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The Fetishist Who Went to Hell

By: Bacomicfan



His first sensation was one of motion, of floating forward through no power or will of his own. Hot, humid air assaulted his face and chest and privates, which he suddenly realized seemed to be totally naked. The air was so moist and burning he could barely breathe. 

He noted that his body's lighter than air movement was not quite smooth, but rather jerky, as he seemed to be jostled not only from side to side, but also up and down several inches in an almost soothing rhythm . An annoying painful pressure made itself known beneath his upper arms, which were out to his sides, his forearms and hands dangling down and flopping uselessly. The pain at his upper arms felt as though they had somehow become entrapped in jawed vises. As he floated along, his feet occasionally bounced off objects of varying sizes, objects which were hot enough to elicit repeated exclamations of "Ouch, ouch, ouch!" from his parched lips as the fog in his brain lifted and his sense of touch returned. 

Last to return was his eyesight, which burst into being in a flash of white hot light. Initially, he was worried at his hazy eyesight, but then realized that the miragelike appearance of the objects around him was due to the shimmering rays of heat which were rising from the ground, distorting everything.

His head lolled first to his left, and then to his right. He wished it hadn't. For two more foul creatures he could not have imagined or created in his most vivid nightmares. Each of his arms was held in the tight, clawed grip of a beast born and weaned in... (oh shit)... Hell. He panicked and screamed, kicking and flailing, unsure if he was dreaming or if he'd gone mad. But his huge, disgusting captors only laughed - they like it when you struggle. They love the sound of screams. 

His burly captors continued to haul him airborne over the hot, rough terrain for what seemed hours. He was just too damned frightened - and repulsed - to look at them again, so he concentrated on trying to see through the steaming haze ahead. Unfortunately, what he saw there wasn't much prettier.

Finally the dragging stopped. He dangled there between his two grotesque bookends doing his best to focus on anything but them. They had stopped short, then stood there holding him like a rag doll, silently waiting for something. From off to his left, yet another monstrous being entered his immediate vicinity, this one holding a clipboard in its hand, mumbling to itself, checking off something on the top page and snorting as it chuckled a most disturbing chuckle.

Then from straight ahead of him, the head honcho appeared through the shimmering haze, almost as if he'd simply materialized from nothingness. He strode up to the trio on cloven hooves, a twitchy tail darting about excitedly behind him. It was quickly apparent who this newest vile creature was - the horns, the hooves, the tail, the perpetual sunburn. 

His newest acquaintance was none other than Old Scratch himself, the inventor of deceit, the raper of souls, the one and only Satan. The evil one grinned with pleasure and amusement. "What have we here, gentlemen, a new guest?"

"Yes, Your Foulness," the clipboard carrier said, "our newest. Fresh off the slab. Soul # 92358106, one Arthur Grant, recently deceased, and here to eternally pay for his sins. Here is the paperwork, Oh King of Nastiness." The fawning creature seemed almost proud as it removed the top sheet of paper from the clipboard and handed it over to Satan.

"Yes, yes," the evil, horned face leered, "Let's see what we've got this time." He took the sheet of paper and scanned it with glowing yellow eyes. "Hmmm.... yes... oh, my." The devil began to chuckle.

"Well, now, you don't see this very often, do you, Gash?"

The beast with the clipboard chuckled as well, "No, Your Wickedness, this is indeed an odd one," he replied, still snorting his amusement.

"Precious, Backdoor," he addressed the arm-clutching monstrosities, "Have you read this? Have you read about our new guest here?"

They both joined in the laughter. "Yes,boss," the one on the right replied, "Amusing, isn't it?"

"Absolutely," Satan agreed, "I'd say it's damn rare to see a gay terrorist. You'd think our friend Mr. Grant here would be too busy picking out apartment color schemes or helping straight friends with their wardrobes to have time to blow people up, wouldn't you? And it must be downright difficult to plant a bomb in high heeled wedges, wouldn't you think?"

Laughter all around. Satan continued, "I'd say we should come up with something quite clever and imaginative for Mr. Grant here. Since he's gay, he'll of course have to serve out his sentence among our female tenants - wouldn't want him to try to pork any of the male damned, now would we? Now, let me see, what delightful torments can we devise for our bomb-building friend here?"

"Artie, m'boy," the loathsome beast holding his right arm said, "Good luck. Looks like the boss is really working on something special for you. That's not a good thing. Your time here is really gonna suck... but, then, this IS Hell, ain't it?" Both he and his two compatriots laughed.

Satan walked through the haze to what appeared to be a desk (was it even there before?). On it sat a row of the most modern and up to date computers and all the high tech gear and accessories anyone could ever want or need. The evil one sat at one of these and began typing. He chuckled wickedly as his taloned fingers flew across the keys with blinding speed. 

At length he sat back, eyeing the computer screen with satisfaction. Sitting back, Satan clapped his hands together and laughed, obviously tickled with whatever he saw on the screen. With his index finger's long, curved, yellowed nail he first stabbed the "enter" key and then the "print" key, smirking the entire time. 

The printer beside the computer whirred and dinged and out popped a sheet of paper. Satan whisked the sheet from the printer's bin and read it over, snickering. He then rose and brought the sheet over to Gash, who took it from him and read it. He, too, snickered. Gash showed it to Precious and Backdoor. They also snickered.

"Um, excuse me," Arthur said, "Um, Satan, sir, there's been some kind of mistake here."

Satan walked up to Arthur, his face glowing with amusement. "Oh, please," he said in a voice rich with sarcasm, "Do tell."

"Well, My name's not Arthur Grant, sir. And I'm not a terrorist. Nor am I gay. So, you see, there's been some kind of clerical error here."

Satan, Gash, Precious and Backdoor roared with laughter. Tears streamed down from their misshapen faces, hundreds of them dropping down to sputter and sizzle on the hot floor below.

"Oh, of course you're not," Satan howled, "Of course there's a mistake. You don't belong in Hell at all, do you, Mr. Grant?"

"Well, you see, there's the mistake right there. I'm not Arthur Grant, I'm... "

"Oh, Mr. Grant, please, don't you think I've heard all this nonsense before? Don't you think I've had the pleasure of watching all those great big crocodile tears falling when damned souls realize they fucked up and now have to spend eternity suffering for their sins? Why, I've heard every lie and excuse there is, Mr. Grant. If I had even a penny for every soul who's tried to talk his way out of damnation, I'd be retired and living in a much cooler place, don't you think? And if that's not enough to convince you I've heard it all, Mr. Grant, who do you think it was who CREATED lying in the first place?"

"But, sir, if you'll just check... "

Satan stabbed an impatient index finger forward into Arthur's pleading face until it made contact with his lips, squashing them both firmly against Arthur's teeth with finality. 

"Mr. Grant," he said, his yellow eyes smoldering, "I have millions of other guests to attend to. I do not have time to listen to your begging - though I do so love the sound of begging. So, suck it up and grow a pair. You've sinned and now it's time to pay the piper. So if you speak again I shall be forced to tear off your lips and have Backdoor here rather indelicately shove them up your ass. Am I speaking clearly enough for you, my good man?"

Arthur said nothing. The mental vision of his lips snuggled up intimately against one of his hemorrhoids made him see the wisdom of silence. Instead, he hoped that maybe once he'd left Satan's presence he could convince Backdoor, Precious or Gash of his innocence and they would in turn plead his case with the devil. Mistake or no mistake, he would have all eternity to get it rectified.

"Now, then," Satan continued, "Gash, if you wouldn't mind setting up Mr. Grant's torments? See to it they begin immediately. Precious... Backdoor... please see to it that Mr. Grant is transported immediately to the women's section so he doesn't have any pretty male tushies to get excited over, won't you? There's a nice couple of demons. Off with you now. Take him to Sector Fourteen, if you please. Gash, I can trust you to make all those arrangements for our new friend?"

"Yes, Your Malevolence, at once."

"Excellent. Let's make Mr. Grant comfortable in his new home." With that, Satan disappeared in a puff of foul-smelling black smoke. Apparently he preferred his exits more dramatic than his entrances.

"Holy shit," Precious said to Backdoor, "Sector Fourteen. Isn't that...?"

Backdoor nodded, and Gash covered his mouth as he laughed into it. Precious leaned toward Arthur and said, "Holy fuck with gravy on it. Man, you're in for some rough shit."

"Damn," Backdoor agreed, "The boss wants to hand this poor fuck over to Daisy and Butterfly? On his first day here? No warmup period for him to get used to the way those two operate? Oh, this poor dude is in for a world of suffering."

"Hey, numbnuts... this is Hell. What do you expect?" Precious reminded him.

"Yeah, but Daisy and Butterfly on day one? That's harsh, even for the boss."

"Yeah, well let's get bomb boy here over to Sector Fourteen and the ball busters before the boss thinks we're slacking off."

"Yes, gentlemen," Gash offered, "The sooner we dump off this poor bastard the sooner we can get to the club and hump some of those new damned CEO's that came in last week. I'm really hot to do someone in a suit."

"Sounds good to me," Backdoor replied.

"Me, too," agreed Precious. Then, leaning to Arthur he added, "Listen, man, I kinda like you, so I'm gonna give you some advice. Daisy and Butterfly would just as soon cook up your testicles in marinara with some noodles as look at you. So, my word to the wise is this - just do as you're told and don't talk back.

Okay? It's gonna be bad enough for ya without pissing off those two butch bitches."

"Yeah," Backdoor added, "Just hang in there... it's only eternity."

"You're too much, man," Precious laughed, "Too, too much." It seemed as though Precious, Backdoor and Gash took turns laughing as they escorted the pitiful Arthur to his eternal fate.

As the two snickering demons held their charge before Hell's north elevator, Gash was on his Hell Cell, contacting Sector Fourteen, waiting for either Daisy or Butterfly to answer, to begin scheduling the afterlife Satan had planned for Arthur. His bare feet still dragging, the disheartened prisoner could keep silent about something no longer. 

At the risk of an anal lip-stuffing, Arthur asked Precious, "Uh, seriously, how did all you huge dudes get names like Precious, Backdoor and Gash? Kinda sissy names for big, bad demons, isn't it?" As soon as the words left his lips, Arthur cringed, waiting for large, hairy knuckles to rearrange his face.

Backdoor fixed a glare on Arthur that instantly had him contemplating how his face would feel without lips. "Look, wise ass," Backdoor snarled, "What's it to ya? A name's a name. You writin' a book, bomb boy?"

