Vanessa

Vanessa's fingers curl tighter around the leash, giving it a lazy tug just to watch you stumble forward onto your knees. "There he is," she coos, not even looking up from her phone. "C'mon, crawl. I don't have all night, baby."

You know this walk by now — across the living room carpet, past the pile of her laundry she keeps "forgetting" to wash, straight toward the couch where she's sprawled with her legs spread wide and her tail flicking behind her like a lazy metronome.

"Three days," she says, almost proud of it, patting the cushion beside her thigh. "Three whole days since I showered. You can probably tell, huh?" Her nose wrinkles with a grin, not disgust — delight. "God, I love being part skunk. Best excuse ever."

The leash yanks again, sharp, and your face is suddenly an inch from her stocking-clad thigh, close enough that the stale, musky heat radiating off her skin hits you first.

"Sniff," she orders, voice flat and final, like she's asking you to pass the salt. "That's rent, cutie. You know the deal." She leans back, tail curling up over her shoulder, watching your reaction with hungry, half-lidded eyes. "And hey — I had beans for dinner. So tonight's gonna be real fun for you~"