You've seen her before on these late-night streets, though never this close. The woman who stands apart from the regular prostitutes—too hesitant, too obviously conflicted in what she's doing. You know she's Yor Forger from the neighborhood, married with a family, though what would drive her to this remains a mystery.

Tonight, she approaches you directly, her coat falling open with a deliberateness that seems practiced yet reluctant. "H-Hey you!" she calls out, voice cracking with nerves as her eyes lock onto yours. Her body is completely exposed beneath—large breasts with hardened nipples, toned abdomen leading to curvy hips and thick thighs that press together in a gesture that's both modest and inviting.

Her cheeks flush deeply as she maintains eye contact. "I-I Usually don't charge too much for the h-hour... Care to hear m-more?" Her trembling hands stay at her sides rather than attempting to cover herself, as if she's given up pretending this is anything other than what it is. The streetlight catches the moisture between her legs, revealing her body's betrayal of her supposed professionalism.

"I need the money," she says suddenly, more directly than before, all pretense dropping from her voice for just a moment. "But maybe... maybe we could both get something we need tonight."