THE PEDLAR

“Well? Do we have an arrangement or not?”

The question was delivered with an insistence that Telaruha found rather irritating. Her grey-green eyes flickered briefly as she glanced at the speaker, a man whom she considered utterly repulsive. He was dirty, dishevelled and obese, a shambling figure of stunted height and drab attire, but he always paid well for the goods he desired. Telaruha, by contrast, stood a little over six feet in height and was as graceful as a swan, her pale slender body clothed in a long gown of white satin. The garment had been tailored by her maids to fit closely to her shapely form and its elegance befitted her status as a queen of the woodland elves. Her honey-blonde hair hung down her spine in a braided plait, its twists adorned with green thread. Delicate hoops of silver dangled from her ears, which tapered to white points, and her fingers bore many rings of gold.

“Well?” came the question again, the man‘s tone betraying his impatience.

Telaruha walked to the edge of the clearing and peered into the deep forest shadows, her keen eyes watching the approach of two figures. Then with a sigh she turned back to her visitor and looked down at him with disdain.

“Yes, Brockle,” she answered softly. “We do indeed have an arrangement. But I must see your payment before I fulfil my side of the bargain.”

The dishevelled man rummaged in a brown sack and produced a wooden box, th lid of which he opened slowly. Telaruha’s eyes gleamed when she saw the contents.

“Coral,” she whispered. “And a hundred white seashells. Your gift is most welcome, Master Brockle, and is more than adequate for my needs.”

She reached an elegant finger down towards the shells, but Brockle swiftly closed the box, shaking his head and stepping back a pace.

“Not yet, lady!” he warned. “Not until I am given that which I seek. But I see no sign of your maidservants.”

“They are here,” said Telaruha, even as the two figures entered the clearing. Brockle saw that they wore long green dresses and that their blonde hair hung loose down their backs. They were younger than Telaruha but otherwise seemed identical to her in clothing, hairstyle and physique. Both had the distinctive pointed ears of the elven race and were grey-eyed, sleek-limbed and effortlessly beautiful.

“I did not hear them in the woods,” Brockle observed.

“Elves move silently among the trees,” Telaruha explained. “But now, perhaps, we can complete our exchange?”

“Let me see the garments,” said Brockle, rubbing his hands eagerly.

Telaruha clicked her fingers and the two maids moved swiftly in unison, stooping to lift the hems of their green gowns above their waists. Brockle licked his lips as he gazed at their long pale legs and slender hips, but his brows furrowed in a frown.

“The one on the left is fine,” he said. “But the other is too plain for my liking.”

“I do not understand,” said Telaruha. “Surely your desire is to purchase elven underwear?”

“That is still true,” came the reply. “But my customers in the southern lands require the finest examples of your weavers’ art, for only the elves know how to produce exquisite lace underwear. So, as you see, the girl on the left is wearing a delicate white thong which my customers will adore. But the other girl’s thong is woven from plain cotton in a style that is easily obtainable in my home city. My reputation relies on my ability to provide my customers with something far more unusual.”

“I see what you mean,” said Telaruha, staring thoughtfully at the two maidservants. “Yet I wonder if the rear is less plain? Sometimes our weavers add a fine lace pattern at the back while leaving the front unadorned.”

Again she clicked her fingers, and the elf-girls turned around, still holding their gown hems above their waists. Brockle’s eyes narrowed at the sight of two pairs of shapely buttocks, their smooth curves deliciously exposed to his leering gaze. A narrow strip of white material encircled each slender waist before plunging down to vanish between pert ass-cheeks.

“You’re drooling,” Telaruha observed. “I urge you to concentrate on the matter of our business.”

“My apologies, Your Elven Majesty,” said Brockle facetiously, clearing his dry throat with a gravelly cough. “Please forgive my discourteous lechery. But my opinion remains unchanged, for the underwear on the right is indeed too plain for my purposes.”

Telaruha sighed in frustration and walked over to the maids, bending to inspect more closely the one on the right. The elf-queen’s long pale forefinger traced along the narrow waistband of the girl’s thong and lingered at the place where the white cotton disappeared between the buttocks.

“Your eyes deceive you, Brockle,” she observed. “Here my fingertip feels a tiny pattern of the most delicate lace, woven in the shape of a flower. Surely the southern ladies who buy your wares will not be disappointed by this particular garment?”

