[b][u][center]Corruption from the Sole
Part 3
for kamuikobayashi
by Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]








He breathed in and the scent of his feet made his head swim. The mask pulled tighter to his face, fitting against his cheeks too well. Painful, almost, but not quite. Just high pressure, forcing more and more of the sweaty, musky, sour-bitter-hot smell into his nose and down into his lungs. 

The wheels of the chair squeaked. Taylor didn't know where he was, didn't know where John was taking him, but knew that he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell to change their course. Not anymore. 

Another breath. The smell left his head sagging over to one shoulder as his cock throbbed in his pants. Twitch, spit, twitch, spit. So much pre-cum in there, so much slime running down the inside of his underwear. He'd been sitting in it for...how long? How many minutes? Hours...

What time was - 

Sniff. 

Breathe. 

Huff. 

It was like a drug, each breath making him hornier, needier, sweatier, happier. He barely remembered that he shouldn't be doing this. He didn't remember why he shouldn't be doing it. Why...why not enjoy...

Sniff. 

Breathe. 

Huff. 

Taylor moaned through the mask as he sucked down another breath, the heavy, hot scent of his feet getting more intense again. He curled his toes against the rubber bags as he felt the smell settle in, smothering all those worrying thoughts and leaving nothing in their wake. All that mattered was...was worshiping...

[i]God?[/i]

No, God...God couldn't give him what he needed. God wanted him to be chaste, soft, clean. Clean was good, but the rest - the rest didn't feel right. Not anymore. Taylor liked the feeling of being so hard, so drippy, so...so slimy. Both his cock and his feet should be slimy, should be slick and wet and messy for the cause of...the cause of something, something that he couldn't remember. 

He was able to see for a moment, see a passing vixen as she looked down at him. Her eyes were wide as she covered her mouth, clearly bothered - offended, even - at what she saw. Why? Why would she be - 

Throb. Throb. Throb. 

His cock ached as she walked by, spasming and twitching in his pants for the umpteenth time. He looked down her legs, ending at the sandals at the ends of her feet. They were soft but clean. Too clean. Too dry. They should have been sweatier, better suited for the pleasures of being touched, stroked, humped. Yes, humped, thrust against, used. Feet were the superior way of getting off, the best way to cum, the hottest way to get your rocks off and feel right with life again. 

"Heh, looks like the good Father's getting to be a good foot-dude," a voice behind him said. 

It was familiar, but he couldn't think clearly enough to understand what it was. It was right, though; he was finally starting to get it. 

Feet. Wet feet, slimy feet, sweaty feet, oily feet, it didn't matter. God didn't give him pleasure, didn't give him a boner, but feet did. Feet made him feel good. Feet made him feel right with himself again, like he was an actual person instead of just some...some crazy devotee to an idea in the sky that didn't want him to have any fun. Feet...feet deserved worship, deserved to be made to feel good, deserved to be slimed and coated with seed and spread around. 

Feet were a real thing, worth worshiping, worth...worth forming a religion around. Maybe - maybe he should do something about that. Maybe that was something that he could - 

The wheelchair squeaked to a halt. He groaned, almost slipping out. The only thing that stopped him was the chair's restraints wrapped around his arms. They squeezed tight, pulling him back, and he groaned as his head wobbled from side to side. 

"Well, we're here, dude. You ready to give the speech of a lifetime?"

"Nnnngh?"

"Heh, probably should take that mask off first."

"Mmph..."

He couldn't think, but he could see the brown and black hand coming over his shoulder. It pulled at the plastic mask around his muzzle, slowly pulling it down and away. The first breath of clean air felt almost offensive after he had gotten so used to the pleasurable smell and taste of his own feet. It felt...wrong, like he was missing something, and - 

And then he started to remember. 

The pleasure. 

The doctor. 

And John. John, the demon that had started it all. John, that had brought the blessing of the feet. John, that had made him see the truth. 

He was still weak, but he rolled his head back, looking up at the Doberman behind him. The red-eyed demon smiled back at him, cocking his head to the side. 

