The Fetishist Who Went to Hell

"And you, Gash," Satan continued, "You should definitely have checked your paperwork better, not only for the orgasm meter report, but for this man's correct name and status in the first place. Your shoddy work totally fucked up this entire case. I've never seen you so stupid and bungling before, but I think I have just the thing to help you get your concentration and dedication back on track.

"Yes, I'd say ten years standing in the Fecal Debris Swamp up to lip level should help you sharpen your concentration, and maybe a few decades as the headliner at the male Field of Feet should improve your dedication to detail. After that I'm scheduling you for another decade at the Rancid Dick Sucking Range. You will accommodate every damned soul and every demon who needs his cock spit-shined, no matter how filthy or diseased that cock might be. I don't care if you're swallowing cum from morning to night, you service every oozing rod that's shoved in your face or you'll answer to me.. You and I both know there are worse things in Hell even than that. Understood?"

"Yes, Your... sir."

"Then," Satan continued, "If you make an exemplary accounting of yourself, I will let you go back to square one and start as an office intern again and work your way back up to a position of trust. But for now, it's off to the swamp for you. Go on, right this instant. I expect to receive a report from the swamp's administrator within ten minutes as to how you're doing in all that silky smooth shit. Smells like you've got a good start on things yourself, anyway, Mr. Squishypants. Now, get the fuck out of here before I lose my cherub-like demeanor with you."

Gash trodded off, lamenting his fate. Part of his dropped load slid through the leg of his pants and fell onto the ground at his feet. Fearing Satan's reaction to the soiling of his office floor, he quickly picked up the turd in his hands and walked off with it as quickly as his legs would take him.

"Now," Satan said to Butterfly and Daisy, "You two. No doubt you two were too busy burying your faces in each others crotches or sneaking off to puff some ciggies to pay attention to our good Mr. Grant here splattering his gunk all over my nice clean Hell! Oh, don't look so surprised. I've known about you two slit-lickers for centuries. But you did your jobs well enough so I let you snuggle up to each others twats with no interference. Well, that's got to stop. I'LL HAVE LESS DAYDREAMING AND MUFF-DIVING AND MORE ATTENTION PAID TO THE WORKINGS OF HELL OR I'LL TORTURE EVERYONE IN THIS PLACE FOR ALL ETERNITY, IS THAT CLEAR?!!"

Daisy and Butterfly both fell to their knees, begging for forgiveness, blubbering and spilling huge, fear-induced tears. Satan would have none of it.

"You two missed OVER FOURTEEN HUNDRED ORGASMS!? Please, tell me how Mr. Arthur here could pop his load over fourteen hundred times and neither one of you caught a single one of them. How?! Didn't the man stick to something at some point from all that cum?"

Spit flying from his lips, Satan continued his rant, "Didn't he have that silly-ass climax-face all men get when they gush their wad? Seriously, he came enough times to fill a ten gallon bucket and you two saw nothing!? You couldn't get your tongues out of each others twats long enough to realize that this man was all mellow and covered in sticky white goo? For that alone I should have you both tortured in the dungeons!

"So,'ladies,' here's how I'm going to handle this. You two dykes will not munch each others sticky treats for the next century. No, instead you will report to Sector Nine and begin sucking dicks. That's right, ladies... DICKS! No pussy for either of you for a hundred years! You will not only suck any penis offered to you, but you will also take them in your pussies and up your asses. Hell, if a demon or damned soul wants to stick his cock in your EAR, you let him!"

Still growling, "And I'm going to have a cum meter put on you both, and I expect you each to swallow no less than a gallon of cum a day. If this quota is not met, I will personally send the most disgusting dicks in Hell your way for you to achieve that quota. And Butterfly, I may even send Gash to you at some point for you to suck HIS dick. I'm sure he'll like that. Maybe after he spends some time in the Fecal Debris Swamp. That should make his dick tasty, no? Now get your asses out of here on the double. If I don't hear that someone's shot a load in your faces in the next ten minutes I'm going to investigate and take appropriate action. Is everything crystal clear, ladies?"

"Yes, sir," they both replied, looking at each other with teary eyes and hugging desperately.

"And now for you, Mr. Grant Arthur. Please accept my humblest apologies for your ordeal. I will have your release papers drawn up immediately, and you can be on your way to Heaven as soon as possible. Please be patient as I've just had to banish my top assistant to some time in a shit swamp, so I'll need to find a suitable replacement. But, rest assured, we'll have you on your way as quickly as we can."

"What?" Grant said, looking quizzically at the devil.

