Amnya and the Goat-Girls

"You are a woman of passion! A pleasure to me, to see you enjoying my skills!"

The woman smiled with closed lips, the way of the Tiplr, never showing teeth.

"You could travel with us? With our band? See the flat rangelands of the Tiplr, run the valleys, pursue the deer! Fleet and strong!

"Enjoy the bodies of the band! Teach us, as we teach you? Be our goat-woman?"

This was a frequent plea of the satisfied man or woman, imagining a future of pleasure with a goat-girl. Sometimes honestly, but usually a passing idea born of the pleasure.

"Ask me again, next year?" The standard response, not refusing, not accepting, just delaying, so their dream could persist, their imagined pleasure.

She was satisfied with that. Arose, left, still smiling, content.

The serving-girl came in, smiling, pleased to find Rook flushed and complete. Combed the deer-hide with a wooden comb, blotted the wet with a cured deerhide scrap.

Took her time licking, oil her fingers, spread it on Rook's lips, the other lips, tender. Kissed Rook gently before she left.

That girl! Next year, she'd be inducted into the circle, her training complete. Rook looked forward to sleeping with her from time to time.

The next man arrived slower, the rush to take a goat-girl lessening, the urgent cases having spent themselves. The work would go on all night, the next night, seven nights! As travelers arrived and departed. But each new night the newly-arrived always numbered some who were desperate for attention, having no bond-mate, or one unable to satisfy in all the ways.

The rest did their trading first, meeting old friends, telling stories. They would come after the fire, relaxed, enriched by their trades, spend their wealth and their bodies as the night spent itself.

From the next, a man, a gift of pottery patterend with fine marks, so fine! Rook marvelled, asked. From cloth?! An impression as of deerskin but woven as a basket, very fine, of grasses or other plants. From the west? Nothing to the west but the mountains and the plains, to the end of the world. Just more stories.

But Rook resolved to get some of this 'cloth', trade for it this season, for her potter family. They could make more of these marvelous pots, trade them dearly!

This man wished to play hunter, trapper, wanted to bind her before taking her body for his. For this, the serving-girl was called to attend, to ensure no harm came to either of them, during the passionate moments when Rook would be helpless. He didn't object; he seemed delighted that the girl would watch!

Bringing out her thongs of leather, kept in the hut for this, she cried "Tie me! Take me!", laid back, spread like a trapped Rook on the furs. Put her arms through the loops, hung on pegs fashioned at the hut's poles. Legs the same, loops around ankles, legs spread wide, wide, gaping, bound to other poles.

"Keen trapper! Your snare has taken the Rook! Helpless, struggling against your thongs! Resisting your trap! Oh what will happen to me? What will you do to me?"

She thrashed, jutted her hips this way and that, not straining the straps but jerking as if she would pull free, played the role of the desperate animal, in mortal danger. Showed fear on her face, eyes wide, mouth gaping!

This was exactly what he needed, his prick proud, dripping, jutting against his stomach. Like a mad spirit of the forest he straddled her, arms beside her shoulder, bit her tits, jammed himself against her stomach, her pouting red lips. Thrust! Plunged into her, deep!

She shrieked, as an animal in mortal fear, her life taken by the trapper, her soul released to blend with his!

Pulled out, and In! Again and again, and soon sharing his seed, offering her a soul in return, spurting one, two three times!

It was a joy to see a man spend this way, stiff and passionate, flushed and strong, the hunter taking his prey! She felt him spending, felt her body responding, felt the familiar pleasure course through her hips, into her core.

She collapsed, the prey now completely his, all resistance gone. For a time he nibbled, at her shoulder, her nipples, sucked a bit, went flaccid. Pulled away, face as if waking from a dream, soft and satisfied.

The girl waited for him to make his groggy way out, limbs placed carelessly, muscles soft and relaxed.

Then she straddled Rook herself, looked her in the eyes, impudent.

"Well? Clean me, girl!"

Smiling wickedly, she scooted down Rook's body, put her face to her wet stained fur. Licked lazily, taking her time, finding her hole, sucking carefully. Doing her job but enjoying it, letting Rook stay bound, as if she could also have her way, as if she were here to enjoy a goat-girl for her own.

It would be trivial for Rook to raise her limbs, release herself from the leather loops, not tied in any real way but just hooked there. But she didn't, she let the girl have her pleasure.

She would be a Sister next season! What fun they would have, practicing each skill in the dark days, repeating each act until proficient. This one was already skilled in one, woman to woman, lips to lips.

