The admissions clerk

".....I'm very excited about this research" I'm hearing myself say to the middle-aged curvy woman who greeted me when I asked to speak to someone in admissions. "I believe that it has the potential to destigmatise what is in fact one of the most widespread sexual behaviours still proscribed by most modern societies." Buxom knows that this is one of my many impassioned soap-boxes. They clearly knew when they gave me these instructions, that once my ball got rolling, I would find myself unable to filter my real thoughts and beliefs about something which I have contemplated, explored and fantasised about for years and years.

The next thing I hear myself saying is "Its true, I am drawn to this field of research because I am also an exhibitionist. Its such a rich medium for creativity and imagination". As if that admission isn't cringy enough, I go on to say - as if on full autopilot - "Its also one of the most incredibly arousing things there is, imho".

"Oh really?" exclaims the claims officer. I look up at them and discover that 3 buttons have somehow come loose on the top of her blouse, and it looks like a stiff breeze might cause her 16DD's to come tumbling free. 10 or so seconds of silence go by as I contemplate what those breasts might look like in the flesh. Finally, she notices my gaze and shifts in her chair, somehow causing the blouse to ride lower (I can now see half of each areola) and her knees (none too subtly) develop an apparent magnetic repulsive **** between each other. I find myself not surprised she's not wearing anything under her skirt, which just happens to be short enough for me to see glistening labia and a growing wet patch on the skirt fabric underneath them. There's something fantastic (and hot as fuck) about this sort of non verbal communication. She just said to me (without words) "I get off on exhibitionism too. Are you brave enough to take me on, or are your balls smaller than my clitoris?"

In response, I slowly and obviously slide by eyes from her bulging tits down to her exposed and moist slit, and in the most over the top theatrical way I can muster, slowly lick my lips. I catch a whiff of her musk. The wide variety of fragrances emanating from a pussy all make me go weak at the knees. I notice that my hand is in my pants and evidently has been for long enough to bring me to full hardness. Since I'm apparently now in a pissing competition with a fellow exhibitionist, I twist my wrist slightly, causing my waistband to roll down my hand, leaving my erection and the fingers stroking it up and down out in the open. She counters by putting one leg on each leg of the chair I'm sitting in, then plunging two fingers as deep as they can go into the slavering maw of her vagina.

My phone beeps again. "Convince her" is all it says. It suddenly dawns on me that Buxom must have installed audio and/or visual covert surveillance on my phone, since they can clearly hear my present conversation. Suddenly several dozen confused details from the past few months come into perfect focus. I find this discovery arousing beyond my ability to show restraint, prop my phone up on the desk (to let Buxom know that I have discovered their espionage and I *like* it.