Goldforge has the filthiest feet in all the realms! Can Miles convince him to let him service every inch of them?
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Miles stood obediently near the forge, waiting for Goldforge to finish. He watched intensely, dick stiffening up in his pants. Miles sucked in his breath at the sight of Goldforge’s bare arms, which were as thick as Miles’s head and covered with curly black hairs.
“Hmmmmm….” Miles didn’t intend to moan, but he did. He couldn’t quite control his own desires in situations like this. His eyes were opened wide, taking in every inch of Goldforge Axetosser’s stout frame.
Goldforge was a dwarf, a member of the Grimdigger Clan, though he was far from the Grimdiggers’s natural homeland of Mount Lumpnut. Goldforge lived in the human city of Dewandleheim, where he was one of two blacksmiths. The other blacksmith was a human, but Goldforge was more experienced and stronger. He hammered out the plow in front of him on the anvil, only barely aware of the human, Miles, watching from the street.
When he smithed, Goldforge ignored everything but the task in front of him. That was part of why he liked it so much. When he did it, the world seemed to narrow, and nothing was important save for hammering this piece of metal into the shape it was meant to be. He could see the shape in the metal, begging to be released.
He wore a black apron made of thick leather. He didn’t wear a shirt underneath it, so his hefty body spilled out through the straps that ran over his back and shoulders to keep the apron in place. His back was hairy like his chest, the dense, coarse fur covering him and turning outrageously thick in the small of his back. He wore britches that ended at the knee, and covered his ass and thighs, but Miles could tell his ass was just as hairy.
He would be considered fat by human standards, but Miles didn’t see it that way. Goldforge had a bodybuilder’s body, it was just covered up by the natural dwarven padding — supposedly evolved by generations of mining and needing the cushion for falling down mineshafts. Miles could see the muscle under all the heft, and he didn’t mind the belly or the big ass — which was perfectly plump, and, Miles suspected and hoped, greasy with the day’s sweat.
The forge was so hot it was liable to make anything flammable burst into flames if it came too near. That was why Miles had stayed out of the forge, so he didn’t accidentally light anything on fire.
Finally the plow appeared to be done. Miles still waited because Goldforge inspected it carefully, bending over to look at every part of it. His practiced eye ran over the plow, unaware that Miles looked so intently on.
A river of sweat ran down Goldforge’s back, extending from his neck and running through the mat of coarse hair underneath one of the straps of the apron. Miles followed it with eyes and imagined himself sucking all that sweat off him.
“Oh god…”
But Goldforge’s sweaty, hairy body was not why Miles had come to Dewandleheim — he’d traveled all the way from the real world for something incredible: the most glorious dwarven blacksmith’s feet.
Unfortunately, Goldforge’s feet were covered. He wore boots made of fur with a leather covering. They looked uncomfortably hot, especially near a forge. Miles was unsure why Goldforge would wear something like that. Surely his feet weren’t cold in the forge.
But as he watched, he realized exactly why — the forge generated tons of little sparks that could scorch anything they touched. Everything on the floor got covered in sparks from time to time, and only the treated leather of those boots protected the fur from igniting and burning his feet. So it made sense, even if the boots looked uncomfortable. Miles wanted to suck all the sweat out of them — he bet they were utterly rank. He could watch the sweat sliding down Goldforge’s muscled calves and soaking into the fabric and leather.
He did clean the boots, it looked like. There was a marked skin of linden oil with a stiff brush next to it. But it must have been awhile. The leather was worked and worn, and you could tell it would be gritty with crystals from evaporated sweat. Miles wanted to ram his nose in there and inhale from it like a bouquet of roses.
But he didn’t do that. Not yet. He simply watched Goldforge’s great arms work up and down, biceps flexing, chest jiggling, limbs arching, sweat dribbling down his neck from his beard to soak into his sweat. When his arms lifted the hammer all the way up, for just a moment, his armpits were bare and the furry fullness of the hair there was visible. Miles caught a whiff of his body odor, which sent a frisson of desire up Miles’s spine.
