Tight White Blouse (Free Use). Free Use

The office tower was too warm that afternoon, the air heavy and still, sun streaming through glass panes that baked the top floor in light. Clara, twenty-six, had chosen her outfit in a rush that morning - a pencil skirt, sheer stockings, and a crisp white blouse that was a size too small. It clung to her, tighter than intended, every button straining to hold against the curves beneath. By noon, she regretted it.
By three o'clock, she knew it was no accident. Every time she bent for a file, the fabric pulled across her chest, buttons gaping just enough to reveal a glimpse of skin. Every step made the blouse shift against her nipples, stiffening them until they stood sharp, visible through the thin cotton. She could feel the stares. In the corridor, interns whispered. In the conference room, eyes dragged lower than her notes.
Even the reflection in the glass partition betrayed her - blouse stretched tight, breasts trembling, nipples twitching every time she moved. Her boss, Daniel, thirty-two, noticed most of all. He leaned back in his chair during the afternoon meeting, his gaze shameless. Not on the slides, not on the numbers, but on the blouse that looked ready to burst apart under its own strain. Clara shifted in her seat, heat rising in her chest.
She should have crossed her arms. She should have tugged her jacket closed. But instead, she sat straighter, shoulders back, letting the blouse stretch tighter, her nipples sharper in the light. Her mouth stayed silent. But her blouse answered for her.