The interior of Greta’s Garments is surprisingly colorful. Though it started off as an empty wagon filled with loose bolts of cloth and sewing tools, vivid fabrics now cover all the shelves. Curtains hang from the walls in every color of the rainbow, and a single wooden mannequin stands near the counter, its surprisingly anatomically correct cock covered in a thin, lacey cock-sock. Sitting nearby, behind the counter, is a pink-skinned succubus, busy knitting what looks like another such sock. Even with her slouching posture, you can see that her breasts are truly tremendous - mountainous mammaries that she actually rests her arms on while she knits. She’s completely nude, save for two thin black squares that stretch over her taut nipples (concealing absolutely nothing) and a soaked triangle that’s even now threatening to disappear into her gushing crevice forever.

Noticing your gaze, she sits up a little straighter and swivels on some kind of rotating chair to face you more directly. Her jiggling breasts slowly bounce to a stop on the counter before her as she asks, “Can I interest you in something, honey?”

There doesn’t seem to be anything aside from cock-socks here.