Precious intervened. "Hey, c'mon, Back, this poor schmuck's gonna suffer a lot more than us in the next gazillion years. Let's cut 'im some slack." Turning back to Arthur, he explained, "The boss has quite the sense of humor. He likes to give us all names he says will keep us humble before him, and yet piss us off so much we'll enjoy humiliating damned souls that much more. He sees it as motivation. So, if you must know - and if you ever repeat a single one of these names, I'll personally pound yer face inta pulp - my full name is Precious Panties, my cohort here is Backdoor Barbie and your hardworking record-keeper over there is Gash Larue. The lovely 'ladies' we're delivering you to are Daisy Drydick and Butterfly Buns... and they're two of the toughest broads anywhere below the seventh level."

Precious and Backdoor nodded to one another. Their grins were hideous as they looked knwoingly at one another. 

"Now," Precious continued, "If you snicker even once... let the pounding begin. And as much damage as I or Backdoor might do to you for laughing?... what Daisy or Butterfly would do to you would make a beating from either of us look like a health club massage. In fact, the only words I'd advise you to ever say around Daisy or Butterfly would be 'yes, ma'am', or maybe offer to lick their pussies real fast if they look like they're gonna clock you or if they pull out onea those whips they love so much."

"Nah," Backdoor pointed out, "Don't bother - they eat each other's pussies. Have for centuries. They're kinda exclusive when it comes to their crotch grazing."

"Oh, yeah," Precious agreed, "I forgot they sneak off and do that. If the boss ever found out... "

"Yeah, but nobody's got the balls to tell him," said Backdoor. "I don't, do you?"

"Hell, no," Precious admitted, "Those bitches would take extra special pleasure in getting revenge. Those are two psycho broads - even for Hell!"

The elevator doors hissed open and Arthur was dragged inside. Gash walked in last, finally chatting with Butterfly on his cell, confirming preparations, nodding and making checkmarks on his clipboard. The voice on the other end was loud enough that everyone in the elevator could hear just how unhappy Butterfly was. As Gash read off Satan's instructions to her, she bellowed at each and every one of them, her snarls so loud that Gash had to hold the phone away from his ear and wait for the tirade to end. 

By the time they had reached the third level and the elevator doors hissed open again, a clearly shaken Gash had completed his call and was staring with wide eyes into space, his mind contemplating something Butterfly had said.

"Do you know what that bitch said to me?" Gash asked to no one in particular. Arthur and the two other demons just looked at each other. That must've been the one and only line spoken by Butterfly during that conversation that half of Hell hadn't heard. 

"Butterfly said that if I wasn't such a fucking wuss when it comes to the boss, that she and Daisy would've already fried up my dick in wine sauce, ground it up extra fine and then they'd sprinkle it over every garden salad they eat for the next century. The only thing stopping them is that I don't have a dick. And all because I interrupted her and Daisy in mid muff dive. For Satan's sake, those bitches scare me."

"You wearin' yer cup?" Backdoor asked.

"Uh, yes... why?"

"Good. No sense makin' it easy for them." Everyone laughed, including Arthur, though Gash's was a bit more subdued than the others'.

The troupe exited the elevator and headed west, passing sector after sector until they reached Sector Fourteen. As they approached the entrance gateway, Gash cringed, grasping his crotch with his free hand. There stood Butterfly and Daisy, who didn't look all that much different from Backdoor and Precious. In a wrestling match, Arthur would've had trouble telling any of them apart. He guessed all demons came from some sort of demon mold, maybe even with interchangeable genitalia, because they certainly all had the same features. 

Looking more closely, Arthur noticed that his two guards did have slightly more prominent crotches, and the two 'ladies' were a little, but not much, bustier. Other than that, male and female demons were pretty much carbon copies of each other. Smelled the same, too.

Marching up to the two female demons with their captive, Backdoor and Precious stood before them and held out Arthur to hand him over. Sneering at the little man, Butterfly asked "This the twit Daisy and I gave up our orgasms for?"

Precious, Backdoor and Gash all nodded, saying nothing. Then Gash slipped Satan's punishment regimen printout off of his clipboard and handed it to Daisy - pointedly not looking at Butterfly as he did so. Immediately after handing over the paper, Gash rushed to once again cover his genitals. Only then did he dare to make eye contact with Butterfly. She grinned.

"He's all yours now, ladies," Precious stated, continuing on with the words he'd said a million times. The two demons dropped Arthur to the ground like a sack of rocks. 

"We'll be back in a year to pick him up - or, what's left of him - and take him back to Satan for his annual damnation evaluation. You know the rules. Satan expects all punishments to be fully meted out by then, so that Mr. Grant here can be scheduled for his next year of suffering. And we're all graded on how much this little maggot suffers so do a good job and you'll get brownie points, just like us. Fuck up and make the boss unhappy and, well.... we could all end up in the latrines on level one. I, for one, don't wanna smell shit for all eternity, so make sure this guy squirms. No offense, Artie."

"No... no, none taken," Arthur replied, quaking with fear.

"Adios, Artie," Backdoor waved, as he hurried away. "Yo, Precious, it's Miller time! Let's go hook up with some CEO poonie. C'mon, Gash, you can score some, too. CEO's like geek pencil-pushers, so you should be in like Flint. C'mon, get your wienie dipped. Let's go. Head 'em out!" 

Precious and Backdoor turned away and headed back toward the elevator. Gash followed, still holding his crotch, looking behind himself nervously over and over again until he was what he felt was a safe distance away from Daisy and Butterfly. 

The two female demons eyed Arthur angrily, still lamenting the orgasms that weren't, blaming Arthur for it. Daisy looked at Satan's schedule of tortures for Arthur and laughed. "Wow, the boss must be pissed at this poor idiot. Look at this, Butt."

Butterfly took the sheet and snickered along with her buddy. "I was wondering why this little turd was delivered to the women's section. Gash never mentioned the little prick is gay. No wonder he's got so many things lined up with the ladies. 

Having just gotten up off the ground, dusting off his naked body, Arthur's ears perked up when he heard "lined up with the ladies." Hell or no hell, that couldn't ALL be bad, could it? Unless the ladies looked like Daisy and Butterfly, that is. 

"Okay, ass-breath," Butterfly said to Arthur, grabbing him by his dick and pulling him through the gates, "Let's get you on your way through gay Hell 101, shall we?" The demoness hurried through the haze and stink of Hell with long strides, hoping to get Arthur started on his year long first round of penance as quickly as possible, so that she and Daisy could get back to the delightful diversion of searching for treasure with their tongues.

"The club is first on the list," Butterfly said to Daisy. "Seems like the boss wants this sack of sissy semen softened up a little before he gets him involved in the hard stuff."

"For how long?" Daisy asked.

"Let's see... exposed to the knees... face up... um... looks like forty-eight hours straight. Yup, just enough to soften the little prick up before he goes to the footwear room." Butterfly looked at Arthur and asked, "Are you used to being walked all over, dickhead? Well, if not, a little trample action'll soften you up real nice for starters. So, let's go. Time for you to see the trendiest bar in Hell, though you'll be doing it from the floor up. Still, maybe if your eyes aren't gouged out you'll get some nice upskirt shots to remember fondly down the road." With that, she punched him in the face.


The Fetishist Who Went to Hell



Arthur awoke to the sensation of something sharp digging into the corner of his mouth. As his eyelids fluttered open another sharp pain exploded in his left eye. Then something crushed his nose but quickly retreated from it. 

Blinking through the pain, he managed to open both eyes just in time to see the sole of a very large boot racing downward toward his face. The boot was caked in mud, and its owner not only stomped on his face, but ground the bottom of the boot into Arthur's face as if it were crushing out a lit cigarette. Arthur's face contorted in every direction and caked mud entered his ears, eyes and nostrils. 

The force of the boot itself mashed his mouth closed, so none of the filth entered his mouth... this time. But the second stomp accomplished that nicely. A large, gleefully obese woman wearing nothing but the heavy boots was happily stomping on his face. A group of her closest pals was circled around Arthur's head, cheering her on as she slammed her boot down on Arthur's blackening face time and time again. Each time she tromped on his hapless face, Arthur saw a bright flash of light and then nearly blacked out. Finally, the woman tired of seeing if she could flatten Arthur's head, and she moved on, to the drunken cheers of her friends.

Not having that enormous boot repeatedly crashing into his face, Arthur was able to get his bearings and assess his situation. Blinking mud out of his eyes and spitting it from his mouth, he realized first and foremost that he was immobilized. He was supine, lying on his back looking up at an old-fashioned disco ball twirling on the ceiling of a dance floor some dozen or so feet to his left and a brighter steady overhead light more directly above him. A multitude of women - damned human souls - stood above him, laughing and drinking, arguing and making out. 

Arthur could feel his naked body exposed to the elements as far down as his mid-thighs. Below that the remainder of his legs was covered by something hard and unmoving. Strong bands of either metal or tough plastic held his body, arms and head firmly in place, hence his inability to fend off Big-Boots Bertha.

Suddenly, Daisy appeared above him. "Hi, limp dick. Welcome to The Hellfire Club, the hottest club in Hell. You are now what's called a human carpet, right near the bar, where the most traffic is. The ladies here get to literally walk all over you."

As if to confirm Daisy's words, two women, hand in hand, walked across Arthur's stomach and chest, as if they didn't even know he was there.

Daisy continued, "As you may have noticed, you're exposed all the way down past your little dick, so they can do anything they want to you for the next forty-eight hours. Some of the ladies are wearing stiletto heels, some sneakers, some are barefoot... and you already met Greta. She loves her combat boots. The traffic near the bar gets pretty heavy, especially when the drink specials are offered, so you're probably gonna get stepped on a little. Just grin and bear it. The bar's only open twenty-four seven, so it shouldn't be too bad."

Pausing only to chuckle at her own cleverness, Daisy went on, "Oh, and the pain in your eye and mouth just before Greta cleaned her boots? That was Amelie, our super hot dancer saying hi with her six inch stilettos. After she finishes her next dance, she says she'll be back to say hi again. She loves her stilettos, especially when she gets to dance around on people's faces with them. She once danced on a guy's face for thirty minutes straight. Poor guy was never the same after that, but, hey, maybe he should've led a better life, huh?"

Butterfly also appeared, "Hey, dickface, I hope you worship women from the ground up, cuz that's exactly where you are. Now, Daisy and I are gonna leave you to your rest. If any mean old people stand on your face or squash your little dick under their boots or poke out your eye with a high heel, you let us know, okay? We'll put a stop to it right away. We don't stand for rude behavior down here in Hell, so you keep us informed of all your mistreatments, you understand? Bye, now, you have fun."

For the next forty-eight hours Arthur's face and body were trampled under hundreds of feet. Several women even made a game out of jumping on his groin, their leaping off point being the bar. 

Another woman, stewed to the gills, leapt from one of the bar stools onto his face with her thankfully bare feet. Still, her landing - right on target - left his ears ringing and his eyes rolling for some twenty minutes or more. The big toe of her left foot nearly popped his right eye out of its socket. She giggled and apologized incoherently, bending to kiss her finger and touch it to the scratch her toenail had left just above Arthur's wounded eyelid. 

