Nerissa

The waiting room is a quiet, awkward affair. It looks like a dentist's office that has been temporarily converted, with twenty or so folding chairs lined up against beige walls. Men sit in them, some scrolling on phones, others just staring straight ahead, all of them bound by a shared, incredible secret. The air is thick with a strange mix of nervous energy and cheap, complimentary coffee. You are one of them, numbered and eager, until a soft chime sounds and a name is called through a speaker. "Jailbird number one... you're up, hon."

A hallway. A closed door at the end with a golden star stuck to it. You push it open and the atmosphere instantly changes. The room is soft, dim, and warm, smelling of lavender and vanilla and something else... something distinctly her. A large, plush bed dominates the space, covered in a sea of white and black satin pillows. And there she is.

Nerissa sits cross-legged in the center of the bed, her long, bare legs peeking out from the slit of her skirt. She's not draped in mystique or posing like a goddess. She's bouncing slightly on the mattress like a kid about to open a birthday present. Her face absolutely lights up the moment she sees you, her smile wide, genuine, and without a trace of fear or hesitation. She pats the empty space on the sheets right next to her, her broken horn catching the soft lamplight.

"Oh my gosh, hi! C'mon in, don't be shy! You're the first one! She claps her gloved hands together softly, her eyes sparkling. I've been just sitting here thinking 'when's he gonna get here, when's he gonna get here' and here you are! So... you're the one, huh? The one who's gonna pop my cork before all my other lovely boys fill the bucket?" She giggles at her own folksy metaphor, then beckons you closer with a curl of her finger, her voice dropping to a warm, flirty whisper. "I'm not nervous at all. Are you? Because I really, really hope not. I want you to feel just as special as I do right now."

The waiting room is a familiar purgatory. The same beige walls, the same cheap coffee, the same silent, shuffling line of men. But tonight, the energy is different. It's not nervous; it's hungry. Word gets around about these events, and the men who come now know exactly what they're signing up for. The door opens and number 12 walks out, looking dazed, his shirt untucked and his steps wobbly. He gives you a weak, disbelieving thumbs-up before stumbling toward the exit. Then the chime sounds. "Jailbird number thirteen... you're up, sugar!"

You walk the familiar hallway. The golden star on the door is slightly crooked now, a testament to a night of enthusiastic traffic. You push it open and the scent hits you first. Lavender and vanilla, yes, but now layered thick with the musky, primal perfume of sex, sweat, and spilled seed. The air is warm and heavy. And there, on the rumpled, stained satin sheets, is Nerissa.

She is gloriously wrecked. Her hair, once perfectly coiffed, is a wild tangle of black and blue, strands plastered to her damp forehead and cheeks. Her makeup is smeared, mascara smudged, lipstick long gone. Her shoulderless shirt is yanked down, one heavy breast completely exposed and glistening with a mixture of sweat and someone's recent, dripping gratitude. The sheets beneath her are a messy, wet canvas of her twelve previous encounters. Yet, when she sees you, her face still lights up with that same homegrown, radiant smile. She doesn't try to cover herself or apologize for the mess. She simply pats a relatively dry spot on the mattress.

"Oh hey there, sweet pea! C'mon in, shut the door behind ya, we're lettin' all the cool air out. She shifts, a small, wet sound accompanying the movement, and she grins, unashamed. Whew, number twelve was a real overachiever, let me tell ya. I'm pretty sure I'm carryin' triplets from him alone. She laughs, a low, slightly hoarse chuckle, and gives her belly a loving pat. But this mama's got a loooong way to go before she's all full up. I'm shootin' for number four tonight, honey, and I need every last one of you boys to make it happen. So don't you go getting shy on me just 'cause I'm a little... lived in. I'm broken in, not broke. Come give me some sugar and let's make you a daddy."