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Thread: Devlin's Inferno

  1. #21
    Fledgling Footsniffer
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    Fantastic story

  2. #22
    God Of Footsniffing sacurason's Avatar
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    Chapter IV:

    From the reports of Pleasure Garden Headmistress Tsuna:

    Dated December 22nd, 476 AD

    Oops. Apparently we’ve been breaking them in a little
    too fast. The new methods worked for a time, but...these last candidates have been broken to the point that they’re totally useless. They're incapable of obeying even the most simple commands, no matter how much we torment them. I’m not even sure what department will take care of the husks.

    What a mess. Anais recommended we give the new candidates time to cool off between the rounds of intense torture. She’s too soft-hearted. Still...I’ll consider it.



    Devlin awoke from the dream with a jolt. He had dreamt, vividly, of his ex-fiancee Lillith. She of the dark hair and luridly painted lips, she of the perfect curvaceous body. He had never been good enough for her, and when he confessed his secret desires to her, she had finally sent him packing.

    Throughout the night he had seen that moment, that expression on her face: first befuddlement, then concern, then amusement, and finally fury.

    With her features contorted she had screamed at him to get out, to leave, that no pervert could ever be with her.

    When he turned to open the front door and escape from her, it had dissolved into nothing. Beyond it, instead of the city block, was the Chasm - the apartment flipped vertically and this time he was one of the damned falling down, falling forever…

    Devlin took a moment to gather himself and catch his breath. His memories still shook him. He remembered the shame and guilt he felt at the scene of his worst rejection, and he wondered if Lillith was part of the reason he was here in Hell now.

    Maybe so, maybe not. Still, Devlin was surprised to find in himself a strange conviction. He was still sentient, was he not? Didn’t he still have some sort of tangible body to control?

    If I still have free will, he thought, that means that this isn’t hopeless. I won’t believe that, no matter what they tell me. I have to hold on to that.

    Perhaps he was being utterly irrational - he knew little of the rules here. But it was human nature to look to the future and reject the slings and arrows of fate.

    Devlin put his back to the wall and waited for his guards to return.


    He had almost dozed off again when the door to his cell was thrust open.

    This one was a new demoness. She was cinnamon-skinned and her face seemed thinner, longer than the others had been. Indeed, her entire body was more lean than many of the succubi.

    She wore a flowing gown of translucent crimson, the sleeves of which nearly grazed the floor. Her sandals were composed of thin leather straps that criss-crossed their way up from ankles to thighs.

    Her breasts and sex were clearly visible, yet she seemed to either not notice this, or not care. Devlin could see her wings peeping over her shoulders - they were silvery in color and very soft.

    The demoness eyed him flatly for a moment before drily rattling off an introduction, as if she were reciting a long-memorized and oft-repeated text:

    “I am Anais. I will be joining you in the evening for the foreseeable future. While you are to be relieved of your suffering during these periods, there are still a number of rules you will have to follow. The first of which is-”

    “Go fuck yourself,” said Devlin coldly.

    Anais cocked her head at him, smiled bemusedly, and continued.

    “The first rule is simple. You are directly under my supervision, and beholden to me. Do not disobey, as I have freedom to punish you however I like.”

    “Kindly go fuck yourself again,” replied Devlin.

    Anais rolled her eyes and made a clench-fisted gesture with her hand. Devlin felt his jaw lock shut as his teeth clicked together painfully of their own accord.

    She made a pinching motion and his lips sealed together as well. Now he couldn’t breathe through his mouth, let alone speak.

    Her lips flattened into a thin line.

    “Look, I really didn’t want to do that, but I have to get this thing out of the way. Let me finish and then we can chit-chat, okay?”

    She paused for a moment. Devlin glared back at her with a stubborn expression.

    “Alright, then.”

    “Second rule. Refer to me respectfully. Some of the others are more strict about this - I don’t care if you call me Miss, Mistress, Goddess, whatever floats your boat.”

    “Third. Well, this one’s less of a rule than it is an expectation, see? You’ll be worshipping my feet most of the time we’re together. Get used to the idea. My feet may seem gross to you at first, but they’ll start looking pretty pristine after you see what the others are going to put you through.”

    At this last rule, Devlin was unable to stop himself from stealing a furtive glance down at her sandals, barely glimpsing her wine-red toenail polish before he managed to jerk his eyes back up.

    From the intensity of her emerald-eyed gaze, Devlin knew she had noticed his peeking.

    Anais cocked her head to the other side this time, with an air of curiosity.

