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Near a peaceful little village lived a hermit witch. Well, while she proclaimed herself to be a hermit, she wasn't actively driving people away, nor did she refuse anybody to come in, in the unlikely event they would pay her a visit. She was quite the odd one; eccentric for sure, a little bit unhinged at worst, perhaps too enthusiastic at best. She lived in her worn down little hut in the swamp, claiming her home's decrepit look gave it a "spooky style". It was uncomfortably humid and stuffy in there, making the surrounding bog feel like a breath of fresh air whenever one spent too long inside.

If the flies, mud, and quicksand didn't deter visitors, they could request the witch's help; magic and potions were powerful tools, no matter how unnatural they were. Of course, she didn't do it out of the kindness of her heart-- her services had a cost, which drove most of her "customers" away, was quite simple: a pair of well-worn socks, whose value would only increase with longer use. She prized those from young lasses the most, delighting in the subtle scent of sweat, the heavenly flavor of foot grime with a hearty aftertaste of dirt, grass, and leather sandal sole-- the absolute best combination!

She was getting tired of all those villagers judging her with disdain. It was time to act-- she needed to spread her faith, show everyone the good word of musky feet. But she couldn't do it alone... No, she needed an apprentice; a spokesperson, somebody who would sway people to her side with worthy speeches and acts.

So one night, she left her little hut, headed for the village in search of the chosen one.

She prowled the dirty paths, like a lone shadow in the empty streets, while everybody else was asleep. Using her magic wand to sound for the most receptive-- THERE !

She almost jumped in surprise at the sudden, massive reaction from her spell. Her heart thumped in her chest with delight and curiosity, filled with the desire to learn of a soul- sole -mate that had to be at least as passionate as her. She could barely believe it: somebody like this had been so close, all this time ?

She walked up to the little wooden house her magic was directing her towards. A humble, simple home, likely for a single inhabitant. With a flick of her stick and a door's quiet click, she sneakily made her way inside. No immediate signs of life, which was good; whoever lived here was most certainly asleep. There was definitely someone here though, judging by her spell's reaction.

Tip-toeing her way through the darkness, the witch froze immediately when she heard something-- like a muffled voice. Her ears twitched when she heard another, confirming it was not just her imagination, but a lady's voice. Preparing a spell of sleep in case of emergency, she drew closer to the source of the noise; most likely the room of the maiden living here.

With another spell, the door opened, silent as the void. Inside unveiled a scene the hermit would have never thought she would see: the young lass, lying in her bed, held a single flat in her hand, shoving it into her nose and taking long, deep breaths. She gasped in clear pleasure, her face illuminated by moonlight displaying an ashamed blush.

Unable to wait any longer, the witch stepped inside, making enough of a scene to catch the young woman's attention. She immediately screamed in surprise, but before she could call for help out of panic, she felt a heavy weight on her throat, as if she was being silenced-- the glow around her chest and the intruder's wand only confirmed her worries. However, when the shadow stepped into the light, her eyes widened in surprise:

"You! You're the witch from... What--what are you doing here ?" she asked, putting a hand to her chest, surprised to be able to speak.

The witch gave her a motherly, loving smile. "You seem troubled, my child; tell me what ails your mind."

Perhaps it was her magic, but the maiden knew exactly what this woman was referring to-- for some reason, she felt compelled to share. Like a child sharing its torments with its Mother.

"I... have had these forbidden cravings for so long, now," she began, looking to the side at the other flat lying on the floor, "I cannot help it. I have tried everything in my power to pretend like I wasn't affected, but... It gets the better of me every single time. That attractive appearance. That hypnotizing, pleasant scent. And the distinct flavor... But I swear. Deep down in my heart, I know it is wrong to--"

"Rest your heart, my dearest. What 'ails' you is nothing to be ashamed of."

The witch walked up to the woman's bed, sitting next to her and giving her a comforting caress on the back.

"Do not let petty opinions shackle you; you are the only one who gets to decide what you should enjoy."

"But... What if the others hate me because of what I am ?"

"Then to hell with them! Somewhere, someone will appreciate the true you. No secrets. No worries."

The young lady remained silent for a moment, deep in thought.

"I know all too well how you are feeling," added the hermit witch, "I used to be the same. Trust me-- it's quite cathartic to be rid of others' expectations !"

"It's easy for you to say. You live alone in the woods !"

"And why do you think that is ?" she scoffed, "Anyway... You have yet to discover the true joy of indulging. It shows. If you'd like, I can show you what it truly feels like, to give in to your desires... To devote yourself to this passion of yours."

A short silence followed, the young woman remaining deep in thought.

"... There's no point in denying, dear," chuckled the older witch, an amused grin on her face, "I know you do. I can tell by your face."

Her blush intensified slightly from the hermit reading her like an open book. She lowered her head in shame, but eventually nodded ever so timidly. The witch, whose grin widened, lifted her wand once more.

"Oh, how rude of me; I haven't even introduced myself properly!" she gasped, "My name is Megan. What's yours, sweetie?"

"... Marilyn."

Megan gave her a wide smile. "Such a pretty name. Okay, Marilyn; are you ready to have the best time of your life?"

With a teasing chuckle, she waved her scepter. The glow spread to Marilyn's drawer, before a single sock magically appeared between the two of them, floating in the air for just a second, leaving enough time for the witch to let it plop down in her hand.

"That's... one of my socks?" the young maiden questioned, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

The older woman nodded. "Though I added a little personal touch; go on, try it. Don't be shy."

Curious, Marilyn reached out, accepting Megan's odd... "gift". Her eyes widened in surprise when the soft, warm footwear touched her skin, its texture soft, yet pleasantly moist. The tingling scent of sweat making her nose twitch left her with no doubt as to why the cloth was wet, and only made her more eager: if it smelled so nice from this far, how would it feel like when pressed against her nose?

Taking a little bit more time to enjoy the touch of her own sock, Marilyn gently dragged her digits along the silk. It squished whenever she pressed into it, freeing more of its increasingly strong fragrance into the room while also dampening her palm. It was so odd, having her own sock in her hand feeling both so alien and familiar at the same time. None of what she was experiencing had ever happened, but her brain definitely remembered the touch and feel of the thin, almost sheer sock.

Unable to hold back any longer, she shoved the sock into her face, taking a big, strong huff. She exhaled out a loud moan, her eyes rolling upwards at the indescribable pleasure she felt-- from this close the smell was absolutely rank, a sour stench that would normally make her retch, but here? For some reason, it felt right. Some of the moisture was wringed out of the cloth, slipping past her lips and blessing her tongue with the most exquisite foot sweat she had ever tasted. Part of her was confused that the sock smelled so badly this close to her nose as compared to when she held it in front of her, but the toxic fumes flooding her brain brushed those thoughts away, her breathing growing faster, more erratic. The tangy taste combined perfectly with the distinct scent of her own foot amplified a hundred-fold. She could pick up every single spice: that little fragrance from her living room's fireplace; the noticeable pungence of her flats' leathery insole; the pleasant whiff of her garden's grass; all of them mixing into a drugging cocktail that brought her to Nirvana.

Eventually, she managed to pull the sock away from her face, feeling highly dizzy, a silly smile stuck on her face.

"This... is amazing! I... How did you do this? Can I always make it feel like this?"

The witch grinned. "Nothing a little bit of magic can't fix. But perhaps you'd like to experiment some more? Shoes, bare feet, socks... there are so many more things to discover!"

Marilyn nodded eagerly... but for now, she wanted to indulge a lot more on her own sock. The doors to a whole new world had opened to her, and she was going to take full advantage of it...