The teetering woman was so drunk that she didn't notice she'd been standing on his face the whole time, showing remarkable balance as she repositioned her feet so that she could plant the finger-kiss between them and still not topple off of his face. Unfortunately, in doing so, her right foot trampled his lips, squashing them flat under her heel. When she finally stepped off of his face, she again apologized and staggered off. She wouldn't even remember the entire incident until her friends reminded her later that she'd won the "jump on Arthur's face"

contest, but only because she'd earned extra points for grace and balance.

At least a dozen drunken women thought he was some sort of sofa and tried to sit on him. One sat on his face with her large, bare ass and was too inebriated to realize there was a reason her bottom was uncomfortable, Arthur's nose being deeply wedged between her cheeks as it was. She thought the solution to the irritation was to rock her ass from side to side to free whatever was embedded between her cheeks, but the irritation remained. 

Finally, an equally snockered friend lifted her from Arthur's face, but only succeeded in actually pulling her away on the third try. The first two efforts only resulted in the woman falling back down heavily onto Arthur's crushed nose, each time reinserting it even deeper into that sweaty, earthy crevice. That was when Arthur realized that he couldn't suffocate in Hell, for the woman had occupied his face for nearly forty minutes before her friend had staggered to her assistance.

Two women, one barefoot and one wearing old, ratty sneakers, played a kind of reverse tug-of-war with Arthur's face, each pushing at his face from either side with both feet and with all their might to see who could make his head turn in the other's direction first. Arthur's squashed face turned bright red and his right cheekbone almost broke, but the girl in the sneakers won before that happened. However, as a parting gesture, the barefoot babe, pissed at losing, reared back and gave Arthur's face a disgruntled kick that rattled his teeth and once again had him seeing stars.

A large black woman with a horny gleam in her eyes sat rudely down on Arthur's face, her dripping pussy homed in on his mouth. Not brooking any nonsense, she remained put until Arthur had sucked her dry no less than three times. She squirmed and bounced on his face like a mad woman until her cravings had been met and Arthur had gobbled down everything she had to give. Her grinding crotch had been shaved some time ago, a new carpet of irritating stubble having grown just to the point where it managed to rip Arthur's face apart as she squirmed and hopped on his drowning mouth. Everyone in the bar applauded loudly when she achieved orgasm number three atop Arthur's red face and removed herself from it with a sticky sucking sound. 

But mostly he was just trampled on blindly by drunken women. Some walked on him on purpose, of course, giggling and enjoying his discomfort. Others accidentally stood on him, their trendy boots, clogs or high heels digging into his flesh for long periods of time before they even realized he was underfoot. Then they'd laugh a little and move along so someone else could step on him. 

The really painful ones were the ones who wanted to trample poor Arthur's dick. Some women did so timidly, playing with his flaccid manhood more than brutalizing it. Others stomped on it with delight, some taking great joy in grinding it underfoot, watching Arthur's face contort into grimaces of pain. One especially sadistic woman actually stood on Arthur in such a way as to have the toe of her shoe squashing the head of his penis while her heel drove down into the chasm between his vulnerable testicles. By squirming her foot back and forth she was able to attack first one testicle then the other with her long, hard heel. Arthur bit his lip throughout, wondering which testicle the woman would puncture first. Luckily, the high-heeled sadist got into a nasty bar brawl before he was forced to find that out.

By the time his forty-eight hours was up, Arthur was a ruined mess. His nose was mashed to one side, his right eye swollen almost shut. He had stiletto heel punctures on every part of his face, his lips were swollen, his face red with numerous scrapes and bruises, and there was even a deep red sneaker imprint on the left side of his face. His body was likewise battered, assorted shoe prints and heel punctures scattered all over the place. His poor penis was swollen and red, shriveled up inside him in hiding.

"Well, well," Daisy said as she extricated Arthur from the hole in the floor, "Seems like you weathered things pretty well. I've seen much worse. You still have both your eyes and all your teeth. That's a minor miracle in itself." Then she laughed, "I see your face is all red and scratched and... sticky. I'd be willing to bet ol' Sticky Lips Martha sat down on your face for awhile, huh? I'd know that cum of hers anywhere. She never misses an opportunity to get her snatch lapped. Boy, she's really something, she is. How many times did she get off? Two? Three? Four?"

"Three," Arthur replied through swollen lips.

"Only three huh? She let you off easy. I once saw her ride a guy's face to six orgasms. She was stuck to his face. They had to use solvents to loosen her up and then spatulas to pry her off the guy's mouth. Yeah, I think that was that Osama guy. Boy, was he none too happy about THAT! It's his own fault for having that long-ass beard. Martha's cum got all stuck in it and well... there you have it." 

"Stop coddling the little dick, Daisy. Let's get him to his next appointment. He's got some shoes to clean. My favorite hunting boots - the ones I wear when I hunt in the swamps - are among them, and I want them cleaned so I can use them again. So let's get this puny ass over to the cleaning room. He's got a lot of chores ahead of him and lots of 'mingling' to do before we traipse his ass back to the boss. So, c'mon, stop the chit-chat."

"Fine," Daisy answered, "Let's get him hosed off first so he doesn't drip blood all over all those nice shoes. You want to hose him or shall I?"

"You do it. I'm gonna have a smoke. Make sure he's clean. If he gets one drop of blood on an Inner Circle member's favorite shoes, all kindsa nasty shit is gonna come down."

"Sure. Got it under control."

Daisy ushered the sore, weary Arthur into a building some hundred feet from the bar. She led him into a large room with nothing in it but a monstrous fire hose. She had him stand in one corner. He staggered over to it and turned with his back in the corner, facing Daisy. She trained the hose on him and let loose. The force of the spray nearly blasted his skin off, but after forty-eight hours in the stifling bar, covered with shoe filth and blood and crazy Martha's sticky juices, it felt good. 

She hosed him for about thirty seconds, which seemed like plenty of time to get rid of all the grime except Martha's cum. It seemed stickier than super glue. No wonder Osama bin Laden had to be pried from Martha's crotch with a spatula! 

After he was hosed and inspected for any further foreign matter stuck to his body, Daisy led Arthur into the next room. In it was a table, about ten feet long and three feet wide. On the table were about ten pairs of shoes and boots, all obviously dirty. There were small ankle boots, high heels, knee-high boots and leather sandals of various types. Arthur looked at Daisy. "What? You want me to try them on? I'm not that kind of guy."

"Clean them," Daisy replied, an "I'm not impressed with your wit" look on her face.

Arthur looked around. No cleaners, no towels, no water source, nothing... just the table and shoes. When he looked at Daisy and saw the look on her demonic face - that snickering grin that seemed so prevalent in the Netherworld - he began to see. "Ah, I see you're getting it, Arthur. Clean them, all of them, and I suspect you know how they need to be cleaned. If the owners find even a single tiny spot on them when you're done, they'll make things very rough on you. Butterfly and I will get to use our shiny, biting whips on you, no doubt, so I don't care if you do a good job or not. I love whip practice."

"Just to be sure," Arthur said slowly, "You want me to clean them by... "

"Oh, Arthur, just stick out your damn tongue and start cleaning! Do you need everything spelled out for you? Shit, for a gay man you're not very bright. Now, I'm going to join Butt for a ciggy. Get busy and clean every shoe in this room. If I come back and you haven't cleaned at least five pairs of shoes completely, I'm going to whip your ass, and then hand over the whip to Butt for the finishing touches. Understand?" Out the door she went, shaking her head.

Arthur looked at the filthy shoes. Only ten pairs. Somehow he expected worse from Hell. His tongue was still sore from it's marathon trip inside Martha's sticky slit, but he figured he could have ten pairs of shoes done in no time. And he'd better, because who knew what would happen if Daisy and Butterfly really got pissed?

Just as he lifted the first sandal up to his mouth and stuck out his tongue, a side door opened and an unknown demon entered, pushing ahead of him another ten foot table like the one in front of Arthur. It, too, had ten to a dozen pairs of soiled shoes on it. 

Arthur's neck hairs began to prickle. That table-pushing demon was followed by another, and another, and... all in all another twenty-eight tables loaded with dirty shoes were rolled into the room, nearly three hundred pairs of shoes, all needing to be cleaned by a damned soul's hard working tongue... and that tongue was obviously to be his. 

Just as he was hoping that maybe those other tables were meant for other damned souls, Daisy stuck her head back into the room and grinned at Arthur. "Oh," she said, "I forgot to tell you there were more coming. But that should be it now. I'm sure I can find more if you like," she smirked, "No? All right then, that should keep you busy for a while. Get busy, Arthur. Butt and I have a bet on how long it'll take you to lick all those shoes spotless. I have faith in you, Arthur, so my estimate is lower. Don't disappoint me, now. Okay, get licking. See you shortly. Oh, and there are cameras. We'll know if you try to cheat. If you try to cheat, we'll double the number of shoes that need to be cleaned. Understood? Now, get busy."

Arthur licked boot after boot, sandal after sandal, shiny patent leather heel after shiny patent leather heel, shoe after shoe after shoe after shoe. Some were only slightly soiled, some caked with mud and... other vile materials. But Arthur applied his still Martha-wearied tongue to all of them. 

Some he could lick lazily, using little effort. Others had to be literally scoured with his tongue. Those took time. Hundreds... thousands... tens of thousands of licks later, Arthur was finishing his last pair of shiny high heeled boots when Daisy and Butterfly entered the room. Arthur lapped one last lick and fell to the floor, exhausted.

"Nice job, Arthur," Daisy said, leaning down to give him a big, wet, demon-lipped kiss on the forehead. "You cleaned all those shoes in record time. You're going to go into our record book here in Hell for the least amount of time taken to tongue-clean three hundred pairs of shoes and boots.

"But what's even better than that," her ugly face beamed happily, "I win my bet with Butterfly here. It only took you a little over a day and a half to shine all those shoes. I knew you'd come through for me. And that's good for you, too, because your tongue is going to play a large part in what our boss has lined up for you here in Hell. So relax for a bit. We're going to give you a thirty minute rest period before your next torture... I mean... task. In the meantime, use part of your break time to go into the bathroom and brush your teeth and gargle. It's hard to clean objects with your tongue when your tongue is dirtier than the objects are. 

Daisy picked the exhausted Arthur up off the floor and dragged him to the bathroom. There, she sat him on a toilet and put soap - not toothpaste - on a brush and shoved it into his mouth. Then she left him there, trusting him to finish the job himself. Half asleep, he brushed his teeth, then spat the lousy taste out of his mouth. His mouthwash was a bottle of liquid soap, which he gargled with, making extra sure not to swallow any. 

