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.
