirt back down over her legs as you the grubby little demons in loud laughter at her expense.

“Morning, Janet!”

“I… you…” Janet, pink-cheeked, takes a moment to get her emotions under control before turning to face you. “Good morning, boss. I didn’t see you come in.”

“Oh, I know. And how are we doing today?”

“Almost on schedule, boss.”

“Almost?”

“Well, there’s a bit of a delay getting the paperwork for the new nightmares over from R&D, but I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t… eeek!” Janet’s skirt has flown up again, this time as if blown by an invisible breeze. When she forces it down in front, it flies up in back. When she forces it down in the back, it flies up in front. No matter what she does, she can’t stop her white panties from flickering into view. The lemures all snicker. “I mean, I’m very, very sorry, boss! I failed at my job! It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” you say, as the skirt of every girl in the office flies up around her waist. Much squealing ensues. The coffee-drinking incubi supervisors smirk and make insulting comments as the pretty secretaries yelp and struggle to pin down the flying fabric. Some are caught holding stacks of paper, leaving them without a free hand to hide their pink underwear from the inquisitive men. “You’ll all remain like this for the rest of the day, I think.”

“But, boss…”

“Are you questioning me, Janet?”

“No, boss.”

“Let’s make sure of that,” you say, as Janet’s white panties shuffle down her peachy thighs to land around her ankles. A blast of mysterious wind sends her skirt sailing up to cover her face, exposing her ginger bush to the gawking lemures for a few short seconds before she manages to shove it back down. Her hands in front, her face red, she’s given only the shortest reprieve before her dress flies up again in back, baring her naked ass framed by her stockings and white garter belt to the whole room. “Now, why don’t you give these handsome gentlemen a tour?”