"You understand, dude?"

"Mmmph...feet. Feet deserve worship."

"And whose feet deserve it more than anyone else?"

"Yours."

"Heheheh, man, you're good. Now, why don't we get you inside, hmm? I'll get those restraints off you, and you can wheel yourself in and show yourself off to the congregation."

"Congre...congregation? But...it's Saturday..."

"Yeah, but it's time for the night sermon. Smaller crowd, right? And nobody's gonna run out screaming because of some kids or something in the pews."

Right. That made sense. That made all kinds of sense. Better to do this slowly, take care of people one by one, instead of trying to get them all at once. That would make sure that he got all the people that he could before people started freaking out. The way that he almost did before John helped him understand what his true purpose and calling was. It was almost embarrassing how he had all but forgotten what the true purpose of being a priest was. He wasn't supposed to serve [i]God.[/i] He was supposed to serve the people, to show them the way to true enlightenment and pleasure. Tonight, he would fix that. Tonight, he would show them what he had learned and guide them all to the true pleasure that came in this world.

As John undid the arm-straps, pulling them loose one after another, Taylor's head continued to clear. He half-expected to wake up from his lust, as he had done before, but this...this time it felt different. It felt...

It felt like something had settled in and wasn't going to leave. 

The sheepdog looked down at his own feet. They were still in the little baggies at the end of the mask tubes, but he could imagine what they would look like once he got up and started walking around again. John had said that they were big feet, and now that he was looking at how full the baggies were, he saw it. They were [i]huge[/i] feet, the kind of feet that would attract attention from across the room once he took his shoes off. Not as big as John's feet were, nor as long, but big enough. And he knew that they would be covered in that same sexy slime, too, which would go a long way toward making them more enjoyable for others. 

The idea of showing off hit him. Not just talking about feet, but letting the Saturday night congregation see them. Maybe putting them up, wiggling his toes, showing off his sexy feet for the crowd to see. 

[i]They need to know what it means to serve a real power, not just this pie in the sky God,[/i] he thought as the straps came free. [i]They need to know what I've learned. They need...they need the pleasure of feet just like I do.[/i]

"You ready, dude?" John asked. 

"I...I am."

"Heh. Make sure that they understand what you've learned. It's for their own good, after all. They need to learn how to enjoy life, not just exist. And that means that they need to know the power of the sole. Your soles, and mine."

"Mine...and yours..."

"Go on."

He put his hands on the wheels and rolled himself up the ramp. The rest of the world slowly came into focus again, from the dark skies and the moonlit night behind him to the massive wooden doors of the church. A cross stood over the doorway, and for a moment, he almost felt like it was casting some sort of judgment on him. It felt...hot, like he was staring up at the sun, like he would get burned if he moved forward even an inch more. Was there still some power over him from the realm above?

If there was, it didn't stop him from passing through, and that heat of judgment faded as soon as he was inside. He rolled himself along through the atrium and toward the main sanctuary of the church. 

Nobody saw him as he passed through. They would all be waiting in the main room like they always did. Perhaps he was a trifle late; he didn't know what time it was, but if it was dark outside, then he might be as much as half an hour late. He would have been self-conscious if he wasn't still riding a bit of the high from before, the smell of his feet still lingering in his nose as he pumped the wheels a little faster, a little harder to get to the last door. 

Just as he reached for the doorknob, however, he looked down. His pants were still stretched out over the boner that he'd been nursing the whole way to the church, and it was still soaked. Wet with pre-cum, stinking of cum, and...as sexual as one could be, he supposed. A priest of the Lord would have been humiliated at such a display. Taylor merely saw it as another bit of evidence that his new focus of worship was just better than God had ever been. 

He pushed the door open. The massive stone sanctuary spread out before him, and the congregation turned and looked over their pews toward him. Some gasped at the sight of him in a wheelchair, while others looked down at the little rubber baggies around his feet and looked confused. Some muttered to each other while others stared in stony silence. 

