Office Mediation

Abigail Mac sits at her desk when Sinn Sage stops by, leaning over the chair like she owns it. The boss admires her outfit, each word slow, heavy with something else. Abigail stays polite, shoulders tight, until Sinn asks her to stand so she can get the full picture. That crosses a line. "No." Sinn sulks, says Abigail used to be fun, and leaves. The moment the door shuts, Abigail reaches for the phone and calls HR. She meets with Lindsey Cruz and tells her everything. The compliments. The way Sinn stands too close, fingers grazing her arm. Lindsey wants to bring them together for mediation. Abigail wants nothing to do with it, but Lindsey insists. Fairness. Procedure. So Abigail agrees. They sit across from each other. The room hums with nerves. Sinn insists compliments about clothes never qualify as harassment. Abigail fires back that innuendo dressed up as flattery is harassment. Their voices climb. "You look like a stripper," Sinn snaps. Abigail leans forward, eyes burning. "You wish. Then you could pay and see me naked for real, boss. That’s what you want, isn’t it?" The space between them vanishes. Mouths crash. Teeth click. Hands twist into hair, bodies pressing hard against the table. Lindsey gasps and starts to slide her chair back, but Abigail catches her wrist. "Stay. Compliance, remember?" Lindsey’s cheeks flush. She hesitates, then steps into the heat. Clothes scatter. Sinn drops to her knees, mouth closing over Abigail’s nipple, sucking until it peaks. Abigail arches, then pushes Sinn lower. She wants to see her boss tongue-deep between her thighs, wants to hear her groan when Lindsey slides two slick fingers into her own cunt. The air fills with wet sounds, sharp breaths, broken names. Lindsey whimpers as she tastes both women in turn, her own climax catching her off guard as Sinn fucks her with ruthless purpose while Abigail watches and smiles.