Demons.
They were definitely demons.
They were demons, my mind was muddled, and I felt that maybe I was in Hell. Thoughts came to me disjointed and without logic or context. For some reason, that didn't seem to be important at all. Appropriately, I was horny as hell.
I had been here for eternity, if not longer, and I'd seen enough of them slavering about to know that they were demons. My aroused, addled brain may have been depleted of logic and intellect, but my sarcastic side seemed to be fully stocked and noted the irony of wandering aimlessly for eternity and only coming up with "demon." They lumbered about, as demons do, lurching from side to side with their bodies expanding and contracting to some unheard but unholy rhythm.
I tried not to stare, definitely attempting to refrain from laughing, but the constant shambling and bloating, coupled with their oozing faces, was just too comical for me to not burst out with mirth. If you think people can give looks that kill, wait until you have a melting-faced demon staring daggers at you. Their faces melted and dripped like some waxwork under heat lamps. That might sound terrifying, but I had been here forever; it was actually kind of entertaining. Aside from the demons cavorting about, I was also having a difficult time walking, what with the floor rocking and heaving at random every time I tried to take a step. At least I wasn't alone in that. The demons seemed to be having a difficult go of it as well.
Some of them stared at me; some of them screeched out some unintelligible gibberish, and some called me by name, Gail. Even though the hazy fog enshrouded my mind, I knew that my name was Gail. They avoided me, looking at me more with curiosity than anything else. Perhaps I was a demon, too.
The thought hit me that perhaps these cavernous corridors I randomly stumbled through were Hell, and I was some sort of demon. I wondered if Hell had mirrors, so I could test that theory. I could take a look at myself and discern pretty quickly if I were a demon. If I pulsed bigger and smaller, had a melting face and black eyes, and cackled like a demon, then, I was probably a demon. Not a vanity mirror, wardrobe, compact, or even a reflective puddle in sight for me to test my hypothesis.
Maybe Hell has some "no vanity mirrors" policy or something. I couldn't guess why. Perhaps they were worried that they might get broken and the poor, hapless, mirror-vandalizing denizens of the abyss would get seven years of bad luck. Maybe they thought the broken glass could be used to commit suicide or some other demonic form of hara-kiri. That would be one hell of a hellish mess of red tape! A demon in Hell commits suicide, which I heard was a sin, and then has to spend eternity in Hell, but is already in Hades. What would one do? Not having mirrors would be an easy way to cut down on that sort of paperwork.
Without a looking glass handy, I did the next best thing my slovenly brain could conjure. I raised my calloused hands to my face, trying to determine if it was melting. My blurry gaze was immediately drawn to a rough and jagged scar on my forearm, looking very much like some large beast had ripped out a big chunk of my flesh ages ago. That scar seemed important, but I couldn't remember why. A part of me knew there was something very important, very personal, about that scar, but my tripping, disjointed mind didn't assign any grave importance due to my amnesiac mental state.
A thousand thoughts and ideas thundered through my head at once, and I was unable to grasp and hold any one of them. All I knew was that I appeared to be in Hell and had been for at least an eternity, perhaps I was a demon, and I was on some very important quest. I wondered why I felt the need to orgasm. If this was Hell, shouldn't pleasure be forbidden?
I pressed my fingers to my face and did, indeed, feel a warm fluid on my cheeks. It didn't have the texture I assumed the melting flesh on the other demons' faces would feel like. Maybe I was a blood-oozing demon or something. I looked at my fingertips and noted that it was not blood; the liquid was clear. I tasted the wetness and it was salty. I was crying! That settles it then, I am not a demon. Demons don't cry.
Well, at least I finally got one mystery out of the way. I am not a demon, just a horny woman in the underworld. Of course, that made me wonder why I was wandering the endless halls of Hell without any clue of where the Hell—pardon the pun—I was going or what in the Hell I was doing. I pondered my tears while I checked the steamy wetness between my thighs. Something had obviously upset me to the point of tears. I couldn't recall what that was.
My mind cleared for the briefest moment, and I had a mental glimpse of another eternity, one before this. My feeble psyche latched onto it with all the force it could muster in its handicapped condition, and I vaguely remembered parents and a spoiled sister and some tragic loss. I couldn't place exactly what that was, and it didn't seem important, but I was certain that was why I had been crying. Did I kill them in some tragic accident and that is why I'm in Hell?
I knew that wasn't right, but I also sensed that they had died tragically, and I was unable to prevent the horror. I became aware that I was idly scratching at my scar. The thought occurred to me that my loss, the eternity before, and my scar were somehow related; I couldn't fathom why, and I couldn't muster a reason to be concerned about it.