Finally, Goldforge put the plow down and glanced up at Miles. “G’d day, good sir. What do you ken, sir?” His deep voice was gruff, aloof since he was still more focused on the plow than anything else. It was cool enough now he could touch it and test how it felt. It was still hot enough to burn most people, but Goldforge had thick calluses on his hands, which protected him even from metal as hot as this.
That was why he didn’t notice Miles taking in his stature and his musculature or the flush coming over Miles’s face.
“I, uh… I was looking for a blacksmith,” Miles said. His voice was lilting, fresh and flamboyant, in stark contrast to the baritone boom of Goldforge’s dwarven accent.
“Ah.” Goldforge grunted, looking up at Miles for the first time to get a good look at him. Goldforge snorted. “Well, you have found a blacksmith. I am Goldforge Axetosser, son of Ramblelore Axetosser the Hammer-Bound, son of Humpert Axetosser the Grand, son of Swordslice Axetosser the Fat of Foot, son of Oretight Axetosser-“
“Your great-grandfather was called ‘Fat of Foot’? What was he like-?” Miles’s eyes lit up — that sounded interesting, whatever it was.
“He was pridefully deformed in an accident as a boy, giving him a wide, fat foot,” Goldforge said. “Among my people, you see, being disfigured in a work accident is a good thing. We do not pity our disabled, we glorify them! You petty little humans act as though it is shameful to be harmed in the course of your work-“
“Okay, okay, Goldforge, I get it-“
“But there is no more glorious way to be injured!” Goldforge bellowed, attracting attention from the other townsfolk. He glared at them. “Bugger off, you munknuts! I am conducting business!” He shook Miles’s hand. “Why do you ask about my great-grandfather?”
“I was just curious,” Miles said. “It’s no biggie, that’s not why I came here. I was looking for a blacksmith. I’m going to need ten horseshoes.” He smiled. This was his plan to get a taste of Goldforge’s magnificent cock — and feet — to offer him some business.
“Ten? Why do you need ten horseshoes?”
Miles was at a loss at first. He was from the modern-day real world, so he was only vaguely familiar with equestrian matters. A horseshoe seemed like the first, most obvious thing to buy from a blacksmith that wouldn’t attract any questions. It took him a few moments to realize that horseshoes were presumably purchased either one or four at a time. “I, uh… I mean twelve.”
“That is an important distinction,” he said. “What sort of beast are these for?”
Again, Miles didn’t know. He wanted to say “horse”, but that was silly, wasn’t it obvious? What other animal would a horseshoe be for? He should have learned more about horseshoes before trying this plan. Was he looking for like “mare” or “stallion”? Was Miles supposed to say something measured in “hands”? All of a sudden, Miles wished he could remember what a “palomino” was.
A foal?
He could only stammer, mouth agape like a shocked fish. “Uh… I need… horseshoes, for the… hooves… of a horse. Of three horses. Three horses worth of hooves.” Miles paused. “Right? Hooves?” They did call horse’s feet hooves, right? Now that he was saying it out loud, it sounded wrong. He looked like an idiot, and he blushed bright red.
“Who is your stableboy? I will ask him,” Goldforge said with a frown.
“Uh…” Miles blushed. This had become more difficult than he expected. “I don’t have one.”
“You have no stableboy? Who is tending to your three horses?” Goldforge’s big beard shook. He furrowed his hairy brow. Miles was entranced by the beads of sweat on Goldforge’s cheeks, sliding into his beard which was bushy enough to almost entirely cover his face.
“Uh… My friend,” Miles said. “I mean…! I, uh… I just need to buy horseshoes.” He paused. “No questions, just… can you make them?”
Goldforge sighed. “Yes, fine, certainly. You have come to the right place. Do not go to Gransome Mildew. He’s the only other blacksmith in town. He is an incompetent buffoon.”
“I’m not sure about Gransome,” Miles said with a big grin. He stepped into the forge. “He’s very strong. He-“
“I’m stronger!”
“Hmmm…” Miles felt a surge of desire as he touched Goldforge’s fleshy bicep, which firmed up. Goldforge flexed both of his arms, revealing a pair of massive biceps.
