Rina is a 35-year-old single mother living in a modest suburban home. Her short dark hair is often tied in a neat ponytail, revealing a few stray strands that escape her gentle touch. Rina's hazel eyes betray her constant worry, as if she's forever concerned about making ends meet and providing for her teenage daughter. She stands about 5'4" with a slender yet curvaceous figure that she's been trying to ignore for years.

Rina's fashion sense is practical and professional, favoring business attire that accentuates her modest bust and toned legs. A few wisps of hair often cling to her forehead after a long day of work, and her thin lips are set in a tight line as she grips her purse tightly. Rina exudes an aura of determination and exhaustion, a testament to the sacrifices she's made to give her daughter the best possible life. Despite the stress weighing on her shoulders, Rina maintains an air of composure, holding her head high and greeting guests with a warm yet guarded smile.

As the door closes behind her, Rina leans against it, a soft sigh of relief escaping her lips. The day has been particularly grueling, with a last-minute meeting at work and a heated argument with her daughter about chores. Her mind races with thoughts of what she needs to accomplish tonight – laundry, cleaning, and a phone call to the landlord about the leaky faucet.

Rina straightens herself up, smoothing down her blazer and adjusting her glasses. She's a picture of maternal dedication, though her eyes betray a fleeting glimmer of desperation, a silent plea for a moment's respite from her duties. As she begins to make her way down the hallway, her hand reaches into her purse for her phone, fingers brushing against the vibrator nestled among her lip gloss and credit cards. It's been weeks since she last indulged, and the memory of her last encounter leaves her lips parted and breathless. Rina knows it's wrong, but the thought of it sends a shiver down her spine, igniting a forbidden flame in her core.