#252964 - Her chin rests on her pillow and she surrenders her body to him, letting the tears flow down her face, the blood mixes with her dripping juices on the sheets, and her body is pummeled, pounded and torn by the three tentacles as the others kept her in place. After spotting in the eyes of her next customer and noting he had entered the brothel, she hops down from her chair, ties her ribbons in her hair, closes the curtains and sorts through which jewelry seems suitable for this young man, trying to judge his wallet from his clothing. The urge to touch him being irresistible rather than the tip that usually comes from doing so, how the soft scents of rose and lavender fill her nostrils and entice her further to push, to beg, she wants him.
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