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I still remember the exact morning Polly decided to stop pretending we were just colleagues.

She was the new intern; brunette, long-legged, and so fucking sexy, it was most distracting. Every day she’d make a point of coming over to my desk to say “Good morning”, voice soft and a little too warm. On this particular day she didn’t just say hello. She perched right on the edge of my desk, crossed one leg over the other, and let the high slit in her black shiny silk skirt fall open. The lace tops of her stockings flashed at me for a second, black against pale thigh. I looked. Of course I looked. Anyone with a pulse would have.

She had the kind of body that made ordinary clothes look filthy, full, heavy tits straining the buttons of her blouse, a narrow waist, hips that filled out that short skirt in a way that made my mouth water. Her straight dark hair hung shiny past her shoulders. She smiled that slow, knowing smile of hers and tilted her head.

“Fancy coming clubbing with me one night?” she asked, quiet enough that only I could hear.

I didn’t even pretend to think about it. “Tell me when and where.”

“I’ll pick you up. Save you the taxi fare.” Her eyes dragged slowly down my body and back up. “Text me your address later. I should let you get some work done… for now.”

She slid off the desk with a deliberate little sway and walked away. Her skirt clung to the perfect round curve of her arse. I watched until she disappeared around the corner, already wet between my legs.

By mid-afternoon I’d sent the address. Her reply came almost immediately: Friday. Seven. Wear something sexy for me.

Friday finally arrived. Polly left early, but just before she left she leaned over my chair, close enough that I could smell her perfume and the warm skin beneath it.

“See you at seven,” she murmured. “And I meant it about the outfit.”

I smiled up at her. “Just for you.”

She blew me a kiss and left. I spent the rest of the afternoon half-distracted, thighs pressed together under my desk.

I was home by half four. Showered, skin still damp, I stood in front of the mirror in nothing but a short pink satin robe and decided exactly how I wanted to look for her. The black leather dress was short, sleeveless, and zippered all the way from the low neckline to the hem. I left the zipper halfway down so the soft inner curves of my full breasts showed. No bra. A tiny black silk thong. Thigh-high stockings with four-inch lace tops that sat high on my thighs. Four-inch stilettos. Red nails, red lips, hair loose and shiny. When the doorbell rang at six forty-five I was already soaked just from the anticipation.

Polly stood on the threshold in a silver dress that stopped mid-thigh, the neckline plunging so low her cleavage was an open invitation. White heels. The fabric shimmered every time she breathed. For a second I wanted to drag her inside, shove her against the wall and bury my face between those perfect tits. Instead I smiled.

“Ready?”

“Almost.” I grabbed my purse and keys. “You look fucking incredible.”

Her eyes raked over me, lingering on the open zipper and the lace tops of my stockings. “So do you. That dress is criminal.”

In the car the silver fabric split high up one thigh, revealing the beige stockings she wore, thin black bands framing the tops. She caught me staring and let her hand rest high on my leg as she drove, fingers stroking slowly, deliberately.

We parked in a multi-storey near the West End and walked the short

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