Following in the vein of the "Himbo Chronicles," yet more King Cailan Crack Fiction.

Shoe Crack

King Cailan was -- no, it would be unfair to say that he was a shoe fetishist. That would be akin to calling a shepherd a bugger or an elf a shit-eater just because one had a penchant to... appreciate something. It did not necessarily mean a lifelong and devoted commitment. Why, even an elf couldn't possibly survive off sludge as mere sustenance! That, Cailan was fairly sure, was true.

But these were a very nice pair of shoes. That was also true.

He couldn't help the little gasp that escaped. Beauty deserved to be adored. Longing spread like a lady's legs from his open mouth and wrapped itself around the leathery finery. The sparkle on each of the spurs sparkled just right. The gleam gleamed with lascivious light. He was not aware that his hands were twitching rhythmically in anticipation of slipping the smooth, tightly cured skin around his appendages. Hands moved to caress the phantom sheath, rolling over its curves, pinching, widening, gently guiding it ever upwards towards his firmly muscled legs.

Cailan took a long gulp and nearly coughed, overtaken with the awareness that his mouth had been hanging open for some time. A feverish feeling was rushing towards his head. The back of his throat felt sore and dusty, as if from long, impassioned use. "Bad" said the studs on the left foot. "Ass" said the studs on the right boot. He barely managed to croak to the cobbler:

"I'll take it."