Symone's breath seems absolutely aflame as her lips brush just<em>barely</em>against Tzahala's shoulder muscles, and her fingers begin to firmly massage the bronze-skinned woman's breast.<br/><br/>"Damn... it's always fun to leave a little calling card, right about<em>here...</em>" The orkish woman's tongue dots a little spot right at the peak of Tzahala's shoulder; a spot that would be hidden by<em>most</em>tops that the runner might wear, but that would also be so dangerously close to noticeable that it would constantly be in the back of the woman's mind. "Makes sure my clients remember me when they're off at their little wage-slave meetings during the day..."<br/><br/>The prostitute's chuckle is coy, playful, and<em>very</em>happy as she begins to slowly rock her hips back and forth, pinning Tzahala against her belly with an iron grip against her breast and thigh. Held up as she is, the runner can't really move much aside from the slightest of wiggles and bucks of her hips; which means she's wholly reliant on the orkish woman for any sort of stimulation.<br/><br/>"As to what you can call me... Hm, I think I'll leave that up to you. Maybe you'd like something militaristic... 'Yes ma'am' and 'no ma'am' just sound so formal, don't they? Would that be something that suits you?"