When she was clean the girl lifted the leather thongs, wound them into a ball, replaced them where they were stored. Cleaned the reindeer, oiled Rook's lips, all the while smiling, red-faced.

Left her to recover.

Standing, stretching, leaning this way and that to bend muscles tight from time on the floor, time constricted by pleasure, she loosened her frame, let life flow into every limb.

Bent double, butt toward the door, holding her ankles to let her back unwind, was how the next found her.

"Oh! Am I to take you this way?" He was amused.

Straightened, turned to face him. "Do you wish to? I'm all yours, Hunter!"

For he was clearly a Hunter, from down-river, fledged only this year. Still showing the weals of his induction ceremony, bright and raised into his skin, meant to last a lifetime.

He had only rabbit-meat, the cheapest offering, showed humility. "I have only this to give!"

Rook smiled. "The Rook likes rabbit! My favorite! Welcome, Hunter!"

A shy grin, one hand over his member. Rook boldly took his hand away, revealing...

"Oh! A nice prick! Beautiful! Let me!"

He was nearly proud; she made him so with her hand. Stroking from root to bulbous tip, firm, stripping up and back, making him ready.

And a sudden Spurt! To paint her belly, drip from there in strings, into her bush.

"Oh! Sorry!"

"No matter! You are young! We will continue, you will soon be ready again."

Kneeling, hands and mouth giving their best, indeed she had him cleaned and then stiff. The young!

How to proceed from here? He would need something extra, to produce again so soon.

"You will hunt me! I am a rabbit!"

She crouched, bent over, arms curled at her breast, knees at her sides. With a little Hop! Hop! Hop!, she pretended to nibble at the grass, her face to the furs on the floor.

Her wet gash was fully exposed to him, her butt thrust into the air, wiggling to entice him.

He was willing to play.

"I have my net! I will capture you!" He pretended to throw.

"Oh! I am caught!" She rolled onto her back, struggling, hands still curled to her breast, legs spread, thrusting into the air, her wet gash dripping, carelessly exposed.

He could not look away, was stunned as a deer when it is pierced by the arrow, as the river in winter, frozen.

Move this along!

"Don't use your knife on me, Hunter! Spare my life!"

He responded, moved, bent over her, menacing her.

"Your knife! So long! So sharp! It will pierce me to my heart!"

He was stiff as reindeer antler now, and almost as long. Crouching, grabbing her legs, he bent them over his shoulders. Moved his hips around, waving his prick, threatening her with his 'knife'.

Fear! "Oh! Oh! My life is forfeit! Take me, brave hunter! Take my soul! Skin me!"

He'd had enough of this. Positioned his hips just so, then Plunge!

Rook Shrieked! Then Eep! like a frightened rabbit, twitching each time his 'knife' pierced her, convulsing like an animal being flayed.

He was inflamed, nearing his limit, his knife pulsing in her, ready to deliver.

"Claim your prize! Plant your seed in me!" Not part of the play but guaranteed to make an inflamed man spurt.

He convulsed, in her, grunting, releasing all he had. Then a Hunter's cry, "Yo-lo-lo!" as he collapsed, still in her, still pulsing.

Rook enfolded him in her arms, wrapped her legs around him, let his seed finish joining her, filling her, happy.

Laughter from outside, from those waiting. Calls of A good hunt! and A fair kill!

Her man laughed as well, glad to be here in her arms, in her body, with friends cheering him on. A good life, that of a Hunter!

Good to be a goat-woman too! She liked this one, his youth a match for hers, his joy obvious, his pleasure coming easily.

She tongued his lips, his cheek, tasting him.

"You are a fine brave hunter. One day, you'll want a bond-woman. Find me again! I would consider you a fine mate!"

He untangled, pressed his lips to her, stood. Left flushed and happy.

Always leave them happy!

This time the cleaning took much effort. Her stomach, her bush, much licking.

Her wet soggy hole, dripping down her legs, her butt, slurping and swallowing.

The skins, slathered by overflow, took extra effort.

Watching the serving-girl work efficiently, wetting her scrap of hide with her spit, working on the floor-skins to leave them shiny and clean, she felt a surge of affection.

This girl would make a find bond-woman! She would consider her, too. Sometimes goat-women had a mate, it was not unknown. And with a bond-woman, no children. It was considered bad to mate within the settlement, surely related in some way. Better to be bred by a trader, a traveler, with their fresh blood. The usual way with goat-women.

The girl applied oil, carefully but still tender! Red!

"I've been flayed by that one!"

They laughed together, happy at their work.

