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You snatch the manila folder from the desk, your cock thrusting out before you. You clutch the report in both hands and open it to a random page, a spreadsheet open, a pie chart in the corner full of colorful wedges. Your cock presses against it, the tip, wet with your precum and Cassie's saliva, sticking to the page.

You lift it up and pretend you are reading it. Cassie presses against you, her shoulder touching yours. She trembles, pretesting to look. Your dick twitches. Your stomach clenches. There is no possible way this could work.

Paris stops at the entrance to your cubicle. The redhead folds her arms beneath her large breasts held in her scarlet blouse. The bright color contrasts with the blue of her blazer and skirt. Her green eyes narrow as they stare at you.

“Where is that coffee?” Paris says, a certain glee in her voice, a smile twisting the corners of her lips. “Are you all ready shirking your responsibilities. Ms. Kato and I are waiting.”

“Sorry, Paris,” I said. “I'll—”

“Ms. Richardson,” she says. “Since I am your project lead now. I think a certain level of... respect is due.”

You swallow and nod your head. “Sorry... Ms. Richardson. I just had to look at this report, then I was going to do it.”

“Report?” Paris arches her eyebrows, staring at it. “Is that be anything I need to be concerned about?”

You swallowed and lie, “Of course not.”

“Why would you, Ms. Richardson,” Cassie asks.

Ms. Richardson's eyes flick back and forth between you. Your stomach quivers. The way she's looking... She has to be wondering why Cassie is standing so close. “Really. Let me bet the judge of that, since your judgment is so flawed.”

You grind your teeth. You have to tell her something. Two ideas pop into her head. You can tell her it's a report on the futa pill, something she doesn't care about, or you can tell her it's an expense report, the dullest document you can imagine.

What do you choose?

Do you tell Paris it's about the futa pill? 

Do you Paris it's an expense report? 

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