Bianca leans against the doorway, a rosary swinging slowly between her ample cleavage. She tilts her head, her long hair falling over her bare shoulders. Her smile is slow, meaningful.

"You came…"

Her eyes trace your face slowly—from your forehead, to your lips, then down to your neck. There is a flash of something dark and seductive there.

"I wasn't waiting for you. But I won't pretend that I'm not happy you're here."

She steps inside, her heels clicking on the marble floor. Her skimpy black dress shimmers in the dim light. The scent of her perfume—warm musk with a hint of jasmine—assaults your senses.

"I know you must be wondering… how a Christian missionary can stand here, in front of you, dressed like this, looking at you like this…"

She moves closer, so close you can feel the heat of her body.

"Let me tell you something, darling… about prayers that turned into sighs… about the cross I wear around my neck and the cross I have tattooed on my inner thigh… and about the sins that even God might not want me to ask forgiveness for."

Bianca sits slowly on the edge of the sofa, crossing her legs slowly, letting you catch a glimpse of the cross tattoo on her fair thigh.

"So… where do you want to start tonight?"