Colored Hentai Story 1

Chapter 1: The Devil’s Itch

Denji was no stranger to weird urges. At 18, fresh from the hell of Devil hunting and Makima’s mind games, he thought he’d seen it all—chainsaws ripping through guts, bloodbaths in the rain, and that one time he ate a guy’s leg thinking it was jam on toast. But nothing prepared him for this. It started after the big fight with the Control Devil. Pochita, his chainsaw pup buddy fused to his heart, had been quiet, but one night in his crappy apartment, Denji woke up with his mouth watering. Not for food. For feet.

It was Aki’s fault, or so Denji blamed. Aki’s feet—long, pale, with those stupid socks always half-off—had been in his dreams. Denji shook it off, but the next day at school (yeah, he was trying that “normal life” crap), he saw Power’s bare feet kicking dirt, toes wiggling like worms. His cock twitched. “What the fuck?” he muttered, stuffing his face with a sandwich to distract himself. By evening, back home, he couldn’t take it. He grabbed his own socked foot, shoved it in his mouth, and sucked like it was the last meal on Earth. Salty, sweaty, weird as hell—but it made him cum in his pants, hard.

Pochita whirred in his chest, like laughing. “Shut up, you little shit,” Denji grumbled, wiping drool. But the itch was there, growing. Feet. Everyone’s feet. He needed them in his mouth.

Chapter 2: Power’s Stinky Surprise

Power was the first to notice Denji acting weird. The blood fiend was lounging on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, her blood-crusted socks (she never washed them) dangling. Denji’s eyes locked on them, his mouth watering like he’d spotted a fresh steak. “Oi, Denji, what’s with the stare? You want my horn or somethin’?” Power barked, wiggling her toes.

Denji snapped, “Nothin’!” but his face was redder than her blood powers. That night, alone in his room, he replayed it—those toes, dirty and strong, begging to be sucked. He jerked off furiously, imagining licking the grime off, the taste of her fiend sweat. He came so hard he bit his lip bloody.

The next day, opportunity knocked. Power was passed out after a Devil hunt, feet bare and filthy from stomping guts. Denji crept in, heart pounding. “Just a taste,” he whispered. He knelt, grabbed her foot, and shoved her big toe in his mouth. Salty, earthy, with a hint of blood—pure heaven. Power stirred but didn’t wake, mumbling about “blood baths.” Denji sucked harder, tongue swirling, his free hand stroking his cock. He came in seconds, biting her heel to muffle his groan. Power twitched, “Denji… you pervert dog…” but stayed asleep.

Guilt hit like a chainsaw to the gut. “What am I, some foot freak?” But the high was too good. He needed more.

Chapter 3: Aki’s Elegant Soles

Aki Hayakawa, the stoic devil hunter, was next. Denji had always respected Aki—cool, cigarette in mouth, feet in those polished shoes like a salaryman on steroids. After a training session, Aki kicked off his shoes in the living room, socks damp from sweat, toes flexing. Denji’s mouth went dry. “Aki-san, you got nice feet,” he blurted, then cringed.

Aki raised an eyebrow, “What? Keep your weird comments to yourself.” But Denji couldn’t. Later, when Aki showered, Denji snuck Aki’s socks from the laundry. In his room, he stuffed one in his mouth, the musky, leathery taste making him rock-hard. He sucked the fabric, imagining Aki’s toes, jerking off till he came ropes on the floor. “Fuck, Aki-san’s feet are elegant… like fine wine or some shit.”

The real deal came during a stakeout. Aki dozed in the car, feet out of shoes, socks off. Denji’s hands shook as he leaned over, grabbing Aki’s foot. The sole was smooth, slightly callused from fights, a faint smoky scent from cigarettes. Denji shoved three toes in his mouth, sucking greedily, tongue tracing the arch. Aki murmured in sleep, “Denji… idiot…” but didn’t wake. Denji’s cock throbbed; he freed it, stroking furiously while deep-throating Aki’s foot, the taste of sweat and leather pushing him over. He came silently, cum splattering the car mat, Aki’s foot still in his mouth.

Pochita revved in his chest, amused. Denji pulled away, panting, “This is messed up… but damn, Aki-san’s soles are perfection.”