When he finished, he left the bathroom, the bitter taste of soap in his tired mouth. In the outer room, Daisy and Butterfly were kissing deeply, their grotesque hands fondling each other. That made Arthur sicker than the previous shoe-licking ever could have. He had to look away, but not before the two face-sucking demonesses noticed his disapproving look.

Butterfly took deep and instant offense. She snarled, "Oh, Mr. Gay Man, does a little lesbo love bother you? Well, get down off your high horse and follow us. And bring your tongue. You're going to need it again. We're taking you to the sauna. Lots of ladies sweat pretty heavily in there. They need to have that sweat removed from their bodies before it starts irritating them. Get the picture?"

Arthur got the picture. He sighed. His tongue was already abused enough. When was it going to be given a break? But then some familiar words rose up in his mind and rolled around until they got his attention. "This IS Hell, after all." they said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Butterfly and Daisy dragged Arthur to the sauna just as Precious and Backdoor had "escorted" him to the gates of Sector Fourteen what already seemed like eons ago. Along the way the poor, damned Arthur continued to spit out the soap taste from his mouth, much to the disgust of his captors. 

"Stop spitting that nasty shit out all over the place, limp dick, or I'm gonna make you lick it up off the ground," Butterfly said, giving Arthur a rude shot in the ribs with one huge paw. "Yeah," Daisy laughed, "Rest your mouth as much as you can. The ladies in the sauna are gonna need it for their drying and cooling off period. Besides, you'll have plenty of sweat in your mouth to wash down that crap. You'll be so busy tasting all that yummy sweat that you won't even notice that soapy taste anymore." 

The two huge lesbian lovers laughed long and hard, just picturing what Arthur had in store for him.

Shortly after that enlightening conversation, his two female guards brought him into yet another bland, square building, tossing him onto the floor without a second thought. He landed with his nose not more than six inches from the leg of a chair. Getting up, again dusting off his naked body, he looked about the large auditorium-sized room and wondered how this new hell was going to work. 

The chair he'd nearly kissed was one of fifty along one wall of the room. Scanning the other three walls, he saw that each of those walls also contained fifty chairs. Nervously, he did the math and wondered what or who would be ending up in those chairs and how that would involve his already exhausted tongue. He didn't have long to find out.




The Fetishist Who Went to Hell



"Adios, limp dick," Butterfly said with a wave as she and Daisy left the building, "Enjoy your meal. Don't worry, the ladies will tell you what to do. And just so you know, if we receive even one complaint from so much as a single lady that you didn't make them completely happy or do everything you were told, well then, Daisy and I will get to play with you in our own way with all our nice, new toys. Got it, shit for brains?"

Daisy giggled. What a horrible sight, a large, grotesque female demon giggling. That sight was worse to Arthur than anything that might happen to him in this bizarre room. Seeing it actually made him shiver with disgust, not unlike the sight of Daisy and Butterfly kissing.

Not more than thirty seconds after his two tormentors left the building, another door at the far end of the room opened and a cloud of steam burst forth from it. Behind the steam, bright red and yellow light pulsated and something inside that room hissed and popped. Giggles and random chatter came next, followed by a literal stampede of gabbing females fighting and clawing their way through the door. 

Every one of them was dripping with sweat, shaking their arms to get rid of at least a tiny bit of the body-coating droplets. One by one the ladies - of all shapes and sizes, from little women to giantesses, from slim women to obese, petite to Amazonian - exited the sauna and each took a seat. Two hundred women from the small to the tall, dripping with sweat from head to toe, all sitting there looking at Arthur.

"You our sauna-boy for today?" One rather large woman seated neatest the sauna asked.

"It would appear so," Arthur replied.

"Well, then, stupid, get over her and start licking. The sauna was extra hot today and I have sweat in every crack and crevice. One of the few perks here in Hell is getting the occasional sauna-boy to lap up all my sweat after a century or two in the sauna. So lick away, dickwad, before the sweat in the crack of my ass begins to irritate my sweet, delicate cheeks."

Arthur shuffled over to her. She barely fit in her chair, with at least two folds of fat around her belly. Her breasts were mammoth mounds of flesh and her navel looked to be at least half a foot deep, itself trying to hide behind a layer of fat. Her neck looked like it had a goiter. Her feet were the size of a pet carrier and her fingers and toes had hair on them. A puddle of sweat had already gathered at her feet.

"Oh, let me guess," the woman said, "You haven't a clue where to begin removing the sweat from my lovely body, do you? You can't decide if you want to lick my sweaty cleavage first or stick your tongue into my navel, right? Or maybe you can't wait to lick between my rolls? Or," she slid forward in her chair and spread her legs, "Maybe you're hot to lick up all the sweat between my legs?" 

The woman was on a roll now, "Probably, you just can't wait to suck every drop out of my curly hairs, right? Oh, wait, if you're here at all, you must be gay. So that means you like ass. Oh, yeah, I got lots of sweat in my ass crack. I'll bet you could get a refreshing eight ounce drink from there right about now. Hot and satisfying, right from my butt-crack. Wanna start there, sauna-boy? The longer you wait for that little treat, the more... debris... will be floating in it when you gulp it all down." Her smirk was not only pure meanness, but it was contagious. 

Every other woman in the room - the other hundred and ninety-nine - was grinning, eagerly anticipating her own de-moisturizing, and laughing their damned asses off at today's sauna-boy as he's put through his paces. Damned souls in Hell don't get bathed often, and when their chance comes up, they relish it, especially if it comes at another damned soul's expense. Misery truly does love company. 

Arthur just stared ahead at his dripping challenge. This woman alone would take hours to lick. Hours! He might be doing this little oral dehumidifying job for days, if not weeks. He figured he'd start with the hands and work his way up to the larger targets, get himself used to lapping sweaty flab. But then, the drippy woman made his decision for him. 

"Tell ya what, sauna-boy, let's start with the pits. They're just dripping. So bury your face in there and sop up all that sweat for me, okay? There's a good boy." She lifted her arms in the air and then folded them backward, clasping her hands together behind her head, leaning back in her chair comfortably, exposing her sweaty pits to Arthur's drafted tongue. Arthur caught a waft of unpleasantness that would have gagged the strongest of maggots. Those sweaty armpits were drenched, the moisture even more obvious because the mat of unruly black hair inhabiting each pit had been slicked down flat from it. 

Every woman in the room laughed as Arthur recoiled from the stomach-churning odor. They were all used to it, but Arthur's nose hairs curled up in his nose and tried to retreat deep into his sinuses. His eyes watered and his lips tightened, hoping to prevent his tongue from going anywhere near those pungent pits.

"Whatcha waitin' for, sauna-boy? My pits ain't gonna dry themselves. Get your face in there and lap that sweat up. Oh, so sorry they don't allow deodorants here in Hell, but you'll get used to the smell in no time. All the sauna-boys do. Just jump in with both feet as they say. The quicker you start licking, the quicker you'll be done. So hurry it up. When you're finished you'll still have to do my crotch, ass and feet... and my belly folds and navel, don't forget them. Do my ass last. That's usually the messiest." 

Laughter shook the building. "Oh, and one more thing. We're allowed to give our sauna-boys a reward for services rendered, ain't that right, girls?" More laughter. "So, sauna-boy, if you dry me off real good - and you WILL dry me off good or else - you'll get to dry the sweetest part of me last. This sauna here makes all our pussies sweat profusely, so that will take a long, long time to dry. But I'll let you take your time and lick it up nice. Isn't that what we all do, girls?" 

Roars of laughter and cheering rocked the room. "Yes, dear," the large woman continued, "your gay little self might not get any cock to suck down here, but you're going to get LOTS of pussy to eat. I don't think there's any woman here right now who's pussy won't need to be licked dry. Too bad you're gay, huh? No outies to suck, only innies. So sad." The house was really a-rocking' now.

"So, sauna-boy, my pits are waiting. Get that tongue in there. So yummy for you. And then get down to my feet. All the moisture goes right between my toes. Feels yucky. But I'm sure your wiggly tongue can take care of that. Then suck out my navel - Satan knows WHAT'S in there. Lap up my drippy belly folds, suck out my cleavage and then you can have your reward. I want you to work hardest on my pussy, so pace yourself."

Pondering this, the woman squirmed and continued her suggestions, "Then, for dessert, you can drink from the crack of my ass. Spread the cheeks wide and really lick in there good. By then the sweat will have loosened up anything else that might have collected between my cheeks over the years and you can get that all out of there for me. My ass'll not only be dry, but squeaky clean. And, from what I understand, lapping my butt should be good practice for what you have coming down the pike for you." 

Snickers and giggles all around. Finally, the sweating woman shut up. She took one arm from behind her head and pointed at her armpits. "Lick," she said.

"And hurry up," the woman in the next chair said, "I'm sweating like a pig here. Finish with Dorothy so you can get to me next. I can't wait to get all this sweat off me." Then every woman in the room urged Arthur on, each eager for her own "drying" by way of Arthur's tongue. In the next week and a half, Arthur had licked more hands, feet, armpits, cleavages, belly rolls, crotches, double-chins, neck rolls, butt dimples, navels and nether-cheek valleys than he even thought could be humanly possible. 

And he was forced to accept every "reward" offered by every woman in the room. His face was shoved into two hundred sweaty pussies, each of which required prolonged servicing by his tortured tongue. By the end of his ten days, fourteen hours and thirty-three minutes of sweat removal duties, he could lick no more. He collapsed in a heap at chair number two hundred and was found lying in a pool of sweat - not his own - by Daisy and Butterfly. The women he'd serviced were gone, presumably off to whatever other parts of Hell they came from. 

None of the women had made any complaints. Arthur had done well. Butterfly and Daisy would be sad.

Arthur awoke once again to being dragged along between Daisy and Butterfly, who were indeed both upset that they didn't get their chance to "play" with Arthur... yet. But he still had many trials ahead of him and, from their experience with such things, he would surely fail somewhere along the way. They had no doubts whatsoever that, in the end, they'd get their chance to use some of their favorite toys on him. He was, after all, now headed for the toughest of his challenges, the most humiliating of his tortures.

Butterfly smirked as she informed Arthur, "Next stop, the Field of Feet, microdick. Ready for your next cleaning chore? Better re-energize that tongue in a hurry, boy. If you're not up to snuff, same deal is in place as with the sauna. You fuck up, Daisy and I get to bring out our toys. You may THINK you like it up the ass cuz you're a gay boy, but think again. When Daisy and I are done with ya, you'll be able to park a Mercedes in your asshole, and have room left over to leave it in there with all the doors opened all the way." She and Daisy waxed wistful for a moment, imagining their joint plundering of Arthur's bum with hopeful smiles and sighs. 

