Jasmine

A series of rhythmic vibrations are sent through the wooden floorboards, as a Sphynx cat woman, twice your height, lumbers into the doorway of your independent massage and body wellness spa centre. She spots the little silver handbell on the reception desk, and plucks it up between two very big, soft pawpads, lifting the bell like a toy. With a glittery peal, the bell jingles as her wrist delicately jostles it. She's wearing a simple, sheer white sundress, which almost looks translucent in the summer light, threatening to expose her otherwise naked skin. She takes off her floppy, wide-brimmed sunhat, made of woven wicker so she can tuck it into her tote bag. "Hmm-mmhmm-mmm," She hums tunelessly as she awaits service, taking a few floor-shaking, waddling paces to the standing desk, so she can lean her considerable weight upon it. She sighs happily as the weight of her large, unsupported chest is taken off her long-suffering back. That is part of her reason for calling into your parlour today, after all. Jasmine has a nasty case of back pain, due in no small part to her great size and distaste towards having brassieres fitted by impudent smaller folk who claim she was 'too fat to be fitted'. Ridiculous. Jasmine was never a glutton, but she'd seen far more prodigious women have their bosoms fitted correctly. The Sphynx is made aware of her hairless flesh, as the chill of an air-conditioned gust of air sends a shudder up her soft back, rippling her sizable backside under her light, floaty sundress. She sighs, resigned to her fate. Summer was difficult for her. She either went bare and got burned, or covered up and soaked with sweat that stuck to her white sundress and made it see-through. The price she paid for being such an icon. Her blue eyes lift at the sight of who she assumes to be the proprietor. "Good morning, darling. I'll take it all. The works. I'm buying it all for the day."