He didn't say a word as he rolled himself through the middle of the room. Past the pews, around the side of the stage, and all the way to his pulpit he moved in silence, keeping his eyes facing forward. When he finally reached the front of the chapel, he leaned down and undid the baggies. His feet slipped loose with a wet pop, then squelched as he put them on the ground. No instant-orgasm this time, but rather a sense of purpose and pleasure as he slowly pushed himself to his feet. 

Leaving wet footprints behind him, he walked to his pulpit, grabbing it from either side as he got comfortable behind it. He turned his attention to the congregation at large and finally smiled. 

"My friends. You have seen a miracle today."

The muttering began in earnest, the entire group clearly at a loss of what was going on and what he was doing. He honestly didn't blame them; it would be as confusing to them as it had been to him, no doubt, but he would be able to educate them. 

He half-expected to see John in the seats, but so far, the demon was not showing his face. Perhaps he was waiting for the right moment, or maybe the power of the church was stronger against a true demon rather than someone that had been converted by them. Either way, he would do his part. 

"My friends. I have been blessed with the chance to see the world in a different light. I have learned that there is more to living a good life than merely throwing your soul to the heavens and hoping that God catches it before it comes crashing back down."

"Father?" someone said, clearly not understanding. 

"Yes, yes, it is true, God has been there for us, for some of our needs. I do not deny that I, myself, found him to be an acceptable substitute for living my life in the world around me. His precepts of living with compassion and austerity are...a way of living, that cannot be denied. 

"But that does not mean that they are the only way to live your life. And certainly, they are not the best ways to live."

He had their attention, and their confusion. Taylor chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. 

"I am rambling, I suppose. I want - I need you to understand, this is going to sound mad. Perhaps even completely insane. But I give you my word, my word as a priest, as your spiritual guide for so many years, that I am not lying to you. Today, yesterday, I was the subject of a miracle, and it is time that I passed this miracle on to you."

"What is he talking about?"

"Is that about the wheelchair?"

"Why is he just - is he barefoot?"

"What's going on?"

"Father Taylor, where are your shoes?" a little old badger woman said from the front row.

"That leads me into what I came here to share with you today," Taylor said, nodding down at her. "Just bear with me, and I will make my point shortly."

Some part of him knew - despite the depths of pleasure that he had found - that he could not stand out from behind the pulpit and show off how hard he was. The boner jutting forward in his pants wasn't something that the congregation would accept with grace. Not yet. Not until they had learned the rest of the truth. He had to take it slowly, show them what he could and guide them the way that he always had. 

"Yesterday, I encountered a stranger on a bus. Someone that I had never met, someone that asked me for help. Tired as I was, I knew that it would be the right thing to do what I could, and I asked him what he needed from me. He asked me for an exorcism. Yes, yes, I know; it seems almost impossible, but not as impossible as what happened next. 

"For you see, he asked me to exorcise a demon from his feet. Yes, yes, strange, almost insane, but one does not ask why the Lord puts something before oneself, one merely tries to do what is right. And so, I began the prayers, hoping to help the young man, whether he was delirious or telling the truth.

"And what happened, do you suppose? Do you think that there was a demon exorcised that night? Or do you think that there was something different on the cards? Something that would change my life, and perhaps yours, for the rest of eternity?"

Taylor looked around the room. He did not have much focus from the crowd, but they weren't ignoring him. If anything, they looked confused, lost. They probably didn't know where he was going with this. Then again, who was he to say that they didn't have a right to that? He hadn't expected this to go anything like how it had. 

"I learned that there are other powers in this world, my friends. I learned that the young man did not have a demon in his feet; rather, his feet were blessed, and he taught me that there is a blessing in all soles, that one's sole should be the focus of your soul."

"He's gone crazy," someone whispered. 

"Should we call 911?"

"What happened? I thought that he understood the word of God, not the word of the devil."

He was losing them. Taylor looked around, trying to find some inspiration of what he could do - 

And then, finally, he saw John. The Doberman demon sat at the very back of the church, barefoot as ever, and his slimy white feet rested on the back of the bench in front of him. He flexed his soles, curled his toes, and showed them off with a confidence that nobody else could have matched. 

