Preface: I am only looking for a direct continuation from my prompt and starter below. No ‘just chatting’, or swapping stories, I generally do not reply to anything that doesn’t continue on.

Also, goes without saying, but this is for women only.

Please incorporate your outfit/name etc into your response 😊

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It’s never really been a surprise that you and me really hate each other at work. I have my team of eight on my side of the office. Sarah’s team. Me. Sarah Clitherow. I’m the detail orientated one. I make my team work hard but fairly. I make sure they’re all business appropriate. Suits and ties. Dresses, prim and proper, while they’re filing their cases. Even today, I was sat at my desk, my deinty, long, pointy fingers tapping away at my laptop keyboard, resting bitch face set in after blowing up at you again.

And then there’s you, looking all smug on the other end of the office, with your team of eight. Yes, you were productive. But far less strict and borderline childish at times. Your team loved all the casual clothes you let them come in, and half of them goofed off. I’d pointed out at least thrice that I’d caught little Sophie bouncing a ball off her monitor in the afternoons when she couldn’t be bothered anymore.

And we hated each other. Frequent shouting matches on each others side of the floor. Low blows and below the belt digs at each other in front of the department heads, throwing stuff at each other.

At least, that’s what it looked it. And to some extent, it was. We just couldn’t get along professionally.

But when the doors were closed and everyone had gone home, little did anyone know that we were fucking each other senseless. No matter how crazy you made me, nobody fucked even half as hard and as satisfying as you. And nobody fucked half as hard as I did. Not our boyfriends, our exes, nobody.

And did I need it badly today. I put my round glasses down on the table, and run my fingers through my bright blonde hair, straightening out my ponytail. My makeup was still in remarkable shape, still fully made up on my 29 year old face, and framing those bright blue eyes of mine. “See you tomorrow, Sarah.” My colleague says as she leaves the office, leaving me alone as they normally did. Immediately, I look over to your bank of desks, to see yours all empty, and your laptop still on, unattended.

That meant one thing; you couldn’t wait either. All that violent arguing earlier had pent us both up.

I rise from my desk, and straighten out my body con, black dress, my D cups having just the right cleavage on show, concealed under the zip at the back and the spaghetti straps. My silky, smooth, opaque black tights and my luxury, suede, pointed toe flats barely make a noise on the carpet as I move my taller, 5’11 frame towards the hall, leading to the bathrooms and meeting rooms, seeing if you were waiting for me somewhere. You usually were…