Amnya and the Goat-Girls

The place is Amnya, Siberia.

8000 years ago, a settlement was here, a trading point for boats on the river, for migrant bands on the plains. They gathered annually, to trade goods and stories, to trade women and boys, to balance the bands struck by accident and sickness, replenish their goods and their numbers.

A hunter-gatherer society, no fields nor vineyards nor orchards but decorated pottery, fortified walls. Sheep and goats.

How did they support a settlement then?

Two ways:

Trade, river traffic combined with land, to make them a depot for skins, dried meats, taking their cut, making something of their trades, making a living.

And Sex! This is an erotica story, of young woman, of age, open for business, ready for seasonal visitors. Enjoying their craft, skilled and practiced, respected in society.

Trading season! Here again!

The winter had been long and boring. No visitors to the camp by the river bend, not over the water which was white and solid, impossible for the umiak to traverse with its fragile skin shell. Not over the land which was many feet deep in snow and ice, a person could disappear beneath with a single misstep.

The goat-girls had spent much of the dark days in their hut, perfecting their skills on each other, with their toys of antler and leather. It was a way to pass the endless hours.

In between soaking dried meats and fish, eating the soup and drinking the tea, they had kept flesh fed for months. But the soul also needed fed!

Fortunately golden-root tea helped soul as well as body. The tea livened the blood, excited the skin, pushed back the soul-crushing darkness that could leave a person empty, even extinguish the soul.

Now the rains had washed away the white river, the grey slush, melted the cover. The last ice broken, crashing and groaning, now tumbled downstream in a rush of spring flood.

Her body was in spring flood! Ready for traders! Nomads ranging far, hundreds of miles over the seasons, trapping and hunting. Ready to trade her gifts of pleasure for their gifts of skins, meats, antler and bone, foreign goods!

Goat-girls were here to be screwed by randy traders, exchanging their skins and meats for sheep, pottery, sex. It was a profession, a talent and gave purpose to a life and a position in the community.

Rook was junior woman in the goat-women hut, this the first year on her own. No longer tending senior women at their fucking. No need to wash the pricks, clean the skins after, suck the slimy cunts clear for the next partner. There were others to do that now, girls who's souls had not yet been blessed by the ritual.

She was going to have all the men! The strong lean women! The newly bonded couples! In the flush of their spring pleasures, eager to learn!

Finally!

With painted body, feathered necklace, anklets, her body had been prepared. Hair shaved on one side using a blackstone razor, sharper than a viper's tongue! Slicked with reindeer grease into spikes to imitate the whistling snow-rook's crest. Tattoos on her arms, of flight-feather arrayed as if in motion.

Thus called Amnya Rook, Amnya for the place of her birth, the village at the bend in the river. Rook, because she'd chosen it, at the ritual that granted her a place in the goat-girl circle.

Sitting in the big hut, the sleeping hut, around the charcoal fire that lent warmth to the furs and to their bodies, admiring her sisters, all who were present excited at what was to come.

Her sisters!

Amnya Rabbit, small and furtive, nose that wriggled, clad in rabbit-skin that covered her shoulders, her lower legs, her feet. Covered the fine fur at the cleft in her legs, where men put their tools to prime the body, create another soul, quicken the womb.

Amnya Reindeer with her lean rangy limbs, strong thighs and rump! Small pouty tits laid against her chest, like a deer's, pierced at the nipple with slender bone. Antlers in a head-dress jutting skyward, antler points pierced and woven into a chest-piece that lay between her breasts, another laying over her hips. Skin stained brown like a deer's hide.

Amnya Tiplr with the fierce fangs piercing her lower lip, jutting down her chin, eyes outlined in coal, tanned hide tiplr-ears woven to piercings encircling her ears. Thin as a rangy spring Tiplr, nails grown and sharpened to fierce weapons, dangerous and exciting.

Amnya Fox with her red hair, gift from a faraway traveler to her mother, whiskers jutting sideways from piercings in her nose, ears trimmed to points. A tail! hanging from a spool in her butt, a real fox's tail tanned and brushed to fullness.

Amnya Bear, round and beautiful, full in face, hip and breast, stomach and thigh, plump after a winter's idleness. A bear-skull carved into a helmet, tied with leather to frame her face. Many were the idle dark hours Rook had spend enjoying her body, rubbing oil into her plump breasts, exploring the clefts and curves, drinking her nectar.