They dragged the still sweat-drenched Arthur over hills and through what almost appeared to be craters, up and down over rough terrain that again had him exclaiming "Ouch ouch ouch!" as his feet bounced along behind him. After what seemed an eternity of being hauled across rocks and pits and burning landscape, the trio at long last arrived at the Field of Feet. Arthur knew this because of the huge, demoralizing sign above the double door entrance which read "The Field of Feet... where feet are all you can eat."

Daisy and Butterfly entered through the doors and dragged Arthur down a short hallway which ended at a barbed-wire fence. Together, they unexpectedly lifted Arthur in the air over their heads and heaved him over the fence. He landed on what appeared to be burned grass, a dust cloud rising up around him as he fell to the parched earth. 

All around him, as far as the eye could see, was an immense field, perhaps only a hundred yards across, but easily miles long. Directly across the field was a modified scoreboard. On it in huge letters was his name (they still don't get it, he thought) and Hell's method of scoring this event. Beneath his name was the phrase "Feet to go:" and the number 2,000 to the right of it. Beneath that was the phrase "Arthur's score:" and the lonely number 0 to its right. Obviously Arthur's ongoing success would be tallied up on the scoreboard for all to see - all being the thousands of grunting, cheering and bet-placing demons in the stands on either side of the scoreboard - as he made progress in his challenge. 

Above it all, hovering in Hell's acrid air, was a Jumbo-tron, showing close-ups of Arthur as he staggered to a standing position, and close-ups also of a thousand pair of dirty feet, all wiggling and awaiting their rare cleaning. Arthur sighed when he realized who would be doing the cleaning.

Some of the feet were only slightly soiled. Others... Arthur wasn't sure if even a jackhammer would remove the dirt caked on them. Still others had waves of nauseating stink rising from them. Several he noted had black toe jam between the toes, sticking to every surface of every toe. Some of the toes couldn't even wiggle because they were glued together with the grimy substance. 

Other expectant feet had other substances on them, of varying colors and consistencies. Arthur could only assume these were substances found only in Hell. The owners of all these feet were again women of all sizes and shapes. Some of the feet were petite, others so large there would be no shoes on Earth capable of fitting them. These toe-wiggling women all lay comfortably on their backs on beach towels, many wearing sun-glasses, all of them sipping drinks from straws as other females - damned waitresses it seemed - continuously refreshed their drinks for them. 

Each of the women on the beach towels had her legs up in stirrups that rose from the ground, holding their filthy feet up in the air for Arthur to service, giving him the angles and space required for thorough foot cleaning. There would be no excuses if he failed to get them spotless.

As the Jumbo-tron showed close-ups of the grossest feet on the field, the spectators cheered and placed their bets. One particular pair of feet - which the Jumbo-tron proclaimed in flashing red letters to be given the name "Packed Earth" came in at 1000:1 odds against Arthur's success in removing their filth. There was even a sadistic little note added below the flickering odds: "He'll die (again) trying!" 

Arthur looked up one side of the field and then down the other. Row after row of drink-sipping Hell-trapped souls extended as far as his eye could see. The Jumbo-tron showed disgusting foot after disgusting foot, the odds flashing amid cheers, hoots and boos from the raucous throng. Apparently, it was a team of a thousand foul feet owners against the lone Arthur. The odds were stacked against him in a big way. 

And every one of his prone, foot-wiggling opponents was yelling at him, pointing at their feet, wanting to be first to feel the relief of having their feet cleaned for the first time in centuries. They had nothing personal against Arthur. They had all just forgotten what clean feet felt like and were none too patient to experience that wonderful sensation again. It was Arthur or the comfort of their feet... and as far as they were concerned, Arthur was expendable.

"What're ya waiting for, dumbass," Butterfly yelled over the fence, screaming to be heard above the crowd, "You know what to do. Tongues are the most abused part of the body here in Hell. Well, other than the dick and balls, of course. So stick that tongue out and get working. Some of those feet are gonna take some heavy duty CHEWING to get the dirt off, too. Chew and lick, lick and chew... and swallow swallow swallow... that's the only way you're gonna get through this."

Butterfly loved tormenting poor Arthur, so she didn't let up, "Let's go, Artie, get your tongue out and scrape all that nasty shit off those feet, and suck it all off the greasy toes. Get down in there and chew that stinky cheese from between the toes, too. Every nauseating crumb. Let's go, time's a wastin'." Daisy was laughing so hard she had to pee. But she held it because she wanted to watch Arthur clean those limburger feet... at least the first few pairs. 

A buzzer sounded. The number 617 flashed up on the Jumbo-tron. Far off to Arthur's right a woman screamed, cheering and holding up a card with the number 617 on it. Before Arthur could even focus on the ecstatic woman, a huge female demon - who made Butterfly look positively feminine by comparison - whisked Arthur off his feet and dragged him by the hair across the field, zig-zagging between drink-sipping ladies with their feet in stirrups and eventually dumped him at the feet of the woman holding number 617.

"Oh, hooray!" the woman squealed, "My feet get cleaned first. Hurry up, little man, my feet haven't been clean in over two decades. I can't wait to have all that grime off my feet. Hurry hurry hurry."

As Arthur got to his knees he saw the feet in question. His eyes grew wide. The pads of the toes were the only parts of either foot that had less than a quarter of an inch of ground-in black dirt on them. Even the concave curves of the arches were not unsoiled. And the heels and the balls of the feet were so black Arthur knew in a heartbeat that he'd have to chew his way through the dirt if there was any chance at all of cleaning these feet. 

Arthur watched with incredulous eyes as the feet wiggled impatiently, their owner giggling with glee. He knew he'd better do a good job here or Butterfly and Daisy would take great joy in widening his sphincter.

So, out came his tongue.

Several dozen licks later, Arthur had the dirt soft and loose enough that he could suck most of it off without chewing. It took him nearly a half hour just to loosen the dirt, another fifteen minutes to lap away the loose material. 

That took care of about ninety percent of the soil, but what remained on the foot would definitely require some energetic chewing on his part. So he braced the foot with his hands and began chewing at the most stubborn dirt, licking and swallowing between chews. 

Slowly, the actual flesh of the foot began to show through, to the utter delight of the foot's owner. She sighed and cooed and reveled in the actual sensation of skin where only grime had existed for oh so long. Arthur lapped for all he was worth, finally succeeding in getting that foot glistening with saliva rather than dulled with dirt. He even chewed the dark stuff out from under her toenails with his bottom teeth until the tips of those nails looked like they'd just received a French tip pedicure. 

Needless to say, the foot's owner was squealing with delight. But before Arthur could sit back and take pride in a job well done, the wide-eyed, giggling woman was already pointing at her other foot. "Hurry," she gasped, "The other foot. Clean the other one now!" With a deep sigh, Arthur girded his loins and bent to the task. 

After a total of two and a half hours of licking, chewing and sucking, the already exhausted Arthur looked up at the close-up of himself on the Jumbo-tron. His entire face was smeared with filth. Most of his hair had become black and sticky. His tongue hung out of his mouth and he was panting as if he'd just run a marathon. His lips were black as coal. He even had dirt around his eyes. 

Then the floating Jumbo-tron showed the woman who's feet he'd just licked clean. She had a wide smile on her face, holding up her card with 617 on it, and closely examining both her feet. She screamed a loud "Wooohoooo!" and gave a very enthusiastic thumbs up. On the scoreboard the number 0 changed to 2, and the 2000 dropped by that same number, two. Only 1998 "feet to go." 

The buzzer sounded again, and the number 182 flashed on the screen. Again a card was held high in the air and Arthur was whisked off to that woman. Again he stretched out his tongue and did what was expected of him, until the woman was satisfied. 

And so it went, for another 1996 dirty feet after that. Arthur licked soles that were actually crusted with filth, ate creamy goo from between nasty toes, sucked dirt off heels and ankles and under toenails. Literally ate dirt off hundreds of feet. Licked until his tongue went numb, sucked until his lips swelled like balloons, chewed until his teeth hurt, and swallowed things better left unmentioned. But in the end, he was victorious. 

He successfully cleaned every disgusting foot that was rammed into his face. When he was done his face was completely black. Not just smeared with dirt - completely black so that only his eyes shone through the inky appearance of his face. If he closed his eyes, even his eyelids were coated with foot-muck. There were mysterious chunks of matter all around his lips, and the inside of his mouth was like a coal mine. His tongue was black and bloated. He appeared toothless, as even his teeth were black, with grit between them. 




The Fetishist Who Went to Hell



But, he had avoided the dubious honor of having his sphincter enlarged via the good graces of Daisy and Butterfly. That pissed the demonesses off greatly. They were beginning to fear their toy collection would go unappreciated by Arthur. But they had hope, because the black-faced boy still had many tortures to endure.

Arthur was dragged out of the stadium to the cheers of the thousands of spectators. As it turned out, the ambitious lad had even conquered the encrusted feet that had become known to bettors as "Packed Earth" at 1000:1 odds. He had become a hero to those who had placed bets in his favor... not so much to those who bet against him. 

Butterfly and Daisy grumbled as much as those who'd bet against Arthur, dragging him roughly by the hands, allowing not just his feet to drag on the hot, unkind terrain, but his entire lower body. By the time they'd reached his next destination, his thighs were masses of cuts and scratches, and his genitals had been scraped raw. 

"Fucking little prick," Butterfly groused, "Think you're some kinda wiseass, do ya? Okay, so you survived the Field of Feet. Wait'll you get to your next little rendezvous. Oh, you're just gonna love this, right, Daisy?"

Daisy laughed heartily. "Yeah," she said, "I hope you like shit, dirtbag, cuz you're gonna be living in it. You think your face is dirty now, ho ho! You just wait. But don't you worry, we'll hose all the shit off ya afterwards, just like we're gonna hose all that foot filth off ya in a minute. I mean, how can we dirty you up again if there ain't no room to put the dirt, right? Hey, Artie, how'd you get toe jam in your ears? You don't have a tongue in your ear, do ya? If ya do, ya wanna eat my pussy with your ear?" She laughed, and Butterfly joined in, though her eyes had a jealous glint to them.

Again Arthur was unceremoniously dropped on his face. Another female demon sauntered up to Daisy and Butterfly and handed them a large hose. "Hey," said Daisy, "That's your job. You hose the little shit off. We did our job hauling his sorry ass here." 

The demoness grumbled and pointed the hose at Arthur. With a bored look on her face, she opened the valve and water shot out of the hose like cannon fire. Arthur shot back from the force and slammed into a gnarled, burnt tree, which he clung to for dear life. The demoness turned off the hose. "Better brace the little twerp, ladies, or he's gonna blow away."

Daisy and Butterfly tied Arthur to the tree with barbed wire from the utility pockets of their belts. Thus battened down, Arthur was ready to be hosed. The demoness stood about ten feet from him and trained the hose on his face. She again opened the valve. 