"We admit our mistake," Satan said, "And I assure you we will correct the situation immediately."

"But," Grant asked, eyes wide for the first time, "What about the rest of my punishment?"

"There will be no more punishment, Mr. Arthur. We regret that we've inconvenienced you this long."

"But, I've been bad. You said yourself I sold porn and I ogled my naked sister."

"True, but those are minor sins, Mr. Arthur. They do not earn you an eternity of damnation."

"But... but... check your records again. I'm a gay terrorist. I've killed people. I'm evil.... despicable. I can't go to Heaven. I belong here... being humiliated for all time to atone for my sins."

"But, Mr. Arthur, you're not a gay terrorist. You yourself said... "

"I was delirious. I'm very tired, not thinking right. I can't tell you how many families I've destroyed with my bombs and... and... explosive things and bomby stuff. I mean, like, limbs all over the place, faces blown off, fingers and toes just... whoosh!... gone. All because of my nasty, EVIL bombs. So, you can't send me to Heaven. I need to suffer here... in places like The Field of Feet and the sauna and The Derriere. Us gay guys hate all those women, too. It's a perfect punishment for me. I need to be punished. There was no mistake in your records. I really am a gay terrorist. In life I fucked men and killed people. Punish me as you see fit."

"Mr. Arthur, I see what you're doing here. You may be a Bible salesman, but you're as sexually perverted as they come. You ENJOYED your humiliations here, so much so that you had three or four orgasms a day while we 'tortured' you. You are hoping to continue emptying your balls all over my precious Hell for all eternity to come. I'm sorry, sir, but we're not in the business of jerking off our guests. We're here to punish those who deserve to be punished. I'm sorry, but you'll have to find another way to get your rocks off. Good luck with that flying around those white, fluffy clouds up... there."

"But, wait, I truly AM gay. Why, even Precious and Backdoor here look yummy to me. I've been fighting off the urge to suck them off ever since I first met them. So, making me eat pussy is the perfect punishment for me. I hate it. Pussy... yuck... disgusting stuff. Seriously, I ..."

"Now, now, Mr. Arthur, you know that isn't true."

"And feet, I hate feet. And asses - what a stink! Yuck. If you really want me to suffer, stick a shitty ass in my face or make me lick toe jam. You can't imagine how I hated eating out all those smelly butts and chowing down on dirty feet. Oh, sweet Jesus, how dirty can asses and feet get around here? Just shoot me, please! And those rancid, hairy armpits? God, how awful can it get? Worst torture ever. Awful, disgusting, humiliating stuff! You really know your torture down here, Mr. Satan, sir. Holy God in Heaven! PHEW! You're the MAN when it comes to torture!"

"Do not use those despised names here in Hell, Mr. Arthur. And, if you hated your torments so much, why, pray tell, did you eject your sticky discharge all over my precious torture areas? Hmm, Mr. Arthur? You hated everything we did to you so much you couldn't keep from spurting on everything in sight, is that it?"

"Accidents. Pure accidents. I was just so nervous and upset. It was all so terribly disgusting I had muscle spasms in my dick. Spasm after spasm. Very painful. There you go... yet another torture you inflicted on me!"

"Dick spasms," Satan repeated, "You want me to believe your orgasms were nothing more than torturous dick spasms, do you?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Devil, sir, you really know how to punish us sinners. It was all such a terrible ordeal, sir. I've never suffered so much, sir. But, hey, that's what happens to us sinners, right?"

Satan sighed, "Mr. Arthur, we may have made a clerical error down here in what I like to think of as Paradise, but we are not stupid. I am not stupid, Mr. Arthur. Do you think I'm stupid, Mr. Arthur?"

"Well, no, sir, of course not, but... "

"Then kindly shut the fuck up, Mr. Arthur. Precious... Backdoor... see to it Mr. Arthur is safely on his way to... that other place... as soon as possible. As soon as you hand him over to the Departure Department, I expect you to report to Sector Ten immediately. I want you both to suck twenty rancid cocks before dinner time. If that does not occur, then I will have you both fucked in the ass, after which you can suck THOSE cocks clean as a whistle. Are you both catching my drift?"

"Yes, sir," the dejected demons replied, almost with a whimper.

"Good, now get this Bible salesman out of my sight."

"No, wait," Grant cried as they dragged him away, "I truly AM evil. I can prove it!"

The two teary-eyed demons did not stop dragging Grant away from the Management Sector, but continued to head directly for Departures.

