Hero·Green：Vile Torture Process

English Version:（Translate by Grok）

Reminder: This article contains R-18 descriptions involving #foot odor, #camouflage bodysuit, #foot licking.

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In the dim dungeon, the air was thick with the damp scent of mold and an unsettling, musky tang. The grimy walls and floor reflected faint light, casting blurred shadows that painted an eerie scene. A specially crafted torture chair gleamed coldly under the light, securing a muscular man clad in a camouflage bodysuit.

The hero instructor’s expression remained resolute, his camouflage bodysuit unscathed, betraying no hint of the disheveled despair one might expect after a year of captivity—more like someone freshly captured. However, Green’s legs were mercilessly spread apart by the chair’s mechanical restraints, hoisted high, knees forcibly bent, and ankles locked tightly in shackles, forcing him into a profoundly humiliating pose.

Torture devices were piled in a corner of the dungeon, untouched. The sadistic members of Vallains, with their leader’s tacit approval, had already tried them all, but violence and pain failed to elicit even a flicker of submission from the steadfast Green. Even when tortured to the point of unconsciousness, he never yielded, not even once.

Yet, every man has a weakness, and Green was no exception. Beyond his deep loyalty to his comrades, his pride in his powerful physique, and his intense sense of duty and honor as both a hero and a soldier, became the chinks in his armor that Vallains exploited.

Mimir, playing to these vulnerabilities, assembled a select group of Vallains members with peculiar fetishes to launch a “special assault” on Green. After using a wicked potion to amplify Green’s sensitivity several times over, several Vallains members unleashed their lascivious, dark desires upon him.

Among them was Vallains No. 1799, obsessed with large feet and camouflage bodysuits. Clad in a glossy black full-body latex suit that exposed only their mouth and nose, No. 1799 lunged forward the moment Mimir gave the order, claiming exclusive rights to one of the hero instructor’s large feet.

What should have been a punishment inflicted by a superior upon a subordinate had become an expression of the weak humiliating the strong. In No. 1799’s warped mind, this wasn’t about degradation but about pouring out a raw, frenzied lust born from an obsessive worship of Green’s physique.

No. 1799’s mouth pressed tightly against the hero instructor’s sweat-soaked foot, their lips fully enveloped by the broad arch while the forceful forefoot flattened their nostrils, stifling their breath.

“…Mmph! Mmmphhh!! …Mmph… Mmmphhh!!”

The stifling, humid sensation and the suffocating pressure sent perverse satisfaction coursing through No. 1799, who held their breath until dizziness set in before gasping for air. In a haze, the Vallains operative buried their nose into the crevices between Green’s toes, savoring the way his thick toes twitched and clenched in shock, shame, and fury, while inhaling the pungent, masculine musk emanating from the bodysuit’s toe seams.

The hero instructor’s sturdy feet, hardened by years on the battlefield, bore rough calluses that could sting like stone when touched. Yet, the special fibers of the camouflage bodysuit, soft and elastic, softened the abrasiveness of the calluses, lending a slick, sensual texture that elevated the tactile experience of his toes.

Face, cheeks, lips, nose, and nostrils all grew feverish under the damp massage of masculine pheromones. Immersed in the overpowering musk, the entranced Vallains operative craned their neck, pressing wet lips and nose tip against Green’s sweat-slickened sole, kissing and rubbing with fervor, even extending their tongue.

“…Slurp… Mmph… Ugh… Green… Master…”

“Get away!! You freaks… Don’t touch me!!”

Ignoring the hero instructor’s furious roars tinged with panicked desperation, No. 1799’s wet tongue traced from the tip of the big toe downward. The firmness of the toes, the springy arch, the heavy heel—each inch offered a distinct, exquisite sensation to the sensitive tongue, enhanced by the subtle ridges of the fabric’s seams, transforming the salty tang into something delectably sweet, saliva flowing uncontrollably.

The bodysuit, originally a bold camouflage pattern adorned only with discreet Visionary Squad logos and special forces officer codes, bore dark, uneven sweat stains at the feet from being trapped in airtight combat boots. The soles, forefoot, and toe seams were particularly discolored, some areas graying and stiffening from repeated soaking, exuding a sharp, overpowering odor that overshadowed the natural salty-acrid scent of sweat.

“…Sssslurp… Haah… Green… Master… Haa…”

The camouflage pattern, a symbol of righteous valor and untamed ruggedness, embodied the hero instructor’s sense of justice, duty, and resilience, while concealing his hidden “Achilles’ heel” beneath his fortified mental defenses—degrading his dignity through instinctive pleasure and shame proved far more effective than mere violence or coercion.

The scene before them validated Mimir’s strategy—when Vallains members groped Green’s prized physique, even rubbing their aroused members against his muscles, the hero instructor displayed an unprecedented rage. When the salivating No. 1799 requested to climax inside Green’s bodysuit, Green’s face twisted with a mix of resistance and visceral disgust for the first time. Yet, simultaneously, the bulge in his crotch began to swell…

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ENG

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