Lenny and the triplets didn’t speak much on the way home. The two parties needed time away from each other after the incident.

Lenny tried to go about his day as usual, helping his family at home, gathering the eggs from their chicken in the morning and heading over to the baker to purchase fresh loafs of bread. The made-up excuse him and the triplets had given to their families on leave, that they had visited the nearby town of Kenil, was one Lenny had to narrate now to his family, lying about the shop of exotic magic and the plays they’d visited and watched.

Above everything in his daily life, a constant in the background, was that Lenny couldn’t stop thinking about Mara’s feet, about the things she’d done to them. No doubt an affair of humiliation and disgust to the triplets, in Lenny’s mind it was something fond. He would sit against the oak tree near the house and stare at the skies, longingly replaying those memories of her lively, dominating toes, the way they had chased them, wrestled them, pinned them down, conquered them, and made them her slaves. He remembered the creamy texture of their flesh in his mouth, the most delicate thing he’d ever tasted.

Not only had the experience given him a pleasant orgasm then, the memories of them became fuel for many sessions at home, where Lenny found privacy and masturbated. He felt pathetic every time, tearing at his self-worth. Those feet had the lingering effect of a witch’s curse. And when Lenny had exhausted the memory, he daydreamed of what else Mara might have done with more time.

Others noted his change in behavior, his reserved nature, his random bouts of private time. How could Lenny explain the cause? He realized how far from normal he was straying, but he couldn’t help it.

One of the girls of the village had sat on a picnic blanket with her friend, bare feet kicking in the air, and Lenny had his eyes fixed on them. Something had happened when he reached his orgasm under Mara’s foot, his senses drowning in her toes. In that moment, some new circuitry formed in his brain, the link between feet and pleasure made very direct. But even then, nothing of what he saw from the women in the village could compare to Mara. Not just Mara’s giant status, but her feet had truly been perfection, the toes slender yet round, the arch deep and shapely, the balls firm yet with a gummy texture, and as he noticed examples around him showing the inevitable reality of developing a callous from long times of being barefoot outdoors, Mara’s didn’t follow those rules. They didn’t follow the rules of normal, mortal feet; they were godsent. Mara had not made him love feet, others’ feet hade made him love Mara’s.

His daydreaming turned into real dreams in his sleep, one in particular where she read her book above that table on the porch, her legs stretching out to present a row of ten perfect peds, and Lenny knew what to do. He despised the reality he woke up to, wishing he could return under her table.

One of the days at the local inn, Lenny sat with Red, both drinking fermented apple juice.

“Things are going back to normal,” Red said, chugging the last of his drink. “I’m telling you, I smelled like her feet for days, and the prints of her toes were on my skin for longer.”

“Yeah, was a crazy business.” Lenny knew his attempts at showing aversion were poor, but at this point it could be chalked up to having gotten over it. The triplets reminded him of how far from normal Lenny had gone. Their reaction was the norm.

“The bum who gave us the information, Benjamin, I can’t find him,” Red said. “Asked the innkeeper, turns out Benjamin wasn’t a local. Goes around spreading lies to lure people there because she paid him a little bit of evernuts.”

“I guess the best we can do is counter that, warn people.”

“Damn right. I’m screaming it like the herald. Anyways.” Red swung his legs over the bench and got up. “Green needed help with the cows. Will be seeing you.”

Lenny gestured a farewell. As the door opened and Red left, two other gentlemen entered with cloaks over their weskits. They called for two pints of ale and sat on the table next to Lenny. The chatter bustled on in the inn. The two men received their ale.

The word ‘evernut’ stuck out from the commotion like a needle prickling his ear. Lenny lurched along the bench, closer to the two men.

“Yeah, it’s a plantation of evernuts there amid the mountains,” one of them said, “before giant country. And get this, it’s only the daughter of the owner who guards it. She alone. I tell you, we leave tomorrow morning, get there by noon, and slip our way in. Imagine how small we’ll be there, it’ll be easy.” His partner shook his hand with a cackle.

They were running through every argument Red had made. Lenny could have walked over to their table, corrected and informed them. But he didn’t. The thought struck him like thunder.

Lenny wanted them to get caught, wanted to see it. He had to follow them. He had to go back.