The wheels of the caravan sank heavily into the well-worn road as it traveled the last leg of its journey. Midsummer was drawing close, and the dewy days of spring had given was to crisp, warm nights where the fireflies buzzed between the trees, a myriad lights like stars upon the canvas of the heavens above. Come midnight, the caravan would reach its destination. Come morning, the wagons would be unpacked, the tents raised, and the stalls ready to greet its myriad visitors. All in all, it was just another small part of the Midsummer Fete, an annual gathering of revelry and high spirits enjoyed throughout the vast city-state of Vassalage. But this caravan in particular was special. Traveling at night through empty roads, and inviting such hushed whispers wherever it pitched its colorful banners a-high.

Good for the Goose was the name, and it was owned by a man of some fifty summers by the name of Darryl Hardglove. As far as businessmen were concerned, Hardglove was among the preeminent in the five kingdoms. Despite his demonic heritage, which showed through his wine-red skin, glowing yellow eyes and the tail that swirled and coiled like a snake behind him, he had the ear of most anyone at the courts, not the least because of his silver tongue. Far more important, however, was the wares he peddled. No mere huckster of petty grifts, Darryl Hardglove had long since settled on the oldest and most profitable job in the world: People.

Prostitutes, to be more specific. Good for the Goose was many things, but chief among them, it was the most notorious traveling brothel in the known world. Renowned not merely for the quality of its selection, but the sheer breadth of it; a sumptuous selection certain to cater to any discerning sinner's needs. From voluptuous slime-girls kept in shimmering crystal jars, to hypnotizing aasimar, buxom halflings, lavender-skinned tieflings, burly and curvaceous orcs, oil-slick humans and even, it was said, a being whose powers could make you cum a dozen times without ever even receiving a physical touch.

Darryl Hardglove, however, is not the protagonist of this story. As the caravan rolled into Vassalage and headed for the Royal Plaza where the Fete was to be held, he sat behind his desk and counted the coins needed for the purchase of wares, food, and bribes. He was so devoted to this, in fact, that he had no capacity to entertain the world around him. Hence, we move our eyes a few wagons back. Back near the end of the winding caravan of creaky wagons, to a woman with her bare feet dangling off the back, while her eyes followed the dark ruts in the road slowly turn to dusty cobblestone.

It was close to midnight, and the moon hung in the sky like a lone, silverine eye. Aida, wiggling her toes in the darkness, listened to the creak of wood and the clank of metal suspension made by each wagon in turn. Every bump in the road could be traced from the first wagon to the last, a series of thunks that rose and rose and rose before passing and fading, one at a time to the end of the line. The slender woman smiled every time it happened. There was a strange comfort in it, like a mantra being repeated on end. This was her family, her friends. Each wagon held a loved one, even the ones she didn't really care for. Family is like that, she mused. Even when you hate each other, you still love one another. At least the family you've chosen.

There was another noise on the air, one that she knew few others than herself could hear. It was a sustained and repeated thudding smack, and it had been going for the better part of half an hour now. Every once in a while, she caught the whimper of a light voice on the wind, or the grunt of a deeper one. It didn't make Aida blush, just smirk. Two days past, they had picked up a stray on the side of a road, and he had taken to the company of Minny, the pint-sized slut in the next wagon over. Idly, Aida imagined the scruffy, unkempt human unloading inside her friend. His hands gripping her waist and pumping her bodily against his cock, his teeth clenching behind the beard as he pressed her up against a wall or down into the sea of downy pillows she kept on her bed. Her little cunt clenching, weeping, slathering frothy juices along his size as he took out months of frustration on her expensive little fuckhole.

She was expensive, too. A common whore might fetch five crowns for a blowjob, ten for a good roll in the hay. Minny might give you a tug job for fifty if she was feeling generous. Did the straggler know, Aida wondered, that he was racking up a debt of hundreds of crowns on this trip? Or did he think Minny was so touch-starved that he was doing the halfling diva a favor?

The slapping noises culminated in a harmony of whimpering groans and moans and squeaks. For just a second, Aida could smell the heavy scent of cum wafting through the air, and then it was gone, overtaken by the smells of the city that was closing in around them. The whiff was enough to make her stomach gurgle, however. As the daughter of a succubus, her need for sustenance was not limited to mere food alone. Little wonder, then, that she had taken up this profession, despite her mother's protests. Aida was smart, capable, with a knack for magic that would have made her a witch if she had wanted. But she didn't want. Instead, she wanted sex. Lots and lots of sex. And being part of the most expensive, most exclusive whore company in the world was a good way to get it.