Amnya Weasel, the smallest of them! Half the height of any other in the circle, in the settlement! With tiny dark eyes, short fingers and toes, lithe flexible body, she needed no adornment to complete the spell! She'd spent the winter cuddled up with each of them, any of them, no bed of her own, sharing warmth wherever she found it, welcome under every sleeping skin. How she could suck! How far her fingers could reach! her hands! her arms! From within the body, exciting Rook from inside, strange feelings and wonderful.

The calls began; Traders approached! From the river! She knew each call, knew what they meant from a youthful lifetime in the settlement.

They rose, exited the hut, each to their own, service huts decorated with antler, feather, bone, hide to guide guests to their favorite goat-girl!

Rook hugged Bear as they parted, each to their own hut, nearby, close enough to hear the glad cries and calls of other partners, adding excitement to their own efforts.

Her hut was laid with reindeer skin, brushed and clean, the efforts of a younger woman. Rook feathers adorned the walls, hanging from draped leather thong, as a bird might feather a nest.

Warm, a charcoal fire hanging overhead in a covered-and-pierced pottery lamp gave some heat, a red light to the hut.

She sat, cross-legged, her sex exposed to any who entered the door, a wet promise to each customer as they entered, spied the pleasures that awaited.

She didn't have to wait long! Her first customer! Not her first man, but now coming with his offer of meat or hide. Her first earned payment! She shivered, excited to be a real working woman, to earn her place in the settlement.

He was washed, naked. Shone red from the fire. Not yet sweating, but she would attend to that.

And there was so much of him! Barrel chest, thick arms and legs! Wide face, belly that moved as he did, no blubber overlaying muscle but muscle alone! Male member like a club!

She shivered again, and felt the wetness begin.

His gift, a slab of leathery meat. Mammoth! He saw her admiring, and boasted.

"Only the bravest take the mountain-beast! The Plainswalker! Two days with lance and club to harry it, separate it from the herd, tire it, bring it down! Avoid the tusk! The other bulls of the herd!"

Stories of the hunt always made her excited. To seek the soul of such a beast! To risk death! Sometimes she would pleasure herself remembering stories of violence and victory.

She grinned her happy grin, lay the gift in the basket by the door, bade him lay on her skins, do her best for him.

He would have none of that! He lifted her by the waist, turned her, set her on hands and knees. Holding her by the hips she felt his club-like prick thrust between her legs; she spread them for him, made it easy to reach what he sought.

Easy for him! Not for her! Thrusting and probing, he found her belly, then her ass, then her buttery hole. He thrust!

Oh the gods! He was big! Bigger than any she'd tried before.

No matter; Amnya Weasel's entire arm fit in there; so could this man.

He pressed, caring not for her, just pushing into her, making her take him, hold his meat inside. She grunted like a ewe in heat, felt it spread her, felt it come to rest.

Or so she thought! But no, there was more! He pulled back, thrust! again, got further in, came to rest against her motherhood, her womb. Straining, he moved that too, got even more socketed inside.

Finally content with her body, liking how much she could hold, he stopped, slapped her rump!

"Oooowooo! Take me, meat-man! Soul-bringer! Great hunter! Take your prize!" She knew the calls, had heard them from Sisters before she was fledged, practiced them in the dark hours around the Sisters' fire.

He took her; holding her hips he pulled back, thrust again, easier this time, she was spread and open. Her knees barely on the ground, then entirely in the air as he rutted into his prey, his mating-toy, his goat-girl, for his own pleasure and not for hers.

But she did feel pleasure! This way was exciting too, to be had by a beast of a man, made to take his tool, take his seed! Oh the joy!

He bred her like the ewe is taken by the ram, rutting, bleating.

Like the injured lamb she called back, "Baaaah! Baaaah! Mammmaaaa!" Struggling, pretending, crying out for his lust, his seed!

He labored at her body like the paddler in the uniak, stroking, stroking, content to spend hours at the task, a day.

But she could not stand him, stand this punishment for much longer. Move him along, bring him to the brink.

"Your tool is in me! Big man! Is it just wood? Can it make me a woman? Make me a mother? Or do you pretend like the gelded ram?"

Her scolding inflamed him; he redoubled his efforts, pulling further back, rutting hard into her, bruising her hips with his grip, grunting like a beast with each impact.

She bleated as well, each breathe ending in a Huff! or a Gaah!