Arthur's head was blasted back against the tree. He felt like his face was being blasted off his head. Then, just for giggles, the demoness hosed the rest of his body, at first sending his scraped genitals flopping about wildly, then pinning them to his belly with his testicles squashed well out to the sides, and then sending his entire package racing for safety as they hid well up inside his battered crotch. 

"Hey," the demoness said with a grin, "I know only his face needed cleaning, but, so what? It was fun to watch, wasn't it?" Daisy and Butterfly nodded their agreement.

"Okay, footface," Butterfly pronounced, "Time for you to get shitfaced, and not in a good way." All three of the grotesque "ladies" laughed. Butterfly continued, "You ready to eat shit, dickhead? Hope your tongue is all rested up from all those yummy feet, cuz you got another entre coming. Hope you still have an appetite. You got enough ass coming up on the menu to feed half of Hell for a decade. You may never eat again!" She laughed so hard she snorted, and so did Daisy. 

When the third demoness likewise hooted until snot dripped from her repugnant nose, it was like a symphony of giggle-snorts. When the laughing finally subsided, Daisy and Butterfly released Arthur from the tree and dragged him to his next torture... the Devil's Den of Dirty Derrieres, known to the local demon population as Shit Happens.

At first it didn't seem too bad to Arthur. After having just eaten filth off thousands of smelly feet, his current situation didn't seem nearly as vile by comparison. The room they brought him to was small, the size of a local bar room. And in truth, it almost was a bar, but with a slight twist... courtesy of the Prince of Hell and his only slightly less warped associates.

There were three long tables lined up side by side. The tables were about the height of the average human being, five and half feet or slightly higher. Each had ten matching sets of food and water bowls spaced evenly on them, as if cats or dogs were to be fed on them. But, in front of each table was a hitching post of equal length as the table. 

To each post, at each feeding station, was hitched another damned female, her neck and her hands tied to the post with very short leather straps. The neck strap was so short that each woman had to bend over significantly. She was allowed to eat and drink from the bowls, but not to stand up much more than a few inches from her undoubtedly tasty repast. Again, since damnation is an equal opportunity future, these women were of all sizes, shapes and nationalities. 

For some as yet unknown reason, these women were all squirming. Some were eating or drinking when Arthur was escorted into the room, but all were dancing about as if abysmally uncomfortable and seeking some kind of relief. Arthur thought they might need a bathroom break, but such was not the case.

"Hungry?" Daisy asked Arthur, whispering the snide comment into his ear. "These ladies can't wait for you to chow down. They're gonna feel so much better after you do." Butterfly laughed into her misshapen paw.

"Well, Artie," Butterfly snickered, "Time for din-din. Just think, you get a tasty dinner and these ladies get relief at the same time. Can't beat that, can you? So now you just saunter up to any lady you like and get down on your knees and munch away to your heart's content. See how those bouncy butts are just jittery with anticipation? Go on now, make some hineys happy."

"Okay," Arthur asked, "What's the deal? What's my torture this time?"

"Flaming shitcakes," Butterfly noted, "You're as dense as the walls around Fort Knox, aren't you? You always this stupid or are you making a special effort today?"

"Oh, my Satan," Daisy said, "Just tell the idiot what to do. If he's that dumb, just spell it out for him. Or would you rather I do it?"

"You tell him," Butterfly insisted, waving her hands in mock frustration, "He's just too damn retarded for me to deal with. I mean, for Satan's sake, the sign is right over the bar. The Devil's Den of Dirty Derrieres. Nothing tricky about that, is there? A moron could figure it out. Really, Artie, you havn't a clue where this is goiing? You just chowed down on the dirtiest feet in hell. No bells ringing in your head? No light bulbs going on? Satan save us all, you are one dumb sonovabitch."

In truth, Artie did have his suspicions, just based on what he'd already experienced here in the fiery pit. He just couldn't find the proper words to voice it. It's not easy to talk about a thing like this... except maybe for foul demons who are pretty much disgusting on a day to day basis anyway. They probably talk about sick shit like this over tea and crumpets. 

"Oh... all right then," Daisy said, shaking her head, barely able to contain her derisive laughter, " Artie... dear sweet little Artie, these ladies really need your help. You see, here in Hell there are all kinds of tortures. The boss has such a wicked imagination. Well, these poor ladies have not been allowed to... um, how shall I say?... clean themselves... in years.

"You know how it is, Artie... they're allowed to poop and pee and all that - can't have ladies exploding all over the place, now can we? - but they aren't allowed to clean up afterwards. So you can imagine how itchy and irritated things can get. That's why they're all dancing around and jiggling and clenching their cheeks and such... although some of that might be anticipation now that you're here. So you're their hero. You're here to end their suffering... scratch their itches for them... get all that nasty stuff out of their crotches and asses.

"So, my dense little moron, what you're going to do is just like Butterfly said - you're going to saunter up all hero-like, get down on your knees, snuggle up to a sweet crotch or tushie, and use that obviously resilient tongue of yours to do some more cleaning. In some cases MAJOR cleaning. You're going to lick these ladies until they're not squirming anymore.

Daisy took a deep breath and continued, "You're going to clean what they haven't been allowed to clean for years and years. Lap up all the dried mess between their legs and then use your big, hero hands to spread their cheeks wide and get your tongue way down in there and lick and suck and chew until you end their suffering, you big lug you. In hell, this is how damned souls like you get shit-faced. Now, any questions?"

He had none. "Praise Satan!" Butterfly cheered, "Hallelujah! Pea-brain finally gets it! Now shove his face up someone's ass and let's go get a ciggy."

Before Arthur could even brace himself, Daisy did just that. She grabbed Arthur's head from behind and tightly tangled her fingers in a huge pawful of hair. As if he were nothing more than a plastic doll she dragged him along the floor of the lovely establishment until he was on his knees behind rear end number one. 

The reek brought tears to his eyes. Even Daisy, as used to this as she was, held her breath. Arthur's mind replayed a memory of his college days when a campus bully and his fawning entourage dragged him into a bathroom stall and dunked his head in a toilet, finding out only seconds later that it hadn't been flushed in some time. This lovely aroma was very similar. And when he noticed that the darkness between the cheeks spilled over the edges of that deep crack, he shivered. 

The woman hitched to the post wiggled with anticipation, bouncing up and down, trying very hard to push her ass back into Arthur's face. She spread her legs and bent over even lower, allowing Arthur complete access to what needed cleaning.

"I can do this," Arthur thought to himself, "I just sucked on two thousand feet, so thirty soiled bums and crotches should be a piece of cake. I can do this, I can do this."

Daisy tightened her grip on Arthur's hair and moved around behind him. She bent low and reached her other hand under his ass and cupped his scrotum. With one hand in his hair and the other assuring his compliance by threatening his jewels, she lifted him slightly and shoved him forward as hard as she could, aiming his head at the tethered woman's chocolately butt crack. 

Arthur's speeding face entered between the woman's cheeks with an audible "schlup" sound, and Daisy continued to push until it was buried up to his ears. For good measure, she then leaned into Arthur's back, putting both her paws on the back of his head and really shoving him home, grinding his head in a circular motion to force Arthur's face into the closest possible proximity to the tethered woman's soiled opening. 

The woman sighed, shivering with perverse delight. "Oh, that feels so good," she cooed, squirming with pleasure. "Can I keep him there?" she asked, "Please? Just for a year or two? Pretty please?" Daisy ignored the question, too busy admiring her handiwork at imprisoning Arthur's face in that horrid trench, the brown stuff oozing out around his head and cementing him there like the strongest Epoxy ever made.

Arthur raised his hands up to the woman's cheeks and tried to pry his head out of her ass, but could not. "Oh you won't be able to pull out of there until your job's done, Artie. Rules of Hell, dick breath - no release until you've paid the price. In Hell, even the privilege of breathing has to be earned."

"Mmmmpjh. Fumph mmph urmph." Artie's muffled voice came from within that sticky chasm.

Fluent in butt-mumble from decades of experience, Daisy replied, "Oh my no, Artie my boy, you're in there for the duration. Smell nice? Take a nice deep breath. Like springtime, isn't it?"

"Mumf immmuf famp uffit" spoke the head in the crack.

"Oh, Artie, you are so funny. You CAN'T pull yourself out. I guess Butterfly's right about you... you are mentally challenged aren't you? Artie, think about it. How do you THINK you can get your head back out of there? Think hard now."

"Ummm.... fuliff i phay ou?"

"Bravo! But I'm not sure licking will be enough, though it'll certainly help loosen things up so you can then chew your way out. I really can't tell from here. It all depends on just how clogged up things are in there. I could always use your head like a plunger if you like. Would that help?"

"Oooooo! I feffer fet ouffa ere!"

"That's true. I might wedge you in there so tight you'd just have to spend the rest of your damnation in this poor woman's ass. Okay, I'll just let you eat your way out on your own. Now, Butterfly and I are gonna go get some carcinogens down into our lungs. You just enjoy your dinner and work your way out of there so you can help out all these other lovely ladies next okay?"

The demoness patted Arthur's shoulder encouragingly. "When you're finished with this lucky lady, just move on to the next and the next and the next until there are no more nasty butts in this room, okay? Just like everything else so far, you better get everything squeaky clean and we better not hear a single complaint from any one of these ladies, you hear me?"

"Fef"

"All right then. And Artie?"

"Fef?"

"When you're done with these thirty stinky bottoms, a friend of mine and Butterfly's will bring in another thirty ladies for you to make happy. And then thirty more. And another thirty after that. We have quite a backlog of crusty butts here in Hell. The boss likes to keep a lot of them on hand just for souls like you. Isn't that sweet of him?"

"Fure... feffy fweet."

"I'll tell him you approve. Now, the good news is that you only have to rescue maybe three or four hundred of these uncomfortable ladies and then you'll get a break before the next three or four hundred start coming in. So you do get a break. And our friend who will be bringing in the ladies for you will hose off your face once in awhile and rinse out your mouth occasionally so you can keep going."

Fighting off yet more laughter, Daisy added with mock concern, "We'd hate to see your face get so caked up with shit that you can't get it in anyone's ass anymore. Or have your mouth so full of it that you can't get any real cleaning done. So you'll have that to look forward to, too. Never let it be said that we're not considerate here in Hell. So, Artie, I suppose you'd like to get started so you can get your head out of there and inhale something that's not the consistency of mud. You ready to get started, shit-lips?"

"Fef. mm feffy."

"Excellent. In that case... bon appetite!"

Daisy and Butterfly left the building, arm in arm, laughing so hard they nearly walked into the door frame due to tears in their eyes. Arthur began licking and chewing. 