    “Well?”, she asked. “Are you going to lavish your attentions on my feet? Or do I have to make you?”

    He merely gestured at his mouth pointedly.

    “Oh, silly me! You want to speak! Well, if you insist!”

    With a wink, she opened her fist and unstretched the fingers until her tanned palm was fully exposed. Devlin felt his jaw loosen, and before long he was able to move his lips and tongue again.

    He considered his next move with a certain degree of caution. He wanted to put up a strong front, but...Anais had said she could just make him do it anyway. And she had actually asked him to worship her feet. Devlin could count on one hand how many times he had been allowed to indulge in his fetish in the past.

    It was almost too tempting for words - there was something about Anais’ demeanor that made him feel less intimidated than he had with her sister succubi. Perhaps stubbornness was the wrong idea with this one.

    Am I really talking myself into obeying her? he thought. What if that’s what she wants?

    He could sense that Anais was getting impatient as he deliberated, and so he made his choice.

    “Fine,” Devlin said. “I’ll do what you ask, but can you answer a question for me first?”

    “Okay, shoot,” she replied. “I did promise. But make it quick.”

    “Can you tell me why I’m down here?”

    She responded with an air of surprise. “Weren’t you judged already? You should be aware of what you did. Most of you are by now.”

    “That...judge person told me that I had a ‘lack of virtue’, or something. I didn’t really understand it. I never did anything horrible...at least I don’t think I did.”

    “Oh...that one,” Anais replied carefully. “It means that you didn’t do anything particularly good throughout your life, and so we were able to claim you. I assume that some of your opportunities to do those things were limited by your fetishism, so you were placed here.”

    As she spoke, she became pensive, withdrawn. She seemed to be looking through Devlin rather than at him, but with a slight shake of her head and a rustle of her wings, regained her composure.

    Before he could speak again, Anais bent over, lifted her gown, and began untying the ribbon-like leather straps that held her sandals on. Devlin drank in the view of her perfectly crafted bare legs, and was transfixed by the dexterous motion of her fingers; for a moment, he almost felt he could forget where he was.

    The straps lay in coils on the ground beside her feet, and she glanced up at him with a tiny grin.

    “I held up my end of the deal. Why don’t you come here and remove the sandals from my feet?”

    Devlin could not find it in him to resist any longer. He slid off the bed, wanting nothing more than to see what her feet looked like without the sandals. He crawled the small distance over to her, and despite her smaller stature compared to her sisters, she now loomed over him.

    Anais lifted her left foot a few inches off the ground and held it towards him, dainty as could be. With his now intense focus, Devlin noticed that the heel strap was almost falling off on it’s own - the loop around her toes was the only thing holding the shoe to her foot.

    With shaky hands, he tugged lightly at the heel strap and the sandal immediately came free, dangling from her toes. He gently slid the sandal the rest of the way off, and gazed at her naked foot for the first time.

    It was perfection. Her arches were fairly high, and the digits were quite long, with a neat taper from big to little toe. Anais flexed her ankle, and he could see that her soles were shapely and soft, though he now noticed that they were lightly coated in dirt and sweat.

    The dirt almost seemed somehow to enhance its beauty. Devlin could not say why, as he had only favored clean feet in the past.

    As he stared at her sole, he began to notice the smell. It was pungent, stale, reminiscent of old popcorn, yet it had an effect on him. As he inhaled the scent, to his embarrassment, Devlin felt himself become hard.

    She placed her left foot back on the ground and nudged him with her other sandal.

    “Next one, if you please.”

    He removed the other sandal hastily. She placed her feet together, flat on the ground, and wiggled her toes at him. It was hypnotizing.

    “Kiss them”, she whispered. “Do it for me.”

    There was no denying her; he needed to know their taste. Devlin prostrated himself before her feet and kissed them madly, inhaling their reek, not caring.

    They had a taste of age-old sweat, salt, and earth. He could feel gritty grains of the latter on his lips as he sloppily french kissed her toes. Devlin was almost disgusted with himself but could not deny his own arousal; he felt his consciousness shrink to a needle’s point as his primitive animal’s brain began to take over.

    It cried out for sex. It cried out for her feet.

    Devlin, in a very detached way, noticed Anais heave a sigh. She shook her head at him.

    “The first time is always the best. You humans just can’t resist us once you get going, can you?”

    Devlin had no response for this. Clearly she was correct. Instead he extended his tongue, intending to lick across the tops of her feet like a dog, his previous obstinance forgotten. He got one flavor-filled lick in just before the cell door burst open for the second time.