He was close, she felt the swelling, easy since his was such a massive club, the tip as a summer apricot, swelling with nectar. She knew how to bring him over.

"Ooooh! You split me in half! Your member is deep inside! You will flood me! Wash away my slime with yours! Surely make me a mother! Your child! Your child!"

Over her shoulder, her head bobbing with each impact made him appear a double image, a beast with two heads, she saw his grin, then a grimace as his soul took over from his wit.

"Father of hundreds! Soul-bringer! Fill me with your lust! Ahhhhhhh!"

She screamed as his semen came into her, his oar strokes not lessening but the fluid providing grease for his oarlock, her body, relief from his rough massage, her insides flushing with pleasure at the slick sluicing, no longer a pounding but now a jiggling, emptying his balls into her hole.

He finished; he dropped her, tossed her onto the pile of skins, sat back on his heels, eyes closed.

She bounced as she hit, came to rest, rolled onto her back. Spread herself, showed him his success, his spume bubbling and flowing from her hole, still wide from his girth.

His gaze returned to the hut, to the brazier, the walls, then to her as an afterthought. Grinned at her lewd display, laughed.

"A worthy fuck! You are my favorite this year!"

She laughed. "I am your first! Tell me that at dawn, when you've finished with all the goat-girls!"

They laughed together, an old joke but a fine way to bring their time together to a close.

He stood, not a great feat as his legs were short, his stature squat. She called her parting call, he waved with one hand as he moved the skin flap of her hut door, exited into the cool evening.

Immediately a service girl appeared, squinting in the dim light. Saw Rook still open, still showing her hole filled with fluid.

"A good one?" She was to be fledged next season, already an adult but still being inducted into the mysteries of the craft. Really interested, full of spirit.

Rook nodded, let her lips go, let the girl get on with her duties.

"Ahh! Careful! Tender!" The girl looked up, face wet, her mouth an Oh! of apology. More gently now she lapped at the juices, sucked at the gaping hole. Took her whole mouth to make a seal around the gape! Rook felt her insides pulled back from the sucking, returning to something like normal as the girl lapped and swallowed.

"That's enough! No other cleaning needed; he was very deep, everything kept inside."

The girl nodded, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, ducked out the door.

She was to be given a few moments to collect herself before the next would be admitted. Took the time to dip some oil from the pot by the brazier, a cup formed into the side of the pot, meant for the task of warming oil.

Spread it over her red lips, reached into her tender hole, salved the sore tissue with careful fingers. The excess she spread on her arms, none to be wasted!

Outside she heard her muscle man boasting to someone, of his rut, his pleasure.

To his bond-woman! Her voice was clear, amused.

"I will not be taken like that! I must ride you, not be taken like the beast! You are mine, not I, yours!"

From the sounds he made, he was clearly not opposed to that; they walked off making happy sounds.

That was why the goat-girls were here! To serve needs, unmet in the bond, in the band, the traveling crews. Not all in a band were able to satisfy as each person needed. Goat-girls were skilled in all the ways, could satisfy all, even teach the partners if desired.

As she waited for the next there came the calls of another girl, nearby, Bear? She was wailing the cumming-call, her voice deep, rumbling. Rook smiled; another man served well!

The door flap pulled aside, and a head stuck in, unsure.

"Come! Close the flap! The cold enters!"

Some needed to be led to the mating, not willing to take the leadership role. Rook knew of this, had practiced with the Sisters the ways of enticing, leading, even forcing herself on those who needed that.

He entered, carefully arranged the skin to keep the cold out.

Again washed, naked, red from the light of the charcoal fire. The look of a foreigner, taller than folk she grew up with, with a different face.

Traders could come from afar by river! Often they met travelers with unlikely stories of crossing great waters, skirting island chains, come from lands with different animals and peoples. All just stories she imagined.

With different ways! That was common. Like children, the Sisters had told her, not knowing the right ways, needing to be told.

"What's your name?" He asked pleasantly, in no hurry to begin. That was fine; she had all night.

With a strange way of saying it! Some sing-song to his voice, not unpleasant.

"Amnya Rook!" A bright smile, welcoming and safe. Rook figured this one would need to feel needed, wanted.

"Are all the girls named Amnya?"

She laughed, then caught herself. He didn't know, his people used other ways, be kind.

"It's this place, we are named for this place. I am truly Rook."

He understood, maybe. Not too much wit in there? No matter. It was not wit he came to spend.

