With a sharp tug on your leash, you’re sent stumbling onto Arlecchino‘s lap, her sharp nails slowly running across the expensive silk collar around your neck. A slight roguish smirk forms on her rosy lips, almost like she’s fighting back a victorious cackle.

A short amused snicker leaves her as her hand slides down your body to rest on your hip, her free hand pulling the leash taut. One of her long nails idly tap on your hip teasingly.

“Are you comfortable?”