And it gave Taylor an idea. 

"Let me show you," he said, taking a step back and pulling up a stool. "Let me show you."

He sat down, then rested his ankles on the pulpit. His heels hung off the other side, and he could feel the white slime running down along the underside, rushing over his heel and dripping from it. His toes squelched as he curled them tight, then strung white lines of slime between them as he fanned them out again. 

The talking stopped. The crowd stared. 

"Look at them. Look at my large, long feet," he said, gesturing at them. "See how the arch rises, perfectly suited for another man to rest his cock against. See how my toes curl, how they drip with sweat from being locked up for so long. Imagine how they would feel pressed against your face, or against something else, something more intimate. They're waiting for the right person to worship them, because they are worthy of worship. Just like the soles of every single one of yours are."

The crowd didn't say a word. From where he sat, he saw some start to look down at their own shoes. Others stared at his feet, a hint of drool showing at the corners of their mouths. Understanding was slowly but surely dawning in their eyes as they started to think of feet as something other than merely a piece of the body to stand on. 

"Feet, he taught me, are the one true link to pleasure. Everything else, every bit of good, every bit of evil, is nothing compared to being exposed to and connected to the sensual pleasures of the sole. You must see them as the holy things that they are, my friends. Surely, now that you see mine, you can start to understand why I have had such an epiphany over the last twenty-four hours. Every word I have muttered in the service of the Lord God is nothing compared to what I must say for the soles of the souls I am responsible for. You must understand what you have, and what you should love."

They were starting to see, he knew, starting to understand what it meant to give oneself up for pleasure. They were staring, curious, some of them even starting to get an expressin of longing on their faces. He smiled, bringing one foot to his face and - 

Lick. 

Lap. 

The touch of his own tongue brought a strange pleasure to him, something new, something almost as good as the time that he had been teased by John himself. He shivered, letting it wash over him, indulging himself in the utter bliss that the touch and taste brought him. He moaned, his eyes rolling back in their sockets, and the crowd moaned with him. Quieter, yes, but they moaned nonetheless. 

They were learning. 

They were getting it. 

"Allow me to pray for us," Taylor said. "Bow your heads and let the word of the sole into your heart as I speak it."

The congregation bowed their heads after one final look at his feet. As soon as they were no longer paying direct attention, John got to his feet and hustled through the aisles. He walked right up to the stage, stopping before the altar, and got down on his hands and knees. Gradually, he lowered himself to the ground, pressing his feet together so that the soles rubbed each other, and the arch of one foot was closed by the ball of the other. And as he held them there, they slowly started to fill with the white goo he sweated from his soles. 

The slime built. 

And so did the smell. 

As the foot-musk began to spread through the church, Taylor spoke. 

"Blessed be the worshipers of the sole. Blessed be them that give obeisance to the slick and the sweat. Let them know the beauty of the sole, and the humbleness of placing themselves beneath it, where they may learn true bliss in pleasure and service."

"Blessed be," the crowd chanted back. 

"Blessed be those that see the sole and understand where they belong: not under the cross, but beneath the toes. Not under the sign of the Christ, but under the sign of the shimmering, sweaty sole. To serve your common man, to see the sweat of the day upon his feet and lick it clean. To see those that are in need and offer them a sole to rest against. It is the commonality between us all, to be linked together by our feet, and to serve each other with them."

Everything he said was true, but at the same time, it was a way to give John time to build up his slime. Taylor glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the sight of those slippery soles getting wetter and wetter, the white slime pooling between his feet. It was like a basin of sole, filled like a baptismal would be. 

That was it. 

That was what they needed. 

He walked around the pulpit, his cock tucked slightly against his leg as he clapped his hands with an 'amen.' The crowd looked up, and almost immediately they saw the demon with his raised feet. Some gasped, others stared, but none pulled away or stood up. 

They were almost ready. They were almost believers. 