Next two! A woman and her bond-man, here to learn. Their gift, larger for this: a bit of metal, rare and precious, very welcome!

"Teach us all! For we neither are reaching the joy!"

Teach all? Well, that would take longer than the evening had hours. But she could make a start!

She worked with the man, let the woman watch, as women were better at remembering all the ways.

Using her own body first, bade him try. The tongue! the mouth! Hands, fingers in secret places! She led him to each discovery, showed him how to move, extend, be firm or gentle as required.

"Smack my butt! Oh!" He did that with a will, leaving a red weal. Good!

Next, faces each to the other's pleasure, each licking the other. The woman crouched down, peered between their bodies, moving from one end to the other, marveling.

Before he spent, she stopped him. Leave something for the final lesson!

"Lie like this! Spread yourself lest your flesh catch, burn."

Rook lay, demonstrated, holding herself by a pinch of flesh, tugging open.

"Wet his club with your wash! Gently, carefully! Get him soaked!" She lectured the woman as he crouched over Rook, his prick wetting against her lips, her hole.

"Then, In! As far as the wet will admit, no further."

He tried it, her hand on his prick, foot against his butt, getting him to change angle. He slid in, almost fully, effortlessly as she was flowing freely now. The woman watched, some wet dripping from her lip now.

"Very good! Now, you."

Rook pushed him off, got up, lay the woman down, spread her legs. She shyly clutched at her mute lips, pulled too hard.

Rook adjusted her grip, guided the woman's fingers, showed her just where to hold, how hard to pull.

"Mount her! As I said!"

His prick is already wet, but he followed through the lesson, probed her, wetting himself, getting her to pant.

"Now! Strike!"

And he sliiiiid in, getting a gasp from her, a grimace, not of pain, her legs shaking, her stomach convulsing.

"You've brought her over already! What a man! Well done! Now, take her! Seed her! Plant yourself, slide until just-outside like the viper at it's burrow seeking the sun, then quickly! slither back inside!"

He does that twice, careful of the angle, careful of the wet, three times then cannot help himself, plunges in, deep! Pumping his life into her!

She clenches again, legs clutching him, elbows bracing herself against the skins, half sitting, whimpering, leaking his spew from her hole around his member, jiggling, pulsing.

He collapsed; she needed no instruction here, hugged him to herself, wrapped her legs around. Her hole was still clenching and releasing, driving his fluid to spurt out with each pulse.

Rook let them lie warm for a while, breathing hard, smiling and smiling, nose to nose, happy.

"Practice this! Every day! Until you return next trading season! More to learn then!"

"Thank you! So much to try!" A happy bonded pair indeed, all was right with them now.

Hand in hand they departed.

The serving-girl arrived instantly, impatient. No spew to lick clean, as he'd spent in his partner. Just the furs to wipe, oil to apply.

For the customer line was empty, and the fire lit! Time for all to revel around the blaze.

The girl fled, to watch the dance, perhaps to meet a lover. All good.

Rook left her brazier burning, turned the cap to dampen it, make the coals last. Slipped on her crotch-strap, a modesty band around her thighs and hips to cover herself, declare her charms closed-for-the-moment. Exited.

The drums were beating, slowly, calling all to attend. As she approached the light, the blaze, the curious sound of the mouth-harps sang like ethereal birds!

Time to dance.

The Sisters assembled, each as they could. The marks of their craft upon their flanks, their faces, their breast. Bite-marks, hand-prints, accidental scrapes and bruises, all worn with pride.

Surrounding the blaze, the crowd gave them room, let them approach the flame! Too close! Their skin bright, their sweat upon their skin, dripping from face and breast, leaking down bellies and butts.

Stamp! Stamp! they ringed the fire, bodies bouncing with the jarring footwork, on display, attending only to the flame but aware of every face on them, every cock growing stiff under hide and strap.

Circle the fire once completely, Stamp! Stamp! then reverse, return to their original place, Stamp! Stamp!

As one they turned their backs to the flame, faced the crowd. Scanned the faces, the bodies, the pricks.

Bear chose her muscle-man, almost a match for her, squat and thick.

Rabbit, a small man, face shining, joy at being chosen by her.

Reindeer chose a young one, recently a boy, at his first fire, hoping to be chosen but shy. His mates pushed him forward, and he went, faced her.

Tiplr had more trouble. The first two she chose, melted back into the crowd, afraid. But the third, an older man, scarred and confident, strode to her, nodded his respect, ready.

