The Fetishist Who Went to Hell

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Bacomicfan
Bacomicfan
552 Followers

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.

Bacomicfan
Bacomicfan
552 Followers