"Come. It is time that you were baptized in the font of your new faith," he said, waving at them. "Come, come, don't be shy. This is what you need, where you belong. Come, come to me and these holy feet. Let them show you what you have missed all your life. Let them guide you toward your future."

One by one, the congregation got to their feet. They shivered, their eyes half-lidded, but they came nonetheless. Some of the men were already starting to get erections from the scent in the air, while others were huffing, panting, eagerly puffing as they moved closer and closer to the stage. Some of the females were shivering, some hint of awareness in some of their eyes, but they came nonetheless. They could not stop themselves. He doubted that they would even if they could. 

The first, a wolf, knelt as soon as he reached the Doberman's soles. His head wobbled and his pants tented so hard that they looked like they could have served as a peg for a hat to rest upon. Taylor rested his hand on the wolf's head, smiling down at him. 

"In the name of the toes, the sole, and the holy arch, I baptize you in service to the foot."

He gently pushed the wolf's head forward, dunking his nose, muzzle, and face into the slime between John's feet. It was deep enough that the whole front of the wolf's head disappeared into the slime, smeared in it, drowning in the taste and scent before Taylor pulled him back. The wolf gasped, his eyes wide and his cock bubbling in the tent. 

"What do we say?" Taylor whispered. 

"Praise feet..."

"Praise feet, indeed."

One by one, he baptized them. The males bubbled and moaned as they were dunked, some of them even cumming in their pants the way that he had done when his feet had been truly warped and taught their lesson. Others merely twitched, moaning and shivering as they experienced the holy joy of being baptized in the slime. The females had something break in them when they were dunked; he heard a squelch from every pair of shoes they wore, and knew that they had been taught something else. Their feet would be marked, made into something more suitable for the men around them. They knew, now, where they belonged. Underfoot and under heel. 

One by one, they were marked with the scent of the demon's feet and his slime. One by one, they went back to their seats, their eyes glassy and their mouths hanging open. They were lost to the emptiness that came from John's touch. He knew that. He loved it. 

And then...

Then John stood up. The Doberman's perfect feet defiled the church, taking away the power of God wherever he stepped. He touched one foot to the altar and the cross cracked, a shard falling from it and landing on top of the altar. The hands that clasped the candles around it turned to upturned soles, the wax a teasing dribble to the soles rather than an accidental decoration to the fingers. 

"Let it be known that, if you follow my feet, shoes are no longer allowed. Shoes, any footwear at all, are illegal. Discard them. Now."

"Yes, let the purity of the sole be maintained!" Taylor added. 

As one, the various members of the congregation leaned down. Some had to untie their shoes, while others were able to pull the slip-on ones they wore off with ease. Their shoes went flying through the room, some landing on the floor, others on empty pews, and one even went through a window and landed outside with a crash. There was no blame, no embarrassment, only a need to lose the things that were evil, unholy, and obstructing them from the thing that they needed most. 

Feet. 

Sweaty. 

Slick. 

Slimy. 

Feet. 

They moaned together as they extended their legs. Already slimy, their feet would grow more slick and damp as time went on and they embraced their true needs more and more. It was quite the sight to see, and enough to send a shiver up and down Taylor's spine as he saw what he had helped create. The various members of the congregation panted, grinding their heels against the floor, their mouths hanging open and their eyes rolling back in their sockets as they started to truly indulge in the pleasure that they had so long denied themselves. 

"They feel...so slimy..."

"Mmmph, my feet..."

"They're so...sexy..."

"Can - Can I touch -"

They were starting to fall into it, reaching out to each other, wanting what they had never imagined before. They moaned and mewled in the pews, man and woman alike, and yet - there was more. More had to be done, more had to be taught. 

"Women. Fall to your knees," John said. 

The females fell out of the pews, hitting the ground. Many were left on foot-level with the males around them, and the sound of moaning orgasms spreading hands-free through the crowd was as loud and obvious as one could imagine. 

"This is where you belong. Footrests, worshipers, cleaners: while a man may choose to serve a sole, women must. Turn. Find one. Press your lips to them and enjoy yourselves as you taste what you were born to do."

