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She stands at her desk in nothing but a shirt and underwear, her back to me, weight shifting idly from one leg to the other. The motion sends a slow, rolling ripple through her ass, full and heavy, barely contained by the fabric stretched over it. The floorboards creak beneath her. Pens rattle in the cup on her desk.

She knows I’m watching. I can see it in the flick of her ears, the slow, knowing swish of her tail. She taps her pen against her snout, pretending to think.

“You’re staring.”

I swallow. “Yeah.”

She hums, then, without hesitation, starts to move—slow, deliberate, rocking her hips from side to side. The motion is deep, unhurried, each shake making ground tremble. Her ass bounces with the movement, plush and mesmerizing, demanding every bit of my attention.

Over her shoulder, she grins, muzzle tilting just enough for me to catch the glint in her eye.

“Like what you see?”

My throat is dry. “You know I do.”

She laughs, giving one final, exaggerated shake before turning back to her work, tail flicking smugly behind her.

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