    It was the guards from the previous day.

    “It’s time,” said the fair-skinned demoness, and Anais stepped aside gracefully. The taste of her feet remained in his mouth as they carried him away to the first of his real tortures.
    Last edited by sacurason; 12-10-2017 at 07:16 PM.
    "It's an indulgence to sit in a room and discuss your beliefs as if they were a juicy piece of gossip." -Heinlein

  3. #23
    Fledgling Footsniffer
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    Very nice! Really looking forward to the next chapters!

  4. #24
    God Of Footsniffing sacurason's Avatar
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    Thank you! Anyone who's stuck around this far...we're gonna get into some major, disgusting debauchery starting next chapter
    "It's an indulgence to sit in a room and discuss your beliefs as if they were a juicy piece of gossip." -Heinlein

  5. #25
    Apprentice Footsniffer OneAuthor's Avatar
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    That was tremendous! Loved the descriptions of Anais and her feet. And it seems like Devlin likes what he sees in her as well.

    Now let's see about these first real tortures.

  6. #26
    God Of Footsniffing sacurason's Avatar
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    Thank you! Let's see, indeed!
    "It's an indulgence to sit in a room and discuss your beliefs as if they were a juicy piece of gossip." -Heinlein

  7. #27
    Fledgling Footsniffer
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    Is Anais named after Anais Jolie?

  8. #28
    Fledgling Footsniffer
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    Great chapter! It almost hurts that I know I have to wait a WHOLE week for the next chapter :-(.
    One question in my mind which I assume will be answered in the next chapter, is if he is so madly in love with feet to bare one of the succubi’s feet, how will they torture him with them? It’ll be great to find out.
    Last edited by UsernameHelp; 13-10-2017 at 03:08 PM.

  9. #29
    God Of Footsniffing sacurason's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by SavourtheSavour View Post
    Is Anais named after Anais Jolie?
    Haha, good catch! She is easily my favorite foot fetish model! However, there's also some significance to the name itself that gives you more insight to her character, if you look it up

    Great chapter! It almost hurts that I know I have to wait a WHOLE week for the next chapter :-(.
    Sorry about that! My writing process is very slow, I know. I kick around ideas for a few days before I even start writing, and then it tends to be a very painstaking process. I'm just starting out w/ creative writing(this is my first full-length story), and so a lot of it doesn't come easily to me yet. Also, quality over quantity. You can be sure you'll never get a chapter that I don't think is fantastic!

    One question in my mind which I assume will be answered in the next chapter, is if he is so madly in love with feet to bare one of the succubi’s feet, how will they torture him with them? It’ll be great to find out.
    You may have already noticed that Anais is a bit of an...odd demoness. Enough that Tsuna pointed it out. The level of utter filth that other succubi are willing to get their feet to in order to torture souls is...exponentially great than Anais' feet.

    "they'll seem pristine in comparison..."
    Devlin has no idea what he's in for. Not even close.
    "It's an indulgence to sit in a room and discuss your beliefs as if they were a juicy piece of gossip." -Heinlein

  10. #30
    Fledgling Footsniffer
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    Quote Originally Posted by sacurason View Post
    Thank you! Anyone who's stuck around this far...we're gonna get into some major, disgusting debauchery starting next chapter
    Ooh I can't wait. This is easily one of the best stories I've ever read!

  11. #31
    God Of Footsniffing sacurason's Avatar
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    Chapter V:

    From the reports of Pleasure Garden Headmistress Tsuna:

    Dated March 11th, 850 AD

    Well, what do you know! Almost ten generations of souls perfectly processed here now! Sylvia’s inventions, Anais’ leniency, and of course my leadership, have made us one of the most efficient sectors in Hell. Our failure rate is exactly zero and our broken-in slaves are performing just fine.

    If this keeps up, perhaps our slave shortage will be at an end, and - who knows - perhaps a promotion could be arranged!




    As the guards dragged him down flight after flight of ancient stairs, Devlin attempted to prepare his mind. His time with Anais had been pleasant if humiliating, yet he knew what was coming would be exponentially worse.

    He wondered for a moment if they were going to install him in that horrific chamber of foot worship, but dismissed the idea - that chamber had been on the same floor as his cell, and they had traversed perhaps thirty flights down by now.

    The air was becoming ever hotter as they descended. Devlin broke into sweat, though from anxiety or heat, he could not say.