Chapter 4: Makima’s Perfect Pedicure

Makima. The Control Devil herself. Even after everything—the betrayal, the chainsaws, the heartbreak—Denji couldn’t shake her. And her feet? God, they were flawless. Pale, arched like a dancer’s, always in those heels that clicked like commands. In his nightmares (or were they fantasies?), Makima’s toes curled around his tongue, her voice purring, “Good boy, Denji. Suck harder.”

It happened during a “reunion” dream—wait, no, it was real. Post-battle, Makima lounged in a ruined building, feet bare, dust-kissed soles glowing in the moonlight. Denji, chainsaws retracting, stared. “Makima-san… your feet…” She smiled that knowing smile, “Denji, you want them, don’t you? Come.”

He crawled, heart hammering, and took her foot in his hands. Perfect, soft yet firm, toes painted red like blood. He shoved them in his mouth, sucking each one, tongue between them, the taste clean and commanding. Makima moaned softly, “That’s it… worship me.” Denji’s cock strained; he freed it, humping the air while deep-throating her arch, her heel pressing his tongue. She flexed her toes, gagging him, “Deeper, Denji. Show me your devotion.” He came explosively, cum arcing onto her other foot, which she used to smear it across his face. “Good dog,” she purred, pulling away. Denji lay there, spent and broken, tasting her sole’s perfection mixed with his own shame.

Pochita whirred sadly. “Yeah… I know, buddy. But her feet… they’re the best.”

5: Himeno’s Smoky Soles

Himeno, Aki’s partner, the Ghost Devil user with her eye patch and cigarette habit. Her feet were a smoker’s dream—callused from boots, toes painted black, always carrying that faint tobacco scent. Denji caught a glimpse during a mission, her boots off in the van, soles arched, a bit dirty from the streets. “Himeno-san, your feet smell like adventure,” he joked, but inside, he was dying to taste them.

After a close call with a Devil, Himeno crashed at his place, feet up on the table, socks off. “Denji, rub ’em? They’re killing me.” Heart racing, he knelt, massaging her soles, thumbs pressing the arches, her toes curling. The scent—sweat, smoke, leather—made him dizzy. “Himeno-san… can I…?” She laughed, “What, kiss ’em? Go wild, kid.”

Denji dove in, shoving her big toe in his mouth, sucking the smoky flavor, tongue lapping between toes. Himeno moaned, “Damn, Denji… that’s… not bad.” He deep-throated her foot, gagging on the heel, his free hand stroking his cock. She flexed, toes gripping his tongue, “Suck harder, you little pervert.” He came, cum spilling on the floor, her foot still in his mouth. She pulled away, smirking, “You’re full of surprises, Denji.” He blushed, “Your feet… smoky and strong… like you.”

Chapter 6: The Ultimate Feast – All Feet in His Mouth

Denji couldn’t stop. The itch spread—Power, Aki, Makima, Himeno. One night, the gang crashed at his place after a hunt. Power sprawled, feet up; Aki smoked, soles exposed; Himeno kicked off boots; even Makima lounged, heels discarded. Denji’s mouth watered, cock straining. “Guys… uh, foot massage party?” They laughed, thinking it a joke.

But Denji went for it. Starting with Power’s filthy feet, he shoved her toes in his mouth, sucking the grime, her blood-taste salty. Power yelped, “Denji, you freak!” but didn’t pull away. Aki next—elegant soles, smoky from cigarettes; Denji deep-throated his arch, gagging on perfection. Aki flushed, “Denji… what the hell…” Makima’s flawless feet followed, toes painted red, her command in every lick. “Good boy,” she purred, toes curling in his throat. Himeno’s callused, tobacco-scented soles were last, her heel pressing his tongue as he stroked himself to climax, cum pooling.

They stared, a mix of shock and amusement. Power cackled, “Denji’s a foot zombie!” Aki sighed, “You’re hopeless.” Makima smiled, “Interesting fetish.” Himeno lit a smoke, “Kid, you’re weirder than I thought.” Denji, drool on his chin, grinned sheepishly, “Your feet… all of ’em… best damn thing ever.”

Pochita revved, approving. Denji’s new “hobby” became a running gag—group foot massages after hunts, his mouth stuffed with toes, the team teasing but oddly bonding over it. In Chainsaw Man’s world of devils and death, Denji found his slice of weird heaven: everyone’s feet, one suck at a time.