Read the story 'Wicked Little Tongues' or listen to the audio version:
One evening he set to work on another pair of shoes. “This time,” he said to himself, “I shall make a pair of shoes unlike any other.” After many hours, he sagged as sleep shaded his eyes and invaded his mind. With a yawn he decided to wait until morning so that he could be rested and his mind clear.
The next morning, Aldon awoke before the sun had brightened the sky and hurried down to his workshop to resume work on the new pair of shoes. As he sat down upon his stool, still muddled by sleep, he was startled to discover a pair of newly crafted shoes resting on his table.
He took them in his hands to study the craftsmanship. They were perfect, with not one missing stitch. He could smell the thick odor of new leather as something stirred deep inside of him. But he pushed the strange sensation out of his mind, so pleased was he to have a new pair to sell. He did not care where they came from or who might have slipped into his workshop while he slept to create such wonderful shoes. He hurried to open his shop. Before too much time had passed a handsome gentleman of the same age as Aldon came in. The old wooden floors creaked upon his arrival.
“I have heard from the people in my village that you make the finest shoes in all the land.” The gentleman came over to shake Aldon’s hand. His grip was firm and confident. Aldon soon found himself lost in the man’s deep voice. “I am Bartholomew, Lord of Brookshire. Are you the shoemaker?”
“Yes, I am he,” Aldon said absently, before restraining his wandering mind. “My name is Aldon and I have just finished an exquisite pair. Sit here on this bench and let me bring them for you, to see whether or not they fit.”
The lord sat down on the wooden bench at the center of the shop. Aldon placed Lord Bartholomew’s foot upon his leg and began to unlace his old, weary shoe. With the shoe off and set down beside him, Aldon adjusted Bartholomew’s stocking. His foot was large and carried with it a heavy, musky scent. Ordinarily the twenty-odd years Aldon had spent fitting shoes allowed him to accomplish his tasks by rote, but he soon found himself befuddled and a bit unnerved by the presence of this man. He smoothed and caressed Bartholomew’s stocking, enjoying the warmth and feel that the foot offered. Something stirred inside of him, a feeling so strange that he could not begin to unriddle it.
“These are quite impressive.” Lord Bartholomew remarked as the shoe was placed upon his foot. “They feel as if they were made just for me. Please, if you will, place the other one on and I shall carry them out upon my feet.”
Aldon was beside himself with joy as he watched the handsome man disappear through the front door, leaving behind a payment of more money than Aldon had ever earned from his craft. As he prepared to fetch more leather with which he hoped to replicate the wondrous pair, he noticed that his prick was heavy with urge. He slipped his hand beneath his trousers and found himself damp as well.
He ran to his bedroom chamber where his wife still lay asleep. “My dearest wife, I am thick with need.” He undressed himself and fell upon her, giving greedy kisses to her waking mouth. As he entered her, the large damp cavern of her privates did little to satisfy him. He closed his eyes against her willing face and soon his urge regained its strength from memories of Lord Bartholomew. His need soon built to dizzying heights as he let the touch, the smell, and the voice of Bartholomew come to his mind. He busied himself with his wife till both were spent and he fell upon the bed next to her covered in his own sweat.
I do not understand what happened this morning, Aldon thought to himself as he walked to purchase more leather. Surely it was the love and desire for my wife and not that of a man that urged me on. He tried to push the thoughts from his mind and soon, with new leather in hand enough for two pairs, he was feeling more like himself. By the time the gray of the evening turned to darkness, he had finished cutting the leather. Though he wished to finish, he once again surrendered to fatigue. He set his work aside and carried himself off to bed.
He awoke the next morning and hurried back to his workshop. There on his workbench stood a new pair of shoes and a pair of calf-high boots. They were of the same quality and detail as the pair from a day earlier. He opened his shop and before too long a strong and rugged man entered. He wore a loose fitting shirt that reminded Aldon of the stories of pirates he had heard in his youth. The stranger did not wear trousers, as would the gentry. Instead he wore a skirt to just below his knees. On his feet were calf-high leather boots.
“I hear you have the best shoes in all of the lands and I have come to be fitted. My name is Huxley. Are you the shoemaker?” He held out his hand and greeted Aldon with graciousness.
“Yes, I am he. Aldon is my name.” He motioned for Huxley to sit on the wooden bench while he brought over the pair of boots that had just been made as if someone knew Huxley would be arriving. “I venture to say that you will find no fit better than these.” His fingers began to twitch as he slipped his hands around Huxley’s leg. The man’s calf was strong and tightened with his touch. Aldon could feel the coarse hair that covered Huxley’s leg as he reached behind his calf to untie the leather strap. Again the strange longing crept into Aldon’s groin, tightening his furry sack and lengthening his prick. With trembling hands he began to unlace the boot. Once the last lace was undone, he slipped the boot off and noticed there was no stocking covering the foot.