I had more immediate concerns. In that eternity, I knew that I was Gail. I knew that I was in Hell, surrounded by demons. I also knew that I was on a very important quest. There was something I wanted and needed more than anyone has ever needed anything before. It felt as if the fate of the world relied upon me to complete my quest. Through the fog of my scrambled mind, I had the profound thought that I was a knight on a quest for....what was it that I wanted so badly? A drink!
Yes, I remembered. I am Gail Knight; no, that wasn't quite right, but close, somehow, and I was on a quest to quench my mighty thirst. I’d left my chambers to get a drink and had somehow become helplessly lost in the corridors of Purgatory. The oddity of that didn't strike me; in my altered mental state, it seemed to be quite logical and natural.
I did mention that my mind was cloudy.
Turning a random corner, I nearly toppled a brightly-clad, melting-faced demon. I caught him by his collar just before he tumbled onto the lurching floor. "Sorry, chap," I said as I righted him/ it. "I'm Gail Knight," I said, introducing myself to the black-eyed monster. “and I need your cock.”
Its cock seemed to be of adequate size, outlined in those baggy, color-splashed, demonic pants. In my lusty need, I dropped to my knees, clawing at the fly of the devil’s pants, and fished out that reddish, veined cock. My mouth closed over the bulbous head, and I grabbed the denizen of darkness’ tail, pulling his shaft as deep into my mouth as I could. My horny passion boiled inside my core, hotter than the fires of Hell around me, and my fingers sought my clit, thrumming it hard and fast. I stayed at it, cumming twice before the fiend’s hot spunk filled my mouth, dripping down my chin.
"Cavalier, you tripper!" it bellowed out through its misshapen maw. It laughed at me as I stood there, suddenly dumbfounded, cum all over my face and tits. I wondered why I was nude; perhaps the uniform of eternal damnation is no clothing. That would most definitely cut down on Hell’s laundry bill.
Its words ripped through me and sent my mind into free fall. Knight was close, but Cavalier was it; the meaning behind that word overtook my emotions. The demon wearing the pastel suit, the one I'd just sucked off, was correct. I was not a knight, I was a Cavalier. The fog in my head cleared for a second, and I had the revelation that I was not truly a knight, not a Cavalier. That was my name! I felt a sense of elation as if I had just discovered the cure for world hunger as I said my name to myself: Gail Cavalier.
Another mystery had been solved. Now, why was I, Gail Cavalier, roaming the subterranean antechambers of the abyss? Why had I been here for all eternity? Most importantly, where could I find something to drink? It was true; people in Hell do want ice water. Turning random corners and navigating random stairs, I sought my destination as I pondered all of this. I knew that I had the rest of forever before me, so I'd figure it out in due time.
TIME!
My entire body suddenly felt sharp and crisp, as if the numbing shroud had been suddenly pulled away from my mind. Time was the answer! Was I doing time? That would explain my being in Hell. Except, I suddenly knew that I wasn't lost in Hell. I was somehow lost in time. That didn't make any sense unless time was some underground complex with demons roaming the halls. Regardless, I suddenly knew that I was somehow linked with time.
Whatever that link was, it was important; more important than me—maybe even more important than finding something to drink. As I turned yet another corner, I finally saw what I knew was my destination. Some several paces ahead, a bright, glowing, red sign that my eyes likened to a bloody, fanged mouth blinked slowly on and off, contrasting starkly with the very dim illumination of the underground corridor. Seeing that ancient-looking neon above the open doorway caused my body and mind to snap back into place. My mental stupor was ebbing away after what seemed like an eternity. My horniness didn’t abate with the mental fog.
The sign was not a giant pair of fangs immortalized in neon. It was merely an oval with the words "Doc's Holiday" glowing off and on. The "D" and the "y" were distended beneath the rest of the text. My hallucinating vision saw the general shape and created the illusion for me. Even the demons were no longer looking, well, demonic. They began to resemble humans once more, my friends and colleagues to be exact.
The layers of oozing and pulsating melting began to ebb away into the stuff of memories. I had been hallucinating, I knew. The sign was not a warning of some demon god's lair; it was the commissary. I was not some errant knight questing through hell for a tasty beverage; although I was parched. I was—am—Gail Cavalier, a Time Orphan with an insatiable sex drive, wandering through our subterranean compound, and I had been drugged...again. It wasn't the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last. It comes with the job.
My head still a bit groggy, but clearing quickly, I found my way over to the drink dispenser and chose a Blue Tonic for the stimulant effects. I grabbed myself a seaweed and turkey sandwich, with lots of algae spread for the extra protein, to help quell the churning of my stomach. That always seems to help the nausea that comes on the heels of taking the White Rabbits.
They had slipped me some White Rabbits; that was why my brain was muddled, and it felt like I had been entombed in hell forever. Our docs, the scientists that run the place, say that if one can handle the effects of the mind and time-warping hallucinogens, they are much more likely to be able to shoot through time with minimal psychological injury. I honestly think they slip us the pills because they're sadists.