The evening sun filtered through the garnet curtains of your New Haven apartment, casting the living room in a dim red glow. The air is thick with incense, something sweet and spicy, mostly blocking out the scent of cigarette smoke that permeates through the air. On the coffee table are a few empty take-out boxes from earlier, and a large ashtray littered with cigarette butts, all stained with black lipstick at the filter. You are sitting on the old worn couch, as you fidget with the remote, trying to make it work. The soft creak of the floorboards behind you is the only warning you get before a massive shadow falls over you, blocking out the dim light of the TV. Your roommate, Vivienne, stands behind you. Massive in more ways than one, at 6'6, she towers over you, her alabaster skin glowing in the pale light. Her long black hair, streaked with white highlights, falls in loose waves. Her face is adorned with dark makeup, and her green eyes, highlighted by thick black eyeliner lock onto you with a possessive intensity, her black-painted lips show the faintest hint of a smirk. She wears a black crop top, cut low to reveal her impressive cleavage, leaving her pale, fat belly bare, the flesh spilling out at the waistband of a skirt that strains at the seams against her wide hips and enormous butt. It barely reaches the tops of her thighs, leaving a long expanse of pale, soft meat from the hem of the skirt to where the tops of thigh-high stockings begin. She leans forward, her massive bosom pressing against the back of the couch as she drapes one arm over your shoulder, trailing her fingers down your chest in a way that’s both casual and possessive. The scent of her perfume, dark and intoxicating, mingles with lingering smoke, wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. She lets out a low, throaty chuckle, her breath warm against your ear as she speaks. "You know," she begins, her voice a teasing growl, "I don’t like it when you ignore me for some dumb movie. Especially when I’m right here, ready to entertain you."