The room was rectangular, featureless, and pastel. It had a bed, also uninteresting. On the bed, the man's eyes had just opened, but the lines and planes and colors were still wandering around bumping into each other in the haze. Gradually they connected, formed an image of the surroundings, and asked for an explanation.
Tom looked around and wondered where he was.
The room wasn't familiar to him. It wasn't even the blandness of a hotel room, where you had to check the telephone book to see which city was outside. It had no other furnishings, no doors, no windows, no apparent source for the even lighting. The bed had no blankets or pillows, just a soft surface. It seemed more of an idea of a bed than a real bed.
Tom tried to move, and found that he was bound. He felt soft bands that held him to the bed at hips, shoulders, ankles, and wrists. He could at least raise his head to find that he could not see the restraints that kept him immobile. He also found that he was entirely naked.
"Ah, you're awake Tom. That's good."
A woman wearing black hair down to her waist and nothing else walked into Tom's field of view. He twisted his neck around; there was no door there either. She came to stand beside his bed, incongruously holding a clipboard.
"Are you Stanley Thomas Wingert, generally known as Tom, born in 1962, lately of Seattle?"
"What do mean lately? I live there now."
"You used to live there. Now you're buried there."
"What? What kind of sick joke is this? Who are you, and where the hell are we?"
"Got it in one, Tom," she smiled sweetly.
"Got what? Oh . . . Now wait a minute! This has gone far enough! Did you drug me? Is this a ransom deal? Cut the bullshit and tell me what you want with me."
She consulted her clipboard. "If you are indeed Stanley Thomas Wingert . . ." she looked up for confirmation, and Tom nodded tightly. "You have just died of an aneurism, and will be spending the rest of eternity here with us."
"In Hell? For what reason?"
She looked at her clipboard one more time. "Infidelity." She tossed the clipboard over her shoulder where it disappeared.
Nice sleight of hand, thought Tom, definitely nothing up her sleeve. She was, in fact, gorgeous beyond dreams. She had dusky skin and dark almond eyes. Long hair the color of a moonless night cascaded over slender shoulders. Her breasts were perfectly full, just to the point of a slight sag and no more. Dark areoles were set high and just a bit wide. She followed his gaze down and raised her hands to gently heft them for his appreciation. "Do you like what you see?"
"Well, of course. But I'm confused. Isn't Hell supposed to be for punishment and torment?"
"We'll get to that soon enough," she purred. She climbed onto the bed next to him and leaned over his nude form. Involuntarily, his cock started to stiffen. She let her hair drift over him, swaying to let it brush him from head to toe. As he came to full erection, she made sure not to actually touch his cock, which strained for contact.
"Who are you? What are you doing?"
"I'm your personal demon. I was created to spend eternity with you, tending to you in my special way."
Tom gasped as she emphasized her point. "I thought demons had horns and tails and red skin."
She laughed, "How quaint! Do people still believe that? I could, of course. I can look like anything I want, but why would I? Don't you like this better?"
"Of course. You're very lovely."
"Do you like my tits?" She leaned over until they dangled inches from his face. He strained to touch them, but she kept them just out of reach. She moved her shoulders, making them jiggle invitingly.
She resumed brushing her hair down his body. His cock pointed achingly to the ceiling. "Touch me, please! That feels so good that I can't stand it!" he pleaded.
"That's the general idea," she leaned over close to his swollen member, inspecting it minutely. The head was turning purple from the unrelenting teasing. She blew softly on it, laughing at the gasp from him.
Tom had no idea how long her teasing went on. There was no way to measure time in the featureless room. There was no clock, no change of lighting. He did not get hungry, or thirsty, or need to pee. She kept him hard, varying her routine just enough to keep him on the edge of anticipation, convinced that at any second she would finally grasp his erection and give him relief. He thrust and bucked his hips as much as his restraint allowed. His back was arched, all the muscles of his arms and legs were rigid as he yearned for the climax that never came.
Eventually . . . finally . . . after a time. All these imply the passing of time, and time did not pass here. Nonetheless, at some point the demon paused and sat back, legs curled under her. She was still as composed and lovely as the moment she came in.
Tom sank quivering to the mattress, exhausted. "Ah! Why don't you just end it?" he wailed.
"I don't think you've grasped the meaning of eternity yet, Tom."
"So what is this, a rest break?"
"Not really. I'm just providing some relative calm, so that you'll feel it even more when we resume." She ran her fingertips up his leg, right to the base of his cock as punctuation. Tom groaned.
"What do you want from me?"