That’s one cheeky barmaid. Add more cheek.

As Evellyn goes spinning back into the crowd and is invited onto another lap, you slow time to a crawl and make your way over to her. She is the very model of the ideal barmaid; heart-shaped face and freckled cheeks, and voluminous dirty blonde hair, tied into two thick pigtail braids that cascade down the front of her shoulders, framing between them her protruding, voluminous bosom and deep cleavage, which are straining against the fabric of her uniform despite the gratuitously wide and deep neckline, and rather loosely fitted lacing at the top of her corset.

She’s frozen in the middle of a burst of hearty laughter in Evellyn’s direction, excitedly slapping her thigh. You inspect her a little as time stands still, lapping her a couple times and feeling her up. Then you reach for a nearby tankard of ale, and pour the whole thing out over her head. The liquid exits the container before lazily drifting in midair, suspended in an unmoving torrent waiting for time to resume. You toss away the tankard and go around behind her - her back arched slightly in her burst of laughter - and reach down for the hem of the back of her skirt. You pull it all the way up, and tuck into deep into the back of her corset until it’s good and stuck, exposing the back of her red undies and the crack of her ass for all who care to peep.