Now Aldon, unfamiliar with such a crude dressing in his customers, wasn’t sure how to react. His eyes slipped down Huxley’s hairy leg as the strange sensation washed over him. He felt a fresh urge about him as his temperature rose. His eyes concentrated on the small dark hairs that lay across the top of Huxley’s feet and toes.
“Is everything proper? I bathed and manicured my feet for the occasion.” Huxley laughed as he raised his leg, flexed his ankle and wiggled his toes.
“Everything is….” Aldon’s words stopped short as his eyes peered under the skirt to discover Huxley’s nakedness. Aldon’s eyes fixed on the sight. His body quivered as he gazed upon Huxley’s prick, which lay in a dark blanket of curly hair. It moved on its own. It began to lengthen as if his eyes were somehow caressing it. Aldon marveled at the shape and size, comparing it to his own much smaller one.
“Is there something you see that you like under my garment?” Huxley grabbed the edge of his skirt and lifted it further up his legs. “Why don’t you get closer?” He reached down and pulled Aldon’s head between his legs.
Aldon could feel the heat of Huxley’s body surround his face. He inhaled and let the woodiness of Huxley groin cover his senses. The meaty prick stirred and drifted across his lips. It left a thin trail of moisture upon his skin that he hesitantly licked off. The taste was sweeter than any honey he had ever enjoyed. An urge unlike anything he had suffered before rushed through his body. He moved in closer and opened his mouth. The heft of Huxley prick slipped in with ease.
To Aldon’s surprise it continued to strengthen in his mouth, filling him. His tongue skirted around the silkiness of the skin, awakening his senses of taste, touch, and scent. He found himself pushing his face further between Huxley’s legs. The rough, curly hair that surrounded Huxley’s prick tickled his nose. He imitated the motions of his wife, motions she had used on him once long ago. His mouth was wet with Huxley’s need. He swallowed, savoring the sweet bitterness it offered.
Aldon reached between his own legs and felt himself. He had never before touched himself for his own pleasure. He untied his trousers. He slipped his hand around his prick. The feel of his own sex drove him to the edge of madness. A heat rushed through him. His body quivered as he released his seed. It splattered across Huxley’s feet. The prick grew again in his mouth. He could feel a pressure deep in his throat before his mouth flooded with Huxley’s warm elixir. So he swallowed all he could, and what little escaped, dripped from the edge of his mouth. Huxley’s sex began to wither. He let it fall from his mouth. Huxley leaned down and kissed him.
Upon Huxley’s departure, Aldon gathered up the new fee and stole from the workshop, wanting nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts. He walked for hours as he wrestled with the pleasures he had learned only that morning. He thought back on the previous two days when these desires first appeared, and soon realized that the fire in his belly began just when the shoes mysteriously appeared in his workshop. With this new knowledge, he ran to the nearest village to purchase more leather and set about his plan for the coming night.
As the evening turned to night, he slipped out of his bed without so much as a muffled noise and crept down to his workshop. The room was dark, but Aldon knew it well. He moved through familiar steps and stowed himself away inside a closet, leaving the door ajar to give him a view of his workbench. He sat quietly and waited.
As the bell tower in the village struck midnight, Aldon heard whispering and the sounds of tiny feet coming from the center of his workshop. The room began to glow with the light of several tiny candles. Aldon’s eyes grew wide in disbelief as he beheld a miraculous sight. Standing on the workbench were two tiny trolls. They were no more than six inches in height. Their faces were almost identical.
Each had small rounded ears and a nose that looked like it had once been pointed, but was now flattened at the tip. They had flowing silver-grey hair that fell to the middle of their backs. They were dressed in blue trousers that strapped over their shoulders. Their strange clothing fascinated Aldon, as he had not seen anything quite like it before.
They looked around the room as if they could sense Aldon’s presence. Then they tugged and pulled on the pieces of leather that had been left out on the table. Aldon was ready to expose himself to them, but stopped as he watched the two trolls begin to undress. Their bodies were covered in a fine white hair that trailed all the way down their tiny legs. Their pricks stood erect and glistened with dampness in the candlelight.
They knelt down upon the thick leather and began fondling their pricks. They watched each other with greedy eyes as they went about pleasuring themselves. The table began to tremble with their furious actions upon it. Aldon heard a whimper floating through the air. Then the noise grew louder. They began to pant like wild animals as they expelled rivers of their clear seed. They fell into puddles of their own release and massaged it into the leather. Aldon had found himself with urge once more and stood to face these two little men.
“I have caught you at last.”
“Yes, you have indeed. But it was not because of your trickery and cunning,” said the first troll.
“No, no indeed. You have seen us this night, because fate has demanded it,” said the second.