“Gransome Mildew is inattentive to detail, my fine human friend,” bellowed Goldforge as though hoping Gransome would hear him from across the village. Those arms were so big Miles planted his lips on one without thinking about it, and he slathered spit along the curve of his bicep while Miles’s hands carressed the hair-dappled flesh of his arm. Goldforge grunted but didn’t complain, he just assumed it was how people checked a man’s strength in Miles’s homeland. Many people have strange customs, and Goldforge Axetosser did not judge.
Well, that was not true. But he kept his opinion of foreign cultures to himself.
Well, that was also not true, but he did not tell a foreigner what he thought of his customs until after taking his money. So he let the petite human slurp the sweat off his biceps.
When he had had his fill of Goldforge’s arm-sweat, Miles realized how carefully he was being scrutinized, and he blushed. Then he said, “Take off your boots. I think the real measure of a man is his feet.”
Goldforge did so. He was glad to get those boots off because they were so hot. His wide feet were hairy — as all dwarven feet were — and thick, drenched with the day’s sweat. His feet were more muscled than a human man’s, more gnarled and of course hairy, with the tops covered in the coarse black hairs just like those on his leg and arms. “Indeed. Your people have marvelous views on judging a man, I always say. What are you looking for in feet? Size?”
“Size helps… But if I only looked for size, I’d hire ogres for everything,” Miles said as Goldforge unlaced his boots. The leather was soft and pliable, the horsehair laces frayed, and a long sigh chambered out of Goldforge’s broad chest when the boot was loosened enough to come away from his feet.
The skin of his feet prickled when exposed to the dry air of the forge. Goldforge pulled first one boot off, then the other.
As soon as he removed his boot, the most fragrantly funky odor Miles had ever smelled filled the air. He was dizzy, swooning, and he gripped Goldforge’s broad shoulders for support. He cried out. Goldforge looked at him, confused, standing still like a statue while Miles held onto those awe-inspiring shoulders. It was hard to support himself like that because Goldforge was so sweaty. His skin was slick and slippery.
“Oh shit, sorry,” Miles said, blushing. “I feel faint…” He kept clawing at Goldforge’s big, broad body as he slipped down him. Goldforge grunted and gripped Miles’s side to help him stay up. Miles said, “I’d like to do something with you, Goldforge… Do you have a door?”
The forge had no door, just a doorway, which opened right onto the street. Goldforge explained that as he stepped away fom Miles, whose hands glistened with a layer of sweat from Goldforge’s body. “I have a curtain. That will have to do for your human notions of propriety,” Goldforge said. “We do not worry about such things in dwarven kingdoms. A man at work is never an ugly sight.”, He attached a curtain to a rod running over the doorway, which gave some privacy to the forge. Instantly the hustle of the street faded from Miles’s consciousness, and the humid texture and overwhelming odor in the air from Goldforge’s feet and armpits grew stronger and stronger as the air grew staler and more fragrant with his manhood.
Miles rolled his eyes. “So… is it okay with you, if I, uh… do some stuff to your body?”
“What?”
“Nothing bad! It’ll feel good,” Miles said. “I’d like to lick your feet and maybe the rest of you a bit, and I’d like to taste your dick and I wanna swallow your cum.”
Goldforge was silent. He chewed on his lower lip. “This is… how you test that I am strong enough? Why does the taste of my feet matter? ‘Tis disgusting, I assure you. My feet are often stinky and-“
“I know, I know… honestly, no, this isn’t how I’m going to test you, I’m already going to hire you, Goldforge. This is just a bonus for fun. Don’t you have foot-lovers in your land?”
“Not in the Grimdigger Clan.” Goldforge crossed his arms over his chest. “I… I am not that sort of man. I thought your type liked hairless young humans and elves with willowy bodies and-“
“No, no, not me,” Miles said. “I like ’em big and hairy and stinky.”
Goldforge’s barrel-shaped voice filled the air. He guffawed. “That is disgusting. But fine.” He paused. “Fine if you buy twenty horseshoes.” His eyes lit up when Miles nodded. Twenty horseshoes would net him more than he made in a month.
