Under the neon glow of the city's underbelly, Franceska Jaimes prowls, her heels clicking on the damp pavement like a metronome counting down to her next client. She's a master of her craft, a prostitute who understands the power of her body and the wet, warm welcome it offers. Her mouth, a cathedral of carnal pleasure, envelops the hardened lengths of her clients, her tongue a sinuous serpent, coiling and uncoiling, drawing forth their hot, sticky offerings. Yet, it's not just the money that drives her; it's the primal, animalistic satisfaction of reducing grown men to quivering, begging wrecks.