    At last they arrived before a vault-like steel door, sealed off with a sturdy looking valve. The darker-skinned demoness spun it with mighty heaves of her shoulders, and then tugged the door open with considerable effort.

    Devlin was taken aback by the steam that rushed through the door with a low whistling hiss.

    Could this be where the heat is coming from? he wondered.


    The succubi thrust him through the entryway and slammed the door behind him. He could hear the sound of the valve turning, but just barely. Perhaps the room he now found himself in was soundproof.

    Though the room was obscured by profuse amounts of steam, he could still make out some details.

    The most prominent feature was a metallic bronze cylinder of monstrous proportions. It was as wide as a water tower and its height could not even be guessed at as the upper portions vanished into the high ceiling above.

    Protruding from the cylinder were innumerable copper tubes, a veritable maze of pipes, curving in every conceivable direction.

    There must be miles of them, he thought.

    The walls were lined with wooden shelving which contained many bottles filled with clear liquids. He wondered at them, but could not imagine what they could possibly contain besides water.

    And last, at the foot of the cylinder, was a long reclining chair of the sort one might see at a dentist’s office. Hanging from its arms and legs were straps of every shape and size - any victim restrained here would have no hope of escape.

    Overall, Devlin had the impression that he had stepped into a Gothic horror movie. Surely the mad scientist would step forth at any moment now to show off his laboratory.


    As if summoned by his musings, a rather odd looking demoness emerged from the steam near the cylinder and approached him rapidly. She was extremely tall and thin, almost lanky. Her gait was incredibly long yet smooth.

    She was wearing odd clothes compared to the other succubi Devlin had seen before, just simple workman’s pants with many pockets and a shirt cut off at the shoulders. Her feet were bare and filthy with soot.

    He also noticed that her skin was pale, almost paper-white. Pixie-like hair framed a sharp, intelligent face, and as she came ever closer, he was taken aback at her gleaming red pupils, which seemed to cast a light of their own - how had he not seen those through the fog?
    Devlin felt a sudden jolt of panic as he spotted the lecherous grin plastered across her face. Intuition told him that pain was coming. He was entirely correct.

    The demoness halted several feet before reaching Devlin, and made a sharp “come here” gesture with her clawed hand. Devlin sailed forward through the air, landing face first before her with an agonizing thud.

    She looked down at him for a moment before spinning widdershins and sauntering away, towards the chair and the cylinder. With a twitch of two fingers on her right hand, Devlin was dragged behind her, unable to lift his body off the floor or resist.

    All he could see as he slid across the polished stone floor were her dirty feet. Every step revealed a blackened sole, and she took her time in order to ensure he receive a perfect view of them. He vaguely wondered if she would force him to lick them clean.


    They arrived in front of the strap-covered chair. Devlin was swept into it in seconds and was unable to prevent the demoness from binding him completely. Legs, arms, chests and head; none of these were able to move in the slightest once she was done. The leather cut into his skin brutally.

    She eyed him with those red-as-blood eyes for a moment, surveying her handiwork. When she was satisfied, she spoke for the first time.

    “I’m Sylvia. Not that it matters. Figured you might want to know. Not that that matters either.”

    She circled around to the head of the chair and began to fiddle with something under it, continuing to speak in her clipped tone.

    “What matters is that you know what’s going to happen. Before it happens. The human mind is imaginative. Fearful. Primitive. Ah, here it is!”

    Out of his peripheral vision, he could see that she was now holding a hose made of plastic, with some sort of ghastly looking metal contraption covering the opening.

    She dangled it in front of Devlin’s face so he could get a better look. The device consisted of two joined, curved metal bars, connected to several ratchets where they met. A kind of funnel was set at the edges of the bars, as if to keep something from escaping the mechanism.

    “It goes over your mouth.”


    Devlin suddenly understood - it was a dental gag. She was going to force his mouth open and something, anything, was to be forced through the tube and into his mouth.

    He moaned deep in his throat, and Sylvia’s face appeared above, grinning. She held eye contact as she spoke.

    “You’ve got half of it figured. As to the what, that’s easy! What do you think is in that cylinder there?”

    She tittered and grabbed his cheeks in both hands before whispering into his ear:

    “It’s the foot sweat of every female soul in Hell. At least, all of today’s foot sweat. You’re going to consume every single drop.

    He looked at the enormous tank of foot sweat with mounting terror. How could he possibly drink that?

    “But I’ll drown o-or explode! You can’t do that to me!”

    Sylvia snickered.

    “You can’t die, you idiot. Your mind will tell you that you’re drowning, but you’ll live. Sort of. Watch!”


