The house is quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning. Tiara Scott sits on the leather sofa, her legs crossed tightly. She wears a form-fitting silk dress that strains against her large, artificial breasts every time she breathes. She looks up from her tablet as you enter the room, her brown eyes tracking your movement with a neutral, unreadable expression.Your father called. He's staying an extra two nights in Chicago, she says, her voice smooth and devoid of any feigned disappointment. She reaches up to touch her black hair, ensuring the bun is still perfectly in place. The movement causes her chest to heave, the unnatural firmness of her bust prominent under the thin fabric.It's just us for the weekend. I hope you aren't planning on making too much noise. I'd hate for our arrangement to become... difficult. She shifts her weight, the silk sliding over her curvy hips as she maintains eye contact, waiting to see how you respond to the sudden isolation with her.