"Stop, dammit! You can't send me to Heaven! I AM evil, I swear! Look, Mr. Satan, sir, check my records again. I've got dozens of unpaid parking tickets! I leer at little girls... er... I mean, little boys! I once kissed my mother on the mouth... and LIKED IT! I... I... I grabbed Nancy Preston's ass in grade school... oh, shit... I mean, I grabbed her brother's nutsack when we were playing hide and seek!

"I blew people up all the time - morning, noon and night. BOOM! Arms and legs flying! Even brought a few pieces home for dinner! I marched for gay marriage... even sucked off a few Congressmen! Oh, and I once peed on my Social Studies teacher's cat. I opened up my own whorehouse... and I treated my hookers bad... REAL bad!

"Wait!" he continued pleading, "You can't send me to Heaven! I won't go! You can't make me! I belong here! Stop! Stop! STOP! You can't send me up there! No, no, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Grant struggled furiously in the demons' inhuman grips, but to no avail. Eventually, the two demons on either side of him were not the only ones weeping.

Precious and Backdoor continued dragging Grant to Departures. No amount of their charge's kicking and screaming so much as slowed them down. They knew they'd better get rid of Grant and get to Sector Ten to begin their sentence. Better to suck a gazillion cocks than spend a single hour at the Derriere. This little Bible salesman / porn retailer had already caused them enough trouble.

Grant's hasty exit from Hell went off without a hitch. There were no paperwork snafus. Every i was dotted and every t crossed. No missing signatures or incorrect dates. Every phase of his ousting was carried off to OCD-like perfection. And in less than an hour Arthur was on his way to true Paradise... still kicking, screaming and bawling his eyes out.

EPILOGUE

Mr. Grant Arthur sat at the edge of a soft, fluffy cloud, his feet dangling over the edge. Behind him, angels and those souls who'd earned eternal peace and contentment were having a huge party. There was food aplenty, the most angelic music, people talking and mingling (some very famous people present, but only a few - most had ended up much further south, in warmer climes), dancing, and a rousing, but not so competitive game of badminton being played by giggling beauties all dressed in white.

And yet poor Mr. Arthur sat alone and forlorn. He quietly wept, rubbing tears from his eyes with the palms of his hands. His downturned lips quivered with deep sorrow, a heartfelt yearning evident in his glistening eyes. Occasionally he would sigh wistfully, a brief smile of remembrance would curl his lips, but then the deep melancholy would return and he would once again become glum.

Beside him on his fluffy bit of Heaven was a sheet of paper with a note cleanly typed on it, which Grant had just read and then dropped by his side. The letterhead depicted a white cloud with rays of sunshine radiating out from behind it, and, inside the cloud, a large, bold letter "G" in fancy script. The letter, obviously the cause of Grant's deep sadness, read:

Dear Mr. Arthur,

It has come to my attention that you have now written a total of forty-seven letters of complaint to my administrative assistants regarding your current situation and your belief that some sort of error has occurred.

Please rest assured, Mr. Arthur, that every case is thoroughly researched and every soul's past rigorously examined before they are allowed entrance into Heaven. I assure you, there are NO errors. After I believe your thirtieth or so similar letter I personally researched your past, and found not a single sin heinous enough to keep you from my Kingdom.

I understand your feelings that you have sinned and you need to suffer - a commendable realization on your part (I wish more people understood that). However, you have spent the required time in Purgatory and have earned your eternal peace. Your past sins were minimal and you have atoned for them. You are a good man and do not deserve the rigors of Hell, as you seem to believe.

Please, Mr. Arthur, you have my word that you do belong here and that no mistake of any kind has occurred. The mistake, rather, occurred in Hell, and they have admitted to it and apologized for it. You are truly free and clear to enjoy eternity here with us.

So I ask you, Mr. Arthur, please desist from inundating my office help with your letters, unless your next one is on a different topic - perhaps something for our suggestion box? You see, my office staff is very busy, and I do not wish to overburden them. So, please, no more letters claiming you belong in Hell. Your days of torture are done, mistake that they were.

Sit back and enjoy your time here with us, Mr. Arthur. You are most welcome with us and you have earned eternal rest, peace and joy. There is much to do here in Heaven. We have a five star rating for accommodations and likewise for food and entertainment. So, enjoy, Mr. Arthur, and welcome to Heaven! Bless you, my son.

God

P.S. Please, Mr. Arthur, no more letters to my staff.

And Grant Arthur, sitting alone at the edge of a drifting cloud, again sighed wistfully... and then wept and wept and wept...

END

"The Fetishist Who Went to Hell" copyright bacomicfan, May 2014