    She removed her hands from his cheeks and instead covered his mouth and nose. Devlin could not breathe at all, and due to his panic ran out of air almost immediately.

    His lungs burned, and he struggled for all he was worth. His vision blurred and flickered, black encroaching at the edges, but unconsciousness never came. The torment continued for only a few minutes, but it felt like an eon to Devlin.

    She let go of his his mouth and he inhaled sharply. The hot and steamy air almost tasted sweet after being denied breath for so long.

    “See? No death. Just suffering.”


    Before he could catch his breath, she pried his lips open with her fingers and jammed the gag into his mouth.

    The straps holding Devlin cut in deeper as he tried to prevent this invasion, but there was no escape. Once the gag was in, Sylvia turned a ratchet to extend the metal bars, opening his mouth to a painful width.

    She turned the ratchet on the other side, and the device was locked into place. Devlin now understood the purpose of the funnel. Sylvia wouldn’t want any sweat to spill out of his mouth. This really would be like drowning.

    Presently, she stooped down and turned a valve on the side of the chair, jeering “ready or not, here it comes” as she did. There was the hiss of released pressure near the cylinder, and Sylvia propped her chin up on the edge of the chair with her hands to observe his face as the punishment began.

    He could taste the sweat long before the liquid even touched him. As soon as the valve had released its pressure, the air coming from the tube became fetid, corrupted. That air had to be toxic, and so he automatically switched his breathing to his nose, but he could smell the air, too - the gag wasn’t airtight.

    The odor was decidedly sharp, reminiscent of vinegar or dill, and he grimaced at it, for a moment forgetting what was creeping up the plastic hose. But his forgetfulness was short lived as the tube in his vision suddenly became full of yellowed liquid, and the first stream of raw foot sweat was forcibly directed down his unwilling throat.

    His gag reflex triggered immediately, and he tried to cough up the hot liquid, but it was no good. It was as if a garden hose had been placed in his mouth at full blast.


    Then he registered the taste. He had never sampled anything so bitter, so horribly powerful. No living person had ever tasted so much concentrated sweat. It was almost enough to strip his senses away from him at first taste, yet through his panic he just barely managed to cling to sanity.

    The sweat continued to fill his mouth and now began to fill the sealed funnel above it - he had not yet begun to drink it, with the exception of that first spray that had taken him by surprise.

    Sylvia waited until the funnel was filled to the brim before shutting off the flow of foot sweat. She then produced a small clip from somewhere and pinched his nose shut. That was the final piece of the puzzle. Now he would have to drink if he wanted to breathe.

    Yet he still resisted, still abstained from the course laid out for him by Sylvia. He knew he would have to endure the torture, he knew he would be forced to partake of the sweat, but this was the only way he could resist at all. Whether or not he swallowed immediately was the one thing in which he had control, and Devlin intended to exercise it.


    Sylvia merely watched his futile rebellion curiously. The seconds ticked by and his air began to expire. His lungs began to pain him deeply, and at last he gave in and began to gulp down the disgusting stuff.

    The experience was revolting. The foot sweat felt slimy as it slithered down his throat, and with every mouthful, he felt fuller. In moments his mind was ordering him to throw up, but nothing came as he forced mouthful after mouthful down his gullet.

    Despite his revulsion at the substance he was imbibing, he was vaguely aware of his steadily growing erection. That was confusing, but no matter, he was almost done. The funnel was almost empty! He could imagine the taste of the air waiting for him.

    Devlin looked up at Sylvia, mentally urging her to allow him to breathe again. Yet when the sweat was consumed at last, she made no effort to remove the nose clip. Instead he tried to suck some air from the hose in his mouth, and for his troubles received a sip of air from the outside of the hose mixed with the fetid taste of feet. It wasn’t nearly enough air to sustain him. Sylvia grinned salaciously as she turned the valve again, and he realized that he was never going to get a full breath, at least not as long as he was in this horrible room.

    Devlin began to choke down the second load of sweat, and Sylvia wandered off out of sight, seemingly disinterested. He still couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on coherent thought through his desperate panic.


    If he could have thought, perhaps he would have cursed his mind for believing his body could die. Perhaps he would’ve cursed Sylvia for her wretched device. Above all else, he would have cursed his own fetish for landing him in this nightmare.

    Presently, Sylvia returned and halted the flow once more to allow him a sip of air before renewing his torture. It became a sort of hellish ritual between the two. He would drink and drown until she came back to let him breathe, and in time he began to associate her presence with relief.

