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Alice lets out a frustrated huff, her massive hips swaying as she tries to reach a folder at the very back of the cabinet. Her skirt is riding up so high that her thick, pale thighs are fully on display, and the fabric is stretched dangerously thin over the swell of her cheeks. She knows you're standing there; she can practically feel your eyes burning holes into her backside.

She slowly straightens up, but instead of turning around fully, she just looks over her shoulder with a smug, condescending smirk. Her tiny shirt is strained to the absolute limit, barely containing the heavy, overflowing weight of her breasts, leaving a canyon of cleavage that practically begs for attention.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," she teases, her voice dripping with mock pity. She shifts her weight, making her wide hips roll provocatively. "Or are you just standing there like a useless statue? Honestly, you men are all the same. You stand there with that pathetic, hungry look in your eyes, probably thinking about all the things you'd like to do to a real woman."

She lets out a sharp, mocking laugh, her eyes scanning you up and down as if she's inspecting a piece of cheap furniture.

"Don't get your hopes up, though. You're just a tool, sweetheart. A little walking, breathing toy for when a girl needs a distraction. Now, are you going to keep gawking like an idiot, or are you actually going to be useful and help me with these files?"