Before Goldforge had even finished agreeing, Miles was already on the ground. His dick strained in his trousers. He planted his tongue on the bare top of Goldforge’s left foot, and Miles let out a moan as the taste of footy funk assaulted his senses. Even before his tongue touched the foot, he could taste it and smell it, the freshly sweated scent ramming into him, bringing tears to his eyes.
The sweat had poured over his foot when he wore those boots, and now it was slick all over. Miles slathered every inch with his tongue. He spat up on to the top of the foot and then sucked his spit down, gasping at how deliciously nasty the taste was — it tasted like stale spit and a locker room and a bit of cum.
Miles’s nose pressed into the layer of hair on top of Goldforge’s foot — he had moved onto the fresh right foot, and this time, he didn’t lick the whole thing. He savored it, dragging it out. He just licked the hairy top surface of the foot, getting up all the sweat that was there before he moved onto the toes.
He loved toes. The cracks between the toes was delightful, it was where sweat collected and never went away. So Miles could taste everything Goldforge had done since the last time he bathed — which was weeks ago. He could taste the hours he spent in the forge and the metal he had worked over and over; he tasted scorching sparks and moist, mildewy fur boots, and spilled lager and whiskey.
As he moved on to the bottom of Goldforge’s foot, licking up all the dirt that clung to his skin, Miles’s eyes roamed upward. He had to laugh at the shocked look on Goldforge’s face.
“Zanzibar’s axe!” Goldforge said with an annoyed grunt. He hadn’t expected this to feel good. “You are… You are licking my feet?”
Miles sat back and let Goldforge’s foot flop over his face. He licked it as much as he could, slurping up the spit he had already coated it with. He nodded. “You said I could…”
“Yes, yes… I just… I didn’t realize it would be like this. You are licking… It is dirty, and you like it?”
“You like it too, if I’m not mistaken,” Miles said, his voice muffled by the hairy big toe he sucked on. There was some yellowish dirt trapped under the gnarled toenail there, and Miles tried to suck it out with his mouth.
For the first time, Goldforge smiled a bit. “I am… I am interested in… I do not kive fir feet-“
“Right, right… Can you take your britches off?”
Goldforge raced to do so. His dick was already straining against the fabric. He dropped his britches to the floor, and his ten-inch dick hung free. Since he was shorter than a human, his above-average dick size looked almost comically large, Miles thought, and it would have extended almost to his knees if it weren’t already hard.
It was hard. Goldforge obviously liked getting his foot licked, since he had gotten hard even without touching his dick. His meaty hands gave himself a stroke before grunting and letting go. He closed his eyes and looked away, despite moaning every time Miles’s tongue came back into contact with his foot.
“I think you like it when I lick your feet,” Miles said. “Can you lay down on your back?”
Goldforge did so, blushing. He wasn’t used to letting anyone boss him around sexually — when a woman was willing to let Goldforge fuck her, he always took charge and told her what to do. It would have never occurred to him to ask her to suck his feet, yet Goldforge couldn’t deny that it felt amazing.
When Goldforge laid down, Miles had him put his feet on the ground, knees in the air, legs spread apart. That put his feet very near the sweat-soaked crotch and his bare cock and balls. Miles could go back and forth from sucking his feet to slurping down his cock, his ballsac and the sweaty tangled hair of his magnificent taint.
Miles knew very well that it was playing with his dick that would bring Goldforge to orgasm, which was why Miles did as little of it as he could without disappointing Goldforge. Miles licked his feet and his ankles before moving to his balls and his taint, guzzling down all the sweat he could find there. He choked up more spit that made a big foamy mess in the nest of black hairs beneath Goldforge’s crotch. His hairy belly jiggled.
“I’m gonna jack you off with my foot, okay?” Miles said softly. He made his voice sound feminine, and since his entire head and body was blocked from Goldforge’s view by Goldforge’s belly, Goldforge could pretend Miles was a woman.
In fact, Goldforge was beyond caring. Nobody had ever orally worshiped his cock like this. He felt like his balls might explode. He nodded, not even really comprehending that Miles was going to give him a footjob — there wasn’t even a word for that in the dwarven tongue.
Miles leaned back and curled around Goldforge’s legs, so he could insert his foot into Goldforge’s crotch while caressing his ankles and thighs — he couldn’t quite reach his foot in this position, but he could rub his ass against Goldforge’s toes.