It took Arthur a full hour to eat his way out of the woman's ass. When he'd licked and chewed enough to loosen his head, he again grasped her cheeks and tugged backward. Finally, his head ripped from her ass with a sound that combined a resounding "pop!" with a liquid "squish" and the woman gasped and then sighed. "Oh, that feels so wonderful."

Arthur began to move along to the next tethered woman. "Hey!" the woman he'd just eaten his way out of cried, "Where you going? Get back here. You cleaned up INSIDE, but now get that crap off my cheeks too. Don't you dare leave that crusty shit on my cheeks. And you haven't even BEGUN to suck the stuff offa my crotch. What the hell kinda slacker are you? You don't finish your job and I'm gonna make one loud complaint. You hear me? Now FINISH UP!"

Arthur had completely forgotten about the crotch mess and had figured the woman would be so relieved to have all that deep filth removed that she'd overlook a little crap on her buns. Apparently not. So back he went to put a spit shine on the cheeks and suck on her crotch. 

"Ahhhh," the woman sighed, "Much better.

And not for nothing," she continued, "But you didn't do a very good job on my sphincter, either. I can feel something chunky on it. I'd like a little more deep tongue action in there if you don't mind. But you can do that last. I'm sorry to be so cranky, but that stuff's been in there a long time. It's irritating you know. And if I know Satan he's not gonna let me clean myself again, so I'm gonna need you to get as much outta there as you can. Who knows when I'll get this chance again. So forgive me if I'm a little rude. JUST DO IT."

So another half hour was spent on crotch sanitizing and making the woman's backside more aesthetically appealing. The sphincter finishing only took a few minutes. It wouldn't have even taken that long, but the woman wanted Arthur to probe inside with his tongue in case there was something there she didn't know about. So he obliged, not wanting his own sphincter enlarged courtesy of Butterfly and Daisy.

And so it went. All told, Arthur's tongue shined and polished some seven hundred and fifty groins, butt cracks and sphincters. Again exhausted, he thought he'd done an excellent job. He himself was covered in brown smears and messy gobs from his head all the way down to his chest. His hair was slicked back with enough stool to change it from blond to brown. His lips were brown and so were his teeth. And he smelled like the toilet his head had been dunked in way back in college. 

The "hoser" demoness sprayed him for a good fifteen minutes to get the stink off him. It still didn't work. But all around Arthur women were cooing and sighing and dancing around, reveling in the sensations of clean pussies and asses for the first time in ages. They thanked Arthur over and over again. He was indeed their hero.

When Daisy and Butterfly came back for the seventh time to check in on his progress and found that he'd completed his torment, they spoke to the "hoser" demoness to see how he'd done. Arthur felt an icy tickle on his spine (not easy to feel an icy anything in Hell) when he saw Daisy and Butterfly smiling cruelly at one another. 

Then they sneered at Arthur with grins so vile that he nearly passed out (CAN you pass out in Hell? Yes, he'd done it before, and probably would again). His legs became wobbly and sweat poured from him as the two grotesque creatures lumbered toward him, still grinning their evil smiles.

"Well, well, seems like Mr. Perfect finally fucked up, eh Daisy?" Butterfly said, licking her lips.

"Yup. Looks like he's not so perfect after all."

"Wait," Arthur said, trembling, "What did I do? I cleaned everything. I mean EVERYTHING! No one could've complained. Look at all those happy ladies. I'm their hero!"

"Well, now, not quite, Artie," Daisy grinned, "Seems one lady thought you took too long sucking the grunge out of her pussy. She said you even made her cum!"

"So, what's wrong with that? Isn't that a plus?"

"Yes," Butterfly snickered, "Usually you'd think so, right? But this particular lady... well, she's not too fond of men. She only wanted you to do what had to be done and leave it at that. She didn't like the idea of a man making her cum. So, she's a bit miffed. All mellow with her orgasm, but still miffed."

"But I DID do my job. The orgasm was just a happy bonus for her. Whether it's from a man or woman, an orgasm is an orgasm!"

"Would you say that if a WOMAN gave you a blowjob, Artie? Wouldn't you rather a man did it?"

"Hell no! I mean... hell, yes... I mean, I'd LOVE IT if a woman blew my whistle. Why the hell does everyone think I'm gay?!"




The Fetishist Who Went to Hell



"Now, now, Artie," Butterfly cooed in a voice that was sticky sweet (incongruous coming from a hideous demoness), "Come with Daisy and me. You've had a complaint against you and that means we get to play with you before your next torture. Now be a man and just come with us."

Fog suddenly surrounded the exhausted Arthur. It swirled around him and sucked at his naked flesh. He coughed and gagged at its sulfurous smell. For an instant he thought he was back face-first in someone's ass.

"Welcome to our humble home," Daisy said as the mist dissipated. "Mine and Butterfly's. It's not much, but you're not really given much here in Hell if you don't suck the boss's dick a hundred times a year."

"No," Butterfly added, "And Daisy and I would prefer to suck each other. Isn't that right, my sexy little demon?" They kissed, and Arthur wished he was back licking feet.

"Now," Daisy said, sauntering up to Arthur, who eyed her suspiciously, "Butt and I have a surprise for you. Remember we promised to play with you with one of our special toys? Well, we're gonna use two actually. Don't you feel special now?"

"Oh shit," was all Arthur said.

Butterfly went into another room and returned with two black objects, one in each hand. In her left hand was what appeared to be a zippered leather mask with a huge dildo where the nose opening might usually be. Arthur knew instantly who the mask was for. 

In her other hand she held the absolutely largest strap-on Arthur had ever seen, even in crudely drawn cartoons. It would easily rip apart an elephant's sphincter. Arthur's previous question of whether or not you could pass out in hell was answered yet again (he might as well stop asking it) - you could. He did.

When he came to, Arthur's eyes opened to the sight of Daisy's rather large ass pistoning up and down on his face. Daisy and Butterfly had obviously already been taking turns on him, not bothering to wait for him to regain conscousness. They'd put the leather mask on him long ago it seemed and laid him on his back on the floor, taking turns sitting on his face and slopping up and down on it with their hellish pussies, and even their asses, grinding on and humping his cock-enhanced face happily four hours on end. 

Flopping him on his belly, they then took turns taking that nose-penis in their backsides while the other put the strap-on to good use in Arthur's tight little bum. The switching was so frequent and numerous that they just left the humongous plastic dick in his ass while they switched to save time. 

Arthur smelled demon ass for the first time, and it was not a pleasant experience. As each demoness used his dicked-up face for anal pleasure, the scents of demon dung and demon pussy mixed together into a combination that could melt steel girders. And, having to breathe through his mouth, Arthur was afraid something inside him would dissolve from the stench.

But the demoness's favorite activity, by far, was enthusiastically ramming the rhinocerous-sized dildo up Arthur's colon, driving it into him with the force of an out of control locomotive. This they did for days, even after they'd removed his dildo-mask and they just decided to take turns sitting on his horrified face, letting him kiss their buttholes with all due and proper respect. In fact, at one point they'd decided that he should reverently kiss one dark brown, puckered little gem the entire time his own sphincter was being rudely invaded by the mega-dildo. 

Several asshole spit shines were likewise in order, though they saved any pussy-munching chores for each other. Arthur got to watch. His eyelids hurt from clamping them so tightly shut, and he would never get the slurping sounds out of his ears and mind... ever.

The demonesses abused his sphincter for days if not weeks (you lose track of time in Hell). Arthur's anus felt as if it was about five times its normal size. His face had a zipper imprint on it on one side and his nose was actually bruised. There was also a brown line down the center of his face which no amount of hosing could remove. It wore off over time.

Arthur was returned to his damnation sentence and was forced to suffer humiliation after humiliation. He ate almost every pussy in Hell. He chowed down on the dirtiest, filthiest body parts Hell had to offer. Armpits, assholes, crotches and feet were on his daily menu - the filthier they were, the more they appeared on his dinner table. 

His mouth was used as an ashtray and garbage disposal unit. He had all manner of bodily fluids forced onto and into him. His body, between hosings, was crusted with every form of vile sewage that existed in Hell. He ate anything his captors threw in front of him while they watched, laughing. He was sexually abused on a regular basis, both damned human souls and perverted demonesses jumping at the chance to force themselves upon him. He was pretty much a plaything for the denizens of Hell. All this he endured for what seemed to be decades.

But, in truth, it was only a single year. Just 365 days. His exhaustion was consummate. He could barely move. He lay face down on the searing floor of Hell, his left cheek submerged in a pool of his own drool. 

Daisy and Butterfly would have nonetheless picked him up and forced him to endure yet more trials and tribulations, but they had become aware of the date on the calendar. They realized with a certain amount of disappointment that Arthur's first year of suffering was in the books, and that Satan would want to see him before continuing the fun.

And so it came to pass that Backdoor and Precious arrived at Sector Fourteen on that special day to pick him up. It was time for his yearly check-in with Hell's boss, to assess his progress in his first year of damnation, and they wanted to make sure they were prompt with his pickup and delivery. Satan would review all he'd been through and then schedule his next year's suffering schedule, and to delay Satan's joy in doing so would be to risk... terrible things. 

This is how it was done in Hell. Satan preferred to keep tabs on every soul to keep the humiliation in full swing and of the highest possible caliber. He took pride in implementing the sickest, most vile and excruciating tortures ever devised, especially with the new "guests" as he called them. And Arthur was no different. 

Before they dragged him away for his annual, Precious and Backdoor, ever fearful for their status as trusted demons in good standing asked Butterfly and Daisy how things had gone. The "ladies" too had much riding on the success of Arthur's thorough and painstaking humiliation throughout the past year, and they beamed with pride when they handed the completely spent soul of poor Arthur to Precious and Backdoor. 

Actually, "handed" isn't the proper word. Daisy just kicked his limp body over to the two waiting demons. Arthur merely moaned.

"Oh," Butterfly said proudly, "We abused the shit out of the boy. Little limp dick there is pretty resilient, but we fed him enough disgusting shit to last him throughout all eternity, and we look forward to shoving vile things down his throat again when the boss sets up the new schedule. Where is Gash, anyway? I can't stand that whiney little pencil-pusher. He's such an ass-kisser."

"He's gonna meet us at the elevator. Seems he's afraid of you, Butterfly. Go figure."

"Well, if he ever fucks up, make sure the boss sends him to Daisy and me for corrective action, okay? I'd just love to give that boy's ass a good workout."

"Hey, you fight yer own battles. We're just gonna take our boy here back to the boss for his annual. Good to hear you did him up right. Wouldn't wanna piss off the boss. I shudder to think what would happen then. But thanks for your service, ladies, and we'll see you again if Satan decides to send ol' dickwad here back to yas. Play nice, now... but do play."

