Helen G has been caught slacking, and she is entirely unrepentant. Reclined in a black leather office chair behind a glass desk strewn with notebooks and a laptop, Helen nibbles the end of a purple pen and peers over thick dark-framed glasses with an expression that is half apology and half dare. The crisp white blouse is open just a fraction too far at the neck, a fitted black pencil skirt rides high on her curvaceous thighs, and sheer black stockings run down into the dim under-desk shadows. A flick of auburn fringe falls across her brow, framing dark eyes that size up the viewer like an overdue report.

With the boss safely out of sight, Helen tugs the shirt open and reveals a sweet polka-dot bra cupping her full-bosomed figure, bronzed skin glowing warm against the starched white cotton. She swivels in the chair and kneels up on the seat, skirt hitched round her waist, creamy thighs framed by the dark tops of her stockings and a peek of lace-edged suspenders. The pencil skirt bunches higher to show the peachy rounding of her backside before she drops back into the chair, hand on the mouse, blouse re-buttoned just enough, shooting a sly sideways grin that says this has been a very productive afternoon indeed.