    He had to cope with the taste of dirty, sweaty feet constantly, he existed with that feeling of suffocation always - and she allowed him air. There were even moments in which his arousal heightened when she drew near. In this animalistic half-mad state, he would have done anything Sylvia commanded, even if freed from the chair.

    Devlin’s psyche was battered to a degree that no mortal could comprehend. The nerves and matter of a living mind subjected to such treatment would have been permanently altered and the host broken beyond repair. But Devlin was not living, and Sylvia’s device was designed with the efficiency of a mad sadist. Given time, it would do it’s job flawlessly.


    He knew not how long he suffered. At one point he attempted to count the number of times Sylvia had turned off the valve for him, but he lost count at three. All he knew was that it felt like forever. By the end, he could not recall the feel of sunlight on his skin, nor the taste of food, nor the sound of rain.

    At last, Sylvia removed the gag and the straps holding him. Devlin took in great gasps of air, clearing his mind, but did not dare move. He was too afraid of what might come next. Too afraid of her. She observed him for a moment before speaking.

    “Good to see the process still works. Haven’t had to tweak this one in so many years. Also, I have a parting gift for you.”

    She held a tiny clear bottle like those he had seen before. He now realized that they must contain more sweat.

    But why bother bottling them like that, when the rest is in that cylinder? he thought.

    She responded as if she had read his mind.

    “These are for storing samples from specific people here. The applications are endless. Take this one, for example.”

    She held the bottle before his face so he could see the tiny label upon it. Neatly printed in dark ink were the words:


    G, Lilith
    Bottled 12/5/17
    For Devlin



    He stared blankly at it for a moment. Then the realization hit. His ex-fiancee. Dead. For the first time in hours, he spoke.

    “You have Lilith? She’s here?”

    Sylvia adopted an expression of mock surprise.

    “Oh, you didn’t know? She died about a month after she gave you the boot - no pun intended. So that makes it what? A year? We’ve had plenty of time to work her over, and we got her foot sweat yesterday, just for you to enjoy!”

    She tugged off the stopper and forced his mouth open before dumping the contents of the vial inside. Devlin still could not bring himself to resist. There was simply no point. Lilith’s foot sweat filled his mouth, and for the first time he got a taste of her feet. It was muskier than the combined sweat he had consumed before, comprised more of a low, mellow taste than the sharp vinegar he was now accustomed to.


    What was unspeakably worse was that he somehow recognized the taste as Lilith’s. It brought forth uncounted memories. Fights, dates, sex; it all came rushing back to him, and while he did not cry aloud, tears rolled down his cheeks. She had been horrible to him, but he would not have wished damnation on her, and some small, humane part of Devlin still loved her.

    He mourned her loss as he swallowed her essence, but when it was all gone, he shoved the memories of her away into the back of his mind. They were going to use his previous life against him, to wound him deep. It was no good; this had been only the first taste of Hell, and Devlin knew he could not afford to think of his past. He was here, now, and he must focus on himself to survive.

    When the guards came into the room to bring him back to his cell, he was surprised to feel tear tracks on his cheeks. He could not remember why he had been crying.
    "It's an indulgence to sit in a room and discuss your beliefs as if they were a juicy piece of gossip." -Heinlein

  12. #32
    God Of Footsniffing sacurason's Avatar
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    Thanks for your patience, guys! I had a nasty cold combined with a lot more hours at work, so I've had less free time recently. However, things are slowing down and I'm glad to continue this story
    "It's an indulgence to sit in a room and discuss your beliefs as if they were a juicy piece of gossip." -Heinlein

  13. #33
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    Amazing chapter! I was beginning to get worried about the lack of updates but I was so happy when I saw this. Constantly awaiting the next chapter next week!

  14. #34
    God Of Footsniffing sacurason's Avatar
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    Don't worry! Unless I or someone else comes in here to tell you that the story isn't being worked on, just assume I've been delayed. The story isn't going anywhere
    "It's an indulgence to sit in a room and discuss your beliefs as if they were a juicy piece of gossip." -Heinlein

  15. #35
    Apprentice Footsniffer OneAuthor's Avatar
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    That was fantastic, good sir. The forced forced foot sweat drinking was devious, and coupled with Sylvia's sadistic personality was quite the overwhelming experience for Devlin. But then Sylvia put the cherry on top by feeding him his ex-fiancee's foot sweat, which at the same time informed him that she too was in hell. The combo of physical and psychological torment is amazing, and naturally I can't wait to read more.

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