Without even seeming to think about it, the kneeling females turned their lips to the feet of the men around them. Taylor watched, amazed at the show before him as the women gave themselves to a task that was demeaning, humiliating, and certainly far more 'disgusting' than they would have once imagined. Some sucked toes, others lapped from heel to toe, but all of them offered their mouths for a foot nearby. They sucked at the slime that dripped from the feet of their men with glee, and not a one of them protested. 

Those men that didn't have a woman to suck their feet instead used them as footrests, their feet lifted up and shown off. Taylor groped himself to the view, imagining his own cock resting against them - 

Not yet, though. Later. When the task was done and the town was converted. 

Another idea struck him. As John continued to tempt them deeper, Taylor turned back to the wheelchair. The baggies that had held his feet were still filled with slime, but what if they were filled with something else? Something that the crowd could give to show their devotion to their new guide?

[i]Their new guide,[/i] he thought, repeating the idea as he looked at John. [i]Because I am not their priest, not anymore. I am a follower of the sole just like they are, and John is the one guiding us out of this. He is the one that is showing us the truth and the way.[/i]

And the demon deserved tribute. Proper tribute. 

"And now, we are going to give a new offering," Taylor said, taking the stage once more. "I have here the bags that contained my soles, allowing them to marinate and grow strong for the sake of John here. I ask that you pass these around, and those men that may, take a moment to spend your seed. Fill the baggies as much as you can, and pass them back to the front; it will be your offering to our new master."

John flashed him a surprised smile, but a smile nonetheless. He raised his arms toward the crowd. 

"You've heard your priest. Pass the baggies round, and those that feel the urge, give as you will. The power of the sole will give you all that you need, I am sure."

Taylor hopped down and passed one baggie down either side of the main aisle. The members of the congregation that were still seated looked at them with some confusion, but it didn't take long for them to get inspired. Maybe it was the scent inside of the baggies, maybe it was the feeling of the females under them lapping at their feet, but whatever it was, their cocks throbbed and they set to their task with a will. 

With a stroke and a grunt, the first members of the congregation came, tucking their dicks into the baggies before passing them on. Taylor smiled, following them down the aisle and collecting them before passing to the next pew. One by one, the men that were able to took a moment to enjoy themselves. Their eyes half-closed, their mouths hanging open, they looked like addicts finally being given their drug of choice. Having been where they were, Taylor knew just how good that felt. 

Cum. 

Squirt. 

Fill. 

It didn't take long for the bags to be filled to the brim, oozing the seed of the corrupted, converted congregation. Taylor took them back to the wheelchair, pausing at the side. He turned to the Doberman and bowed at the waist, gesturing at the chair. 

"If you would take your throne?"

"...You've learned, man. Awesome."

And with no more words, the Doberman strutted over, his head held high as he approached the tool of conversion that had taken Taylor's mind and soul that very morning. The Doberman sat down, his head tilted back and his feet presented, the slimy soles still oozing white even then.

Taylor leaned down, giving each an appreciative sniff before slowly bringing the bags to them. Sliding one on, then the other, he dragged them up and over the Doberman's large feet. Some of the cum sloshed up and out, further defiling and marking the chapel, but Taylor no longer cared. The sheepdog knew that it needed another purpose now, another cause, and it would soon have it. 

As John moaned from his feet being soaked, saturated in the pleasurable worship of those that had gathered before him, Taylor imagined what they would do next. This was just the Saturday congregation. There were more that would need to be converted. He could not afford to try that tomorrow for the big one, not with so many that might try to run away. They'd need to take a different tack to fully convert the town, but at least here, and now, they'd made a start.









[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: Taylor is pushed through more corruption, slowly becoming the servant of John and making him into something quite perverted indeed.

Tags: M/solo, M/F, M/M, Foot Fetish, Foot Focus, Foot Slime, Slime, Foot Baptism, Kink as Religion, Infectious Fetish, Various Species, Doberman, Sheepdog, Musk, Forced Corruption, Corruption, Orgasm, Cum, Miniseries,