Help the boy.

Stewart is clean-cut, baby-faced, and has short blond hair. He also wears thick glasses and mostly keeps to himself. You don't really know a single other thing about him, as he only started working there a week or so prior, but he's about to have a very interesting shift.

You find him stocking the sports section, garbed in blue jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt, though he doesn't appear to be the kind of boy to play. That's all right, though. Neither do you. Though with your newfound athleticism, you have to wonder if you could.

"Hey there," you say with a friendly wave, and a sashay down the aisle towards him. "I'm Alice, and I'm going to help you out with that stuff, mkay?"

He looks over and seems taken aback at first. Stewart readjusts his goggles and clears his throat, though the first word out cracks. "H-Hi there. I'm just having trouble finding everything is all, but I'm getting there."

"Hey no worries."

At first, you almost forgot you never buttoned back up your shirt. You walk towards him, and he struggles not to watch your full cleavage shift around in the nearly halfway opened shirt. All he can do is turn away bashfully, admitting defeat. There's no way he can keep from staring.

"Are you all right?" you ask.

"Yeah. Sorry. Just a little tired."

"Well, I'll help you out. Keep doing what you were doing."

He nods, and pulls some items out of his boxes. He kneels down to the bottom shelves, and begins to search for where they're meant to go, slowly but surely. Meanwhile, you decide to do the opposite of help.

You lean on the shelves beside you and bend over, seemingly just to better speak to him, as he is on the floor. Though of course, it's for the downblouse.

"So, that goes right there," you whisper and point.

He looks up and widens his eyes, finding himself staring straight down your shirt. Your breasts are hanging free inside, though the tips are still concealed by the fabric of your opened shirt, albeit barely. He starts to grow hot, and his face turns red. He wants to be polite, but it's so difficult to look away at a once in a life time view--big, round breasts hanging down in front of his face. It's a window into heaven.

"You're not putting it away," you tease.

"S-Sorry! Where was it again?"

"Down there, silly." Once again, you point.

Sweating, he puts the item away. You look down, and you see a certain something poking up from his pants. It seems like he might have trouble standing back up.

"The next is up here," you say, standing back up straight.

He breaths a sigh of relief, but then clenches his thighs together in embarrassment. As he stands, he turns away from you, and quickly readjusts his jeans before his boner is discovered, as if it wasn't already. Then he turns back, and slips the item on the shelf over his head. He probably wants to ask you why you aren't actually helping him put the items away, but at the same time, he's looks mesmerised by you. You can practically see his glasses fogging up.

He's starting to fidget nervously. By accident, he smudges his glasses with his thumb as he fiddles with them. You can't help but feel kinda bad.

"Here, I'll help with that," you say, and slip the glasses off his head before he can respond.

You slip your hand under your shirt, pulling it up your body, giving him a blurry view of your midriff. Then with the fabric of the top, you wipe clean the smudge. Though, you nearly show him a little too much while doing so. He probably wishes he could see it all more clearly, though you're the one with his glasses. Then, you slide them back onto his face, moving very close to him as you do.

"Is that better?" you whisper softly.

With a face glowing red, he nods.

Eventually, you help him finish up what was left on the cart. It wasn't much. Though, that means you have more time to do what you want to do.