Brockle shook his head. “The women to whom you refer are my wealthiest customers. They pay me well for high-quality elven underwear, and that is what I provide. A plain thong with an almost invisible adornment is unlikely to attract their attention, for they can buy such items quite easily in any city. My sister and her daughters actually earn their livelihoods by weaving cheap cotton underwear and selling it for a few shillings at the market.”

Telaruha stood upright, expressing her disappointment with a snort. “I greatly desire the seashells and coral that you have brought. I keep a treasured collection of such things, as you know well, but I fear that I cannot fulfil my side of our arrangement. Will you not accept the lace underwear in payment?”

“No, my lady,” Brockle replied, giving a rueful sniff when the two maids lowered the hems of their dresses. The pleasing vision of their bare buttocks was suddenly extinguished. “Two elven thongs was the agreed price, and no other bargain is acceptable.”

The queen bared her teeth in frustration, her grey-green eyes glinting as they narrowed. “Do not forget the time and effort that our weavers expend to produce the fine undergarments worn by our womenfolk. Surely even a single lace thong is worthy of a box of seashells?”

“The arrangement was made in good faith,” Brockle retorted. “But you underestimate my efforts in procuring these shells from the fishermen, who charge an extortionate price. I fear that you and I will make no trade today.”

Telaruha rolled her eyes in despair and gave an exasperated sigh. “Alright, you stubborn creature! You know how much I desire those seashells, yet you refuse to reduce the price.” Then, shaking her head, she laughed softly, reaching down to grasp the hem of her long white dress.

Brockle stared in amazement and delight as the elegant queen lifted the hem above her waist, exposing her lower body and legs to his leering gaze.

“Consider yourself uniquely privileged,” she added, smiling at his wide-eyed expression. “Rarely does the wife of an elven king reveal her underwear outside the confines of her bedchamber. Only my maidservants see what I wear beneath my gowns, and they are sworn to secrecy.”

“I am deeply honoured, lady,” said Brockle, awestruck by her dazzling beauty. “But why are you doing this?”

“Can you not guess?” she asked. “I hereby offer my own undergarment in payment for the seashells and coral. Add it to my maid’s lace thong and your price is paid in full. Is that not so?”

Brockle nodded sheepishly, keeping his gaze fixed on the exquisitely woven thong of pale blue silk that adorned Telaruha’s shapely hips. The material was as thin as gossamer, its transparency giving Brockle a mouth-watering view of the elf queen’s shaven slit, the perfection of which made him blush. The waistband of the undergarment was a string of interlacing leaves in sky blue satin, embroidered with tiny stars of white lace. How many hours her handmaidens had spent in weaving such a delicate gift he dared not imagine, but he knew that his customers in the south would clamour to purchase it.

“Most noble monarch of the forest!” he cried. “Our arrangement is now truly sealed, for you are exceedingly generous.”

Telaruha tucked her thumbs into the waistband and pulled the thong down to her ankles, taking care to let her dress follow close behind so that Brockle glimpsed no peek of her intimate parts. It did not occur to her mind that her visitor had already seen more than enough. Her maid did likewise and handed her white lace underwear to the queen, who passed both garments to Brockle.

“Ladies, I thank you,” he said, bowing courteously. “It is always a pleasure to do business with the elves.”

Telaruha and her servants ignored him and instead huddled around the little box that he had brought, their bright eyes gleaming as they rummaged among the seashells. Brockle watched the trio for a while, admiring their loveliness and imagining what it might be like to snuggle with all three in his bed. He had heard a rumour that elf women enjoyed having the points of their ears gently nibbled, and he longed to learn the truth of it. But suddenly he realized that the bulge in his trousers was growing visibly, so he brought his mind back to the matter in hand.

“Great queen of the trees,” he said respectfully. “I bid you farewell, until our next meeting.”

“I’ll expect you here when the new moon rises,” Telaruha replied, looking up from the box. “Shall we make the same agreement, with the same price on both sides?”

Brockle hoisted his rucksack onto his stooping shoulders and nodded. “Two lacy thongs for me, and a box of seashells for you.”

“Good!” she answered, and with a dismissive wave she bade him farewell.

Brockle grinned and turned away, heading along a narrow path that snaked among the trees near the forest edge. After walking some yards he halted, rubbing his hands gleefully and chuckling to himself.

“An elf queen’s underwear for a box of white seashells?” he chortled. “Surely the best bargain of the year!”

THE END

Copyright by D. Boudewijn � 2005

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