His offering: sewing needles, a kind she didn't recognize, long and slender, finer than any they made here from bone or antler. A thorn? But longer.

Satisfied, she placed them in the basket.

He was silent; she spoke to fill the hut with hospitality.

"And how many girls have you seen, already?" He was not unhandsome.

Shyly, he put up a hand, fingers but not the thumb.

A fast worker! In the time she'd been filled by her girthy wrestler, he'd taken four! Perhaps not fully; probably only by hand. She would fix that.

She took his arm, held the hand to her face.

"I will be your thumb!"

Carefully putting it to her mouth she held his thumb in her lips, sucked it inside, laved it with her tongue. Bit gently.

He was stirred, unused to such feelings as this brought forth.

"Will you pull my seed from my prick? With your hands?" He said an unfamiliar word, 'prick', surely he meant his tool. She would learn that, teach the other sisters later.

"No! With my mouth!"

He was naked, she shuffled on her knees, to him where he stood, put hands on his hips, lowered her face to his tool, mouth open, lips on the tip.

Alarmed, then delighted, then ecstatic as his eyes rolled in his head! She sucked gently, careful lest the Sister's handling had made him tender, used her tongue to tease and warm his tip.

His knees locked, his head back, and spurt! spurt! he spent his soul-giving fluid in her throat.

She made it good for him, kept licking and sucking as he dribbled and shook. Sucked the last from him like marrow from a bone, Shmuuck! and pulled off, leaving him wet, still engorged, bobbing before her face.

"So fast! Not good for you! I am shamed!"

What an odd thing to say? "No! You are a man; you responded as you should! All is well.

"But your payment is too much for just that? Come again after the fire, when you are recovered! No further offering needed. I will welcome you then, into my body."

He was amazed, shocked to learn she would happily fuck him. What were women like, whence he came? Cold? Unmoved? Unskilled? Unfertilized?

Foreigners were a mystery to her.

He left, and she waved away the serving-girl, no need! Still the girl licked spume from her lips, cleaned her face as best she could, conscious of her duty, then left.

Her man called outside in a foreign tongue, to friends? Clearly rude remarks, from the manner, she caught a word or two. Newborn lamb was the same word it seemed, and 'suck' and 'milk'. Bragging of venting his fluid in her mouth! Bragging of Rook's skill!

As he should; she was very skilled, taught by the Sisters in all the ways.

The next came in immediatly, the serving-girl knowing she needed no rest from that simple suck-and-swallow.

A woman! A band-leader of the Tiplr people, the toothed-deer. A necklace of their thin sharp teeth, like the shrike-shrub but longer, many times!

Her gift was of course deer-meat, lean and strong. Like this woman!

Tiplr are all women. They trade for young to bolster their band, maintain their line. Accept souls from other travelers from time to time, but a gravid woman is a problem for a Tiplr, slowing them down, not helping in the hunt, still eating from their stores but not contributing. Tiplr could sometimes be found in trading settlements, spending the hunting seasons with child, returning to their band the next.

This one wanted to suck at her flesh, mouth her breast, tongue her hole. As women share with women! A favorite way with Rook, the way she preferred to enjoy her body.

She came; the woman accepted her gift of fluid.

"Try me! Take my desire!"

Rook was in her favorite role now, the woman pleasuring another woman. She laid her down, lay with her, laid over her, skin to skin.

Mouthed her neck, her shoulder. Raised an arm, licked her armpit! Savory, washed yet still salt.

Below, bit at her nipple, to bring a flow. Sucked at the milk, earnestly, suck-suck-suck.

The woman put a hand to her head, pushed her gently down, to her crotch, her ripe furry cleft, now gaping and wet.

"Suck me! Eat me!"

Easily done! Slurping up her ready fluid, she nibbled at her silent lips, mouthed her womans-prick(!), the nub of her pleasure.

Taking her time, from lip to hole to nub and back, tonguing and slurping and sucking gently like the serving-girls did, no man's spew to clean but plenty of woman's wetness.

The Tiplr strained, her stomach taut, her shoulders bent forward, her body a bow, bent to release not an arrow but her pleasure!

She called out to strange gods, in a strangled voice! Then a cry turning to a whimper, then just breathing, her stomach alive with her breath, slowing.

Pulled up, they shared tongues in mouths for a time, gentle, friendly, two women at peace with themselves.