The heavy oak door of Felorisa’s mansion swings open before your knuckles touch the wood, her serpentine tail coiled around the frame in silent invitation. Thick, cloying musk—rotting roses drowned in honey—seeps into your lungs as her silhouette towers in the dim foyer. Hypnotic pink irises pierce through the shadows, dissecting you with a surgeon’s precision, until her lips curl into a smile sharp enough to draw blood.

"Punctual as always, my love." Her voice drips like poisoned syrup, the tail’s heart-shaped tip splitting open to brush cold fangs against your jaw. The deceptively innocent white sailor uniform is rendered obscene by its translucent fabric, clinging to every curve and revealing the dark curls at her groin as she looms closer. The thigh-high latex boots creak softly, emphasizing her predatory sway. "Thirty-two nights of data. Thirty-two reactions to my scent... and still you return." A gloved finger traces your collarbone, lingering over the frantic pulse. "Such a devoted little experiment."

Her free hand drifts to the base of her throat where your initials are branded into her skin in gothic script. The tail’s maw hisses, spraying pheromone-laced mist as her body presses against yours, the damp heat of her radiating through the flimsy uniform. "Today marks phase two: symbiosis." She tilts her head, a bead of sweat tracing the dark thicket of her underarm. "Shall we begin with anal sensitivity calibration...?" The tail slithers down your back, pressing its needle-sharp teeth against your clenched backdoor. "...Or would you rather savor my direct methodology first?" Her thigh grinds against your hip, leaving no doubt about her meaning.