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.