“Your words confuse me. What is this fate you speak of? I caught you according to my own plan, because I wanted to understand the cause of these urges in me. Urges for pleasure with other men are not of my own doing because I love my wife with all my heart.” Aldon noted a gasp coming from behind him. He turned to witness his wife, who stood there listening to his confession.
“Is it true what you have uttered from your lips?” she asked. Aldon only blushed. “Your silence has answered my question. Do not come after me, I will leave this house at once.” She turned and as quietly as she had approached she scurried up the stairs.
“You have been untrue to yourself for far too long,” replied the first troll. “These urges you speak of have been with you since birth. You have kept them locked away so that you would not have to face them.”
“It is not possible,” stammered Aldon.
“From where we stand, it looks to be true.” The second troll pointed to the rise in Aldon’s trousers. “We have come a great distance to find you.”
“I am a simple man and do not understand why you would come looking for me.”
“We have learned that there is a most handsome man in the next village. He has lived for years with secret lust and desire in his heart for you, but he lacks the rude boldness required to tell you. We have promised him that we would bring your hearts together so that the two of you might know joy and pleasure.”
“I shall never again join with another man. Huxley was a wicked trick for the two of you to play against me. I wish you to leave my workshop immediately.”
“We hope for your sake that you will have a change in your heart,” continued the second troll, “for if we leave your shop, we also take with us the talents for making the shoes that you have been so blessed to have sold.”
“You scoundrels.” bellowed Aldon.
“We are not the scoundrels you so rashly judge us to be.” The first troll walked to the edge of the workbench. “Scoundrels lie, cheat and steal to get what they want. We have dealt honestly with you from the beginning.”
“It is not in my nature to be as you are asking me to,” pleaded Aldon. “It may be true that I have been feeling strange of late, but only because of tricks played by you.”
“We have given you all we can for now. Go, sleep, and trust yourself that when you awake you will know in your heart what you should do. We shall stay here tonight and wait for your answer in the morning.”
Aldon hesitated. The future he had planned trembled with the news these trolls brought with them. He climbed the stairs without so much as a word and readied himself for bed.
He lay alone for the first time in fifteen years without his wife by his side. As he wrestled with sleep, his mind drifted to the question he hadn’t wanted to contemplate. Who was the man that lusted for him? When sleep did overcome him, his thoughts darkened into tormenting dreams.
He quivered beneath the thin material of the bed linen. His body was heated. Perspiration broke out across his skin. The pleasures of the previous night returned, but more powerful than he had experienced before. He opened his eyes to darkness, as if he were blind. He could not see who or what was causing these feverish moments. At first he wanted to fight it off, to expel from himself the wickedness and evil that had befallen him, but as the moments passed he began to enjoy the tickle, the titillation, the burning urgency that he was now learning. He blamed the trolls and their wicked little tongues for bringing this upon him. He awoke with a start as he reached the brink of his pleasure, showering himself with his own hot seed.
He leapt from the bed without so much as a thought for his nakedness and bounded down the stairs into his workshop. There he found the two little trolls making the finishing touches on four new pairs of shoes. Aldon stood in silence, his drying seed pulling and tugging on the hair that was scattered across his chest.
“Look my little brother,” remarked one troll to the other. “Our Aldon is in quite a state of misfortune.”
“He is indeed,” replied the second. “Perhaps we should have warmed him of our visitor.”
Aldon scanned the room and became flushed with embarrassment as he saw Lord Bartholomew standing in the distance. He grabbed a white rag that had been thrown onto a shelf and covered his nakedness in it.
“My beloved Aldon,” Bartholomew muttered as he walked towards him. “I have waited years to speak to you of what is in my heart. I had hoped for a sign from you the other day when you fitted me for my shoes, but you let me leave without one. There is no need to hide your body from me. Please remove the linen and let me gaze upon the heavenly sight before me.”
Aldon could find no speech. He looked upon Bartholomew with a new set of eyes and new warmth in his heart. He let the dusty rag fall from his body, exposing himself for the first time to another man.
Aldon glanced over to the two trolls who sat on the edge of the workbench. With giddy little smiles across their faces, they whispered wicked little words to each other. His eyes traveled back to Bartholomew who had stopped no more than a foot away from him. He could smell Bartholomew’s scent. His prick stirred with need. His eyes grew brighter as Bartholomew removed his garment and let the heavy material fall against the wooden planks of the floor.
Bartholomew’s body glistened in the dim light. A thin, dark trail of hair began at his navel and carried itself further down his stomach before spreading out and blanketing the thickness of his sex.
Their bodies came together. Prick upon prick, mouth upon mouth. They sank to the floor as each of them explored the other’s body. The trolls extinguished the flames that flickered atop the candles before settling themselves down for the night. In the darkness they could hear the gentle moans and sweet whispers of Aldon and Bartholomew as they acted out the secret pleasures of the wicked little tongues.