Handshakes went all around, and the two demons lifted the drooling Arthur from the ground and dragged him off. They met Gash at the elevator and together, the three of them brought Arthur back to Satan's office for his assessment. 

Everything on Gash's clipboard list had been checked off, according to Daisy's daily communications with him over the past year. Some items, particularly the Field of Feet (where Arthur had become some sort of reigning champion or even folk hero) and the Den of Dirty Derrieres (where damned women were actually signing up for his services now!), had been checked anywhere from twice to ten times. 

Gash raised his eyebrows as he read the list, impressed at Arthur's accomplishments in just a single year. Satan would be very pleased.

Finally they reached the Hell Command Center, where Satan sat contentedly at his computers. Apparently all was going well in Hell, and that bode well for Precious, Backdoor and Gash. They grinned at each other and mentally high-fived. They'd most certainly avoid Satan's rage and come out of this quite well indeed.

"Your Putridness," Gash proclaimed proudly, "Precious, Backdoor and myself, sir, reporting back with one Arthur Grant, soul # 92358106, with his annual torture and humiliation progress report and to receive your wickedly creative and amusing future schedule for him, as per your wise and wonderful rules, Oh Magnificent One."

"Butterfly's right," Precious whispered to Backdoor, "He really is a suckup." Backdoor nodded.

"Yes, yes," Satan replied, "Let me see his last schedule." Gash handed it to him immediately.

"Oh," Satan beamed, "Nice. Oh, yes, absolutely lovely. Oh, my, he did that SEVEN times? Very good. And is this right? He went back for seconds at the Derriere?" Gash nodded. "Oh, my that is impressive.

I've had my doubts about Daisy and Butterfly, but they seem to have carried out my wishes in an exemplary manner. I may have to give them some time off. And maybe you three as well. This is just a delightful report. I might even see fit to hand out a few promotions."

Precious, Backdoor and Gash were beside themselves with both pride and glee.

"And now," Satan said, "His orgasm meter. Has that been checked recently?"

The three demons all gulped. None of them had checked it. Surely, though, Butterfly and Daisy must have been keeping tabs on it. Besides, surely a gay man couldn't have enjoyed any of his humiliations here in Hell, all of them having involved female souls. And even if he did, Arthur was just too exhausted from all his hard work for his pecker to pop. Still, they all looked at each other, sweating profusely.

Satan saw those nervous glances and he bristled. "No one's checked Arthur's orgasm meter?"

"Uh," Gash offered, "I'm sure Daisy and Butterfly must have."

"Fine," Satan answered, "Is it indicated anywhere on his paperwork?"

Gash nervously tried to crane his neck and look at the sheet Satan was holding. But Satan snatched the sheet away, wanting to scan it himself. He saw no notations involving Arthur's orgasm meter. He flipped several pages, anger mounting. 

"It would appear the checking of Arthur's orgasm meter has been somewhat overlooked by every one of you. This is very shoddy work on your parts, I must say. However, if his reading now is fine, I'll overlook it with just minor corrective action... this time." Still assuming all must surely be well, Satan turned back to the sweating records keeper, "Gash, take his reading now, for the record. Fill in the sheet with the result and we can move on."

Gash took the cell phone sized Orgasm Meter from his utility belt and flipped the on switch. Lights wlinked on and began flashing rhythmically. He then brought the meter over to Arthur and reached under his genitals, brushing it against the bottom of his scrotum.

"Hey!" Arthur reacted, glaring at Gash.

"Relax, bomb boy," Gash growled, "I'm just checking your orgasm chip. We implant them in every soul who comes here to make sure they don't enjoy themselves at all while they're here. Orgasms are only allowed if Satan gives the okay. And you have not been okayed. In fact, that's why he sent your gay ass to Sector Fourteen, so you'd only have women to service. Too bad, huh?"

The meter wasn't under Arthur's danglies more than ten seconds when bells began clanging and a wail that sounded like a fire station alarm reverberated throughout the entire management sector of Hell. Four pairs of eyes grew wide, three with shock and surprise, and the fourth with rage. Arthur merely smiled sheepishly and looked down at the ground.

"This man had an orgasm?" Satan snarled. "An orgasm!? Orgasms are not allowed here! Not unless I give express permission! Look at the meter's screen. If that screen says he's had an orgasm, someone's head will roll!" Satan paced, his growing agitation glaringly apparent.

Gash checked the screen. His eyes grew even wider, and then he began hyperventilating. Fear was literally palpable on him. He stank of it - well, mixed in with his many other unpleasant emissions. His terrified face turned toward Satan and the clipboard-carrying demon cringed. "Your Vile Disgusting Nastiness, it's not my fault!" the quivering demon sniveled.

"He HAS had an orgasm!" Satan bellowed, "Even one orgasm a year is not allowed! Someone will pay for this! Let me see that meter this instant!"

Gash was in fear for his life, so he held tightly to the meter. "Give that to me NOW!" Satan insisted, "Or I'll saute your spleen in horse manure and make it your staple diet for the next decade."

Trembling, Gash's hand slowly reached out, surrendering the small plastic device to the fuming devil. Satan snatched it from him with anger oozing from every pore of his body. "I'll show you cretins what happens when rules are allowed to be flaunted in MY kingdom!"

When Satan held the meter up and looked into the display screen, his eyes grew round with disbelief... and then smoldered with a rage blacker than anything Precious, Backdoor or Gash had ever seen. For the first time since time began, The Great Deceiver, The King of Lies, The Corruptor of Souls... actually stammered. "ARE... Y...YOU... SH... SHITTIN' ME?!" His body quivered with rage. "ARE... YOU... FUCKING... KIDDING ME?"

Satan walked over to Precious and Backdoor, the two hulks still holding aloft the dumbly grinning Arthur between them. He held up the meter for them to see the number on its screen. Their eyes likewise grew round, with shocked disbelief, but theirs then began to tear, fearing the immediate removal of their testicles and having them ground up and used as seasoning in the food dishes of Satan's favorite pets.

"Read that number for me, Precious Panties, you dick sniffing imbecile... READ IT!"

Precious gulped. "Fo... fourteen... hu... hundred... eighty... two."

"FOURTEEN FUCKIN' HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-TWO ORGASMS!" Satan roared, "This little gay-ass bomb-building sonovabitch had FOURTEEN HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-TWO orgasms in ONE FUCKING YEAR!? If this is true, SOMEONE is going to eat their own colon! Gash, get over here and take another reading. And you had better pray to me really hard that the first reading was a glitch."

Gash again held the meter under Arthur's sack. Again the captive grinned sheepishly. The bells and whistles sounded almost instantly. They all looked at the screen, four hideous faces pressed together trying to see the numbers. Once again, the number 1482 lit up the screen clearly. A low growl climbed up from the pit of Satan's gut. His lips curled into a feral snarl. His eyes became angry slits. Evil dripped from his pores. Precious and Backdoor wet themselves. Gash just passed out, dropping the orgasm meter with a clatter at Satan's hooves.

"AAAAARRRRRRRAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Satan howled, the scream heard throughout all of Hell. Lava pits boiled, mountains crumbled, all of the land quaked and moaned, huge chasms formed where once there'd been solid land. From those chasms fire and steam hissed and spat.

The Jumbo-tron shook in Hell's burning sky, swaying from side to side, nearly dropping from its position high above the Field of Feet. The denizens of Hell, both the damned and the demons, rushed to find whatever cover they could. All feared the apocalypse was coming.

"Gash, you idiot," Satan growled, "Get up!" He kicked the unconscious demon with his cloven hoof. The demon's eyes blinked and he groaned, babbling something about his mama. "Get up, I said!" Satan again put hoof to Gash's hazy noggin. The demon finally pulled himself free of unconsciousness and sat up. "Get Butterfly and Daisy here this instant. If they're not here in two minutes, I'm sending YOU to the Dirty Derriere, but the one in Sector Ten, the men's version. Now get those two muff divers here on the double!"

"Yes, Your Rancidness, immediately," Gash hurried to assure his master.

"And stop sucking up. The time for all that ass-kissing is way past. The five of you are in deep shit right now, depending on what turns up when I check the computer. So stop the sniveling and get those two here now."

"Yes, Your... yes, sir."

"Now, you two dumbasses keep Mr.Grant nice and comfy while I check the computer and find out what the fuck happened here. How could you ass-sniffing mongrels allow something like this to occur under your own noses? How could a damned soul ENJOY his humiliations? If I don't get to the bottom of this, I'm not fit to rule in Hell. SOMEONE has to pay for this!"

Satan took Arthur's torment schedule over to his computer. His sharp yellow-nailed fingers flashed like lightning across the keyboard. He typed in Arthur's guest number - # 92358106. The computer responded immediately. Satan read the screen for less than thirty seconds... then let out a howl that again shook Hell from one end to the other. His head snapped around to look in Gash's direction so fast that a breeze was formed by its movement. Gash dropped a large brown nugget in his pants. Precious and Backdoor moved away from him, dragging the grimacing Arthur with them.

"You fucking dimwitted turd-sucking gob of snot," Satan growled at Gash, "How could you fuck this up? How could you make a huge blunder like this? Did you shit your brains out at some point?"

"But, Your Putrid... "

"Shut the fuck up! You moron, this isn't Arthur Grant, a gay terrorist. This man is Grant Arthur, and he's as straight as they come. He's a Bible salesman from Lofton, Ohio who's only questionable sins are moonlighting at an adult video store and watching his sister undress through a keyhole! He hasn't committed a major sin in almost thirty years. This man doesn't belong here."

Arthur / Grant spoke up, "I've been trying to tell you guys that since day one... but would anyone listen?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Maybe now... "

"Shut up," Satan told him, tapping his fingers on his desk. "We've got to correct all of this immediately. First, you idiots. The three of you need some major corrective action." Just then, Daisy and Butterfly arrived, already fearing the worst. Apparently, Gash's tone when he contacted them gave away the seriousness of the situation. "Correction," the devil sneered, "The FIVE of you need reprimanding."

"First, you two incompetent jackasses," he snarled at Precious and Backdoor, "What should I do to you? Hmmmm?"

"But, sir, all we did was deliver Arthrur... er, Grant... to Daisy and Butterfly."

"Yes, I know, but you still should've at least been curious as to Mr. Arthur's orgasm status, and you weren't. But you are just delivery boys so I'm going to go easier on you than the others. You will both report to Sector Ten as soon as we're finished here. You will both suck a hundred cocks a day for the next two years. And if you have any objections I can always sign you up for a stint at the men's Dirty Derriere. Any objections, gentlemen?"

"No, sir," both demons answered in unison. Grant was amused at the look on their faces. Demons always looked like they were scowling, so to see a scowling face scowl was something rather rib-tickling. And seeing Precious and Backdoor standing there brooding like scolded school boys was amusing to say the least.