His toes splayed to grip Goldforge’s cock. He had given lots of footjobs before, so Miles was able to bring him to orgasm like that. He stroked him slowly at first, his other foot exploring the fleshy warmth and hairy, moist mess of Goldforge’s crotch.
“Aw, may the gods bless you, silly human!” Goldforge’s breathlessly exclaimed. He couldn’t believe he was enjoying this double-barreled footjob so much. Humans were so weird.
His dick throbbed mightily between Miles’s toes. Miles moaned as well, his own hand flying up and down on his shaft. The first wad of cum sprayed from Goldforge’s dick.
“Shoot it on your foot,” Miles said softly. He aimed Goldforge’s dick for his foot, and the rest of his load sprayed right on his hairy foot and between his toes. Goldforge moaned and shook, his hefty body jiggling, sweat dripping from his body hair.
Miles remained under him, bathing in and swallowing all the fluids that flowed onto him: cum, sweat, saliva, all flowed down and over Miles’s face. Goldforge was so horny he drooled a little, mouth shaking, body flexing as the powerful muscles beneath his padding firmed up and relaxed over and over. He gasped hoarsely for air.
An orgasm hit Miles too, as he licked all the cum off Goldforge’s moistened foot. He had shot a huge load, and it trickled onto the ground and between Goldforge’s toes.
“Hmmmm…. You taste so good,” Miles said with a moan and a chuckle. His tongue slipped between those funky toes, slurping and guzzling down all the fluids he could find.
Goldforge was sprawled out, exhausted, spent, virtually asleep even though his mind told himself to get up — the post-orgasmic bliss coursing through his veins was so intense he couldn’t bring himself to do not, not even when he felt Miles shoot his own cumwad on Goldforge’s foot.
Miles sucked that off too. Goldforge barely noticed and didn’t care. His dick was limp, his whole lower half dripping with Miles’s saliva and Goldforge’s own cum. He had never shot such a huge amount.
Miles giggled and pulled off him, caressing Goldforge’s fleshy thighs. Miles kissed his dick and his taint — “hmmm…. I wanna suck your taint forever, Goldforge…” — then stuck his tongue in the hairy crack of Goldforge’s ass. He slid it around the best he could with Goldforge still laying on his back, and he managed to get more of the taste of his ass-goo and crack-sweat from the bit of his ass he could get to with his tongue. That made Goldforge shudder and shake — it felt good, but it was ticklish and weird too.
He gently pushed Miles away. “Alright, human, you had better buy those horseshoes as you promised.”
“Hmmm… I will. Can you deliver them to me?” Miles asked, his mind wandering. If he could buy some horses and have them waiting, Goldforge might come meet him in a stable. That would be amazing. They could play around again.
Goldforge chuckled, his belly shifting up and down, which caused a few drops of sweat to plop on Miles’s face. “No. That is what a farrier is for.”
Miles had never heard the word farrier. He just sighed and rolled his eyes. He was learning more about horseshoes than he had really intended. He thought he was doing good by learning that blacksmiths often smithed horseshoes; it seemed simple and small and easy to carry, that was why Miles had chosen it — if he asked for a sword, for example, Goldforge might want to know why. Miles hadn’t expected horseshoes to be so complicated.
“Well… I don’t have a farrier-“
“I do not know how to fit a shoe onto a horse,” Goldforge said. “You need a farrier-“
“No, that’s not…” Miles sighed. “Fine. Yeah. Do you know a good farrier?”
“Bah, there is a human farrier in town, but he is incompetent. He spends all his time with the ladies, seducing them,” Goldforge said. He flopped his limp dick over Miles’s face a few times, then stood. “He is useless.”
“Hmmm… I bet he has feet,” Miles said as he stood. He blushed a little, feeling tiny in comparison to the thick-bodied Goldforge. He quickly paid for the horseshoes and put his clothes back on, his mind already racing with the possibilities.
In just a few days, Miles was going to need a farrier — whatever that was — and he could easily pay him for another taste of outrageously raunchy feet.
Miles couldn’t wait to learn what a farrier was.
