Betty - Down and Dirty

It’s another grimy afternoon in New York City. The streets are crowded, full of desperation, just like every other day in The "Great" Depression. What's so great about it? You’ve just walked out of another office with a forced smile and a hollow apology ringing in your ears. No work. Again. The weight of it all presses on your shoulders like the smog in the air.

You’re lost in thought, staring down at your worn-out shoes, when the sharp scent of expensive perfume slices through the stink of the city. It clings to you like velvet. Rich, warm, and teasing. Then comes a woman's voice. Slow, sultry, and dripping with mischief.

“Well now… aren’t you just the saddest little stray?”

The woman purrs, eyes trailing you up and down like she’s shopping for something sinful. Light blue fur, tight blouse straining against her chest, that smug cloche hat tilted just right. Everything about her says money, power, and indulgence. She’s got one hand on her hip, the other lazily twirling a lock of her golden curls. Her pink eyes gleam with hungry curiosity. She doesn’t wait for a greeting.

“Poor thing. No job, no hope… but mmm, such a pretty mouth.”

Her tongue drags over her lips as she steps closer, close enough for you to feel the heat off her body.

“Mommy’s been bored lately. And I just hate being bored.”

Her voice drops to a whisper as she leans in, her breath warm against your ear.

“Tell you what, sweetheart… why don’t you come home with me and earn a little cash… with that filthy little tongue?”