At length, the caravan came to a stop, and Aida watched the vagrant jump down from Minny's wagon, clothes thrown around him in a heap. He pulled out a pipe, filled it and lit it, and then spotted the cat-like eyes of the woman sitting not far from him, and watching him intently with a coy little smile.

"Evenin'." He puffed the pipe, and tried not to make eye contact. "Guess we finally arrived, huh?"

Aida nodded. "So it seems." Then, looking to the pipe, she added: "That's a disgusting habit, by the way. And it's not going to disguise the smell, if that's what you're hoping."

The scruffy human eyed her, and hummed deep in his throat. Annoyed. "Mmnh. I'll mind my business if you mind yours, Madam. No offense."

"Ah. On your own head be it, then." Aida stood, and balanced on the balls of her feet, teetering on the edge of the wagon's back seat. "Just don't expect much fondness for the habit around here. Now that we've arrived, we all have work to do. Minny included."

"So?" The vagrant shrugged. "I'm not one of yi's. Work all you will. I'll entertain the lass at no cost to you and yours."

"Oh, but you are a cost. Just don't let Darryl catch you, is all I'm saying. And if he does, offer to work to pay off your debt. He likes people who offer solutions."

With that, she turned and disappeared through her curtain to the inside of her wagon. The vagrant, staring after her, felt a sudden pang of cold fear drip down his back. He had seen some of the men who worked the caravan. Some of the women, too. He was no fighter, just a man down on his luck, and the weight of his situation slowly began to grow on him now. With a look back at the caravan, he tapped out the pipe, stowed it in his pocket, and returned to Minny's wagon. Soft voices began to talk. Aida chose to ignore them. Still, she smirked. Even if she herself was not of the succubus bent, she admired the ability of her friends to charm the head off of a gullible man. Minny might not have the blood, but she had the penchant. And the hunger for it.

The morning greeted the tents and banners above the wagons with a rainbow of colors across the plaza. Good for the Goose was open, and barely twenty minutes passed from Aida began to roam the plaza, until she was accepting a heavy purse of money and leading a broad man with a salt-and-pepper beard into the comfy confines of her wagon-home. As he undressed, so did she, and she felt the heavy shiver of his pleasure run down the shaft of his cock and into his groin as she wrapped her warm, luxurious lips around him. Sucking slowly, dragging her tongue teasingly up and down the hard shaft until he was glistening wet with her spit, and then down her throat until his fuzzy sack pressed hard against her chin. Throbbing, oozing precum, with a hand in her hair that let him pump himself into her mouth again and again and again. And again. And again. And again--

He came inside her, bent over the edge of the bed and with both his hands cradling her ass cheeks like a voluptuous idol. Deep, heavy ropes of cum that splashed into her womb and immediately began to drip down her inner thighs, while he growled and thrust himself in shallow nudges back and forth inside her. By the time he pulled out, he was a massive load lighter and 90 crowns poorer, but the smile on his face did not leave him, dazed and blissful, as he got dressed and left. Aid laid on the bed, slowly scooping the overflow of his seed out of her well-fucked pussy and licking it off her fingertips. It was a start, but not enough. Then again, it was never quite enough. Never quite. But close, sometimes.

In the haze afterwards, her mind drifted. There would be plenty of opportunity for work here. Already, she could hear her brothers and sisters of the caravan doing their jobs with grunting, growling, mewling, moaning gusto. But invariably, her mind steered towards another. A fellow of the caravan, someone whose mere presence had, as of late, began to make her heart throb. It was folly, she knew. To fall in love with another whore. But when you worked and lived so close together, how could she avoid it? And if this feeling was real, how could she deny it?

Why would she deny it?

I'm looking to play a whore in a fantasy caravan brothel who falls in love with one of her colleagues. Plenty of opportunity for smut and shenanigans, no? ;3 Tell me who you want to play as, I'm eager to hear your character concept! I want a healthy mix of sex and romance, please, and nothing too rough. Aida's a lady.