Fox had a mob of boys in front of her, begging, pleading. She ignored them, chose a bonded man from the crowd. He looked at his mate, got a smile and a nod, she pushed him forward, glad to see what he could do with this playful young woman.

Weasel chose a visitor Rook hadn't seen before, slim but not short, slight but lean. He was clearly new to this, unsure, a foreigner perhaps? The boys teased him, handed him forward, made him stand ready.

Rook, taking her time, watching all that, made her choice. A middle-aged trader, seamed, still muscled, some padding on his frame. He'd been watching her, stamping, sweating in the firelight, his gaze never leaving her. He would do fine.

The sisters Stamped twice more, then as one they shed their straps, stepped out. Reached for their mate, pulled at their cords, let their coverings fall.

Naked now but for their adornment, they took their chosen mates by the shoulder (Weasel held his hips), began to sway, forward and back, letting the pricks bump them, pull away, bump again.

Now forward and stay there, trapping the cock between, skin to skin, Weasel's prick between her tender breasts, her mate's face a look of amazement.

The drumbeat quickened, as did their dance. Shuffling steps now, the stamping forgotten, pricks leaking clear wet against their skin, they pulled against shoulders and Up!

Legs wrapped around, some men staggering at the unexpected weight, none falling. Rook's man took her confidently, a seasoned veteran, knew what to do. Held her by her butt, let her wrap legs around, clasp him.

Raising, levering themselves up, each goat-woman took her prick to her wet hole, rocked there for a moment, letting it find its place.

Then at a beat, Down! and pricks shot home, sheathed deep inside a willing woman's body.

Rabbit clutched her man, eyes closed, helpless in his arms, letting him do the rest.

Reindeer looked her boy-now-a-man in the face, rotated her hips, ground on his swelling club, made him mate her, made him enjoy her. He was helpless to resist, just holding her as best he could.

Tiplr glared at her man, threatened him with her fangs, claw-like hands adding to the scars on his body, drawing blood. He didn't flinch, but raised and lowered her hips with the drumbeat, offering his body to hers, mating with her.

Fox was smiling, smiling, licking her man, his woman standing close behind, rubbing her silent lips, rocking to the drumbeat as he moved Fox this way and that, feeling his prick in her body, enjoying her, having her.

Weasel had her head pressed to her thin foreigner's chest, his face a look of complete surrender, his prick inside her tight wet hole, her body flexing and writhing against him, her eyes feral, an animal in heat.

This they endured for a time, the drumbeat driving their thrusting, grinding. Wet holes dripping down pricks, wetting balls, wetting butts and thighs. Eyes wide, rolling, nearing their limit!

Rabbit and Weasel were screaming out their pleasure, which drove their chosen men to their limit. Bucking and thrashing, they staggered, erupted, fell to their knees, filled their goat-woman with all they had.

Fox's turn was next, convulsing, laughing, her pleasure visible in her face, her body, her lust a part of her, her soul seemingly showing through her skin, shuddering and squeaking. His bond-woman was on her knees as well, wetting the ground behind them, beneath her, her fluid streaming, eyes closed, finally slumping over on her side as her man's came into this other woman.

Bear bellowed, humped, drove the wrestler to his knees, convulsed as he did, both of them bouncing and pounding, muscles bulging, her fluid rushing as his did, wetting their thighs, wetting the ground. He screamed, a sound like hers, a roar, and spent, thickly.

Reindeer made her boy spend, made him fill her, squeezing his prick inside her body until his eyes widened. He dropped her yet she found her feet, his prick still inside. Humped him from standing, worked her hips against him, got every spurt to land deep inside. He fell back, caught by his friends, unconscious, his prick still pulsing out thick white clots.

Tiplr screamed, a cry like a wounded deer, her nails dug deep into her man's shoulders, blood flowing freely, down his chest, wetting her belly. In a rage she beat at him, tore at his chest. Unfeeling, he raised and lowered her three times, grunted and emitted his seed, his fluid flowing inside her as his blood wetted her outside, wetted her bush, her mute lips red as if she were in her month's bleeding. Tiplr collapsed, a ragdoll in his arms. Tenderly, carefully he lowered her, pulling out, his cock stained red, trailing a mix of white spume and red bloody smears, a small smile on his lips.

Rook and her veteran stroked with half-lidded eyes, each waiting for the other, sure they could outlast, prolonging the moment. And Rook won; his prick erupted as his eyes rolled back, his mature balls beneath her rump writhing like two small animals, filling her channel with thick clots of white spume. It pumped from her in clumps and strands, fell wetly on the soil, glistening there in the firelight.