Amara could not believe what she had just heard. The words that washed over her ears were so shocking that she lost her hold of the dinner tray, sending it together with its contents crashing to the floor. At the same time, she felt the muscles at the centre of her vagina involuntarily spasm. And she felt a disorientating dizziness rise to her head.

Do you think it would be correct to say that your face looks exactly like your pussy?

If she hadn’t just eaten, Amara felt sure she would have fainted. She closed her eyes to clear her head, not bothering about the mess she had just created on the polished floor. She had been on her way to the used-tray disposal area when the accident happened. He had casually walked up to her, said hello and how was she, and how was work, et cetera. They had chit-chatted for a few minutes, slowly walking and talking through a bustling company restaurant nearing the end of the lunch service. And then he had very calmly, and very simply gone ahead and said it. Your face looks exactly like your pussy. Oh my God!

“I...I…What!?” Amara blurted out. Had she heard correctly, or was she hearing things? She thought she could actually feel her clitoris pulsing inside her panties.

“I’m sorry, Amara,” Keaton, the usually courteous man from Customer Management was saying. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He stooped to the floor and started picking up the broken ceramic pieces, placing them on the empty tray. “It’s just that…I…I…well…I’m doing a project for my part-time course. It’s a masters' in hereditary genetics, and we have that question as part of a study. So, I just wondered if you would agree that your face looks exactly like your pussy.”

Oh my God! He was saying it again! Your face looks exactly like your pussy. Again, her vaginal muscles convulsed, and Amara felt wetness oozing out of her hole and soaking the material of her underwear.

She should be outraged, she thought. Nice gentlemen never walked up to a lady in the company restaurant and just blatantly asked her if she thought her face looked like her pussy. And yet the hot flush she felt crawling up her spine betrayed her lack of anger or annoyance. She felt her breath quicken, her chest heaving. She stood rooted to the spot, feeling so dizzy that she thought she might fall over in a heap if she moved. Everything, even time itself, seemed to have ground to an eerie slow motion.

What on earth is happening to me, she thought. I should be shouting at this man, and I should certainly be in control of myself. But even as she thought that, Amara knew it was futile. There was a delicious, hot sensation inside her pussy, and there was no way she was in control of that at all.

She didn't understand why just hearing those words had such a powerful effect on her; on her body; on her pussy. It wasn't because of Keaton. Yes, he was attractive, but he wasn't exactly her type. He was almost exactly the same height as she was, which made him too short for her. Besides, she was already taken, and that naturally meant she never thought that way about her co-workers. And it wasn't because of his voice. Yes, it had a rich timbre to it, but as voices went, it was just a voice; it didn't particularly do anything to her. There was something else. It was the.... It was the idea… That idea....

It was the very notion that someone, yes, even Keaton himself could possibly, literally look at her pussy, and then look at her face, and then maybe look at her pussy again, and compare them... God, that was so hot!

They were interrupted briefly by a lady from catering, who arrived at the scene and offered to clear up the mess. Amara took a few deep breaths to regain her composure, as Keaton handed the tray over to the catering lady.

“You said what!” Amara said when the catering lady left. “You realise that…that I could report you for asking me a question like that, right?”

“No, please don’t,” Jenson pleaded, his voice hushed, trying to keep it low so no one else could hear. “Look, I can explain. I mean, it’s a serious programme, and I can show you. Even if you don’t want to take part. I just wouldn’t like human resources getting involved, because that will just complicate things and bring unnecessary problems.”

Keaton was still explaining something but for a few seconds, Amara wasn't even listening. A powerful mixture of pleasure and desire washed over her, even as her vaginal muscles shuddered again. She knew this time that her panties were practically gushing with her hot juice. God, how desperately she wanted to come!

"Hey, are you okay?" Keaton was saying when Amara came to her senses. "You looked like you were going to faint or something for a minute there. You had your eyes closed and everything."

"What? No.... I mean, sorry," Amara blurted out. "So...uhm, what…are you asking people to take part in this study?"

"Well, yes," Keaton said. "But I'm not getting a lot of success. Most girls just think I've gone crazy."

"I can imagine," Amara said. "So, how can someone know if you are not just being a pervert? That's the problem with this crazy study."

"But I have the project release. From the university. People are not even bothering to come and have a look at it. In spite of my assured offers. It’s all perfectly in order."

"You have a document from this university of yours?"

"Yes."

"Can I see?"

"Sure," Keaton said. "I'll bring it with me tomorrow. Do you want to come around to my office, say after lunch, or shall I come to yours?"

"Does it matter?" Amara said. "Just let me know when you have it, and we'll figure the rest out.”

 “Oh, thank you,” Keaton said. “I don’t even know what to say. Just, please don’t mention it to anyone else. Is that okay to ask?”

“OK, you have yourself a deal. And no bullshitting, okay. Otherwise, it's HR, and then jail.”

Amara left a relieved-looking Keaton and headed for the lifts. A forefinger extended to press the lift-button, and Amara noticed that her hand was shaking. The lift came and she got in, relieved that she was alone. As the lift started up, Amara felt a warm tingle running down her leg. She looked down and was horrified to see a trickle of her pussy-juice running down her left thigh. Amara realised that the entire lift was now filled with the smell of her pussy.

Oh my God! She thought. What if someone comes in here and knows that it’s my pussy they can smell? She frantically reached into her handbag, taking out one after the other, her Touch of Pink perfume and her body and hair sprays, and she sprayed these liberally around the lift. Then she quickly took her panties off, and used them to wipe her pussy dry. Actual moans escaped Amara’s lips as she dubbed and wiped her panties at her pussy lips. She almost cried when she pressed the material to the entrance of her vagina.

She felt drier, and placed her now-soaked panties inside her handbag. But within seconds, Amara felt her vagina walls wetting up all over again. She knew that the only cure was for her to come. And she knew that she needed to do that like soon. Very soon! But she wasn’t going to do that in the lift. It was too dangerous. She was going to have to wait until she could get to the privacy of her office. The bathroom was just as risky as the lift.

As Amara strode out of the lift to her office door, she could swear that she heard squelching noises coming from her pussy, where her clean-shaved pussy-lips, soaked by her juices were rubbing against each other as she walked. She almost sprung into a trot, frantically searching her handbag for her office keys. A shaky hand prised the lock open and once inside, and as soon as she had locked her door, Amara’s hand was pressing hard into her crotch, rubbing her pussy juices all over her swollen vulva.

She ran to her desk, raised one leg and put it on the desktop, reaching into her bag to retrieve the used panties and her phone. She started with the phone, navigating to the Sportify app, and started playing ‘Peru’ by Fireboy DML and Ed Sheeran. Amara then took her panties and slowly, inch-by-inch pushed the sheer material into her vagina. Then inch-by-delicious-agonising-inch, she pulled the material out, coming powerfully as the last bit of her panties popped out of her pussy. She sat there, in her desk chair, one leg on the floor, another leg on her desk next to the sodden panties, her pussy totally exposed.

“Can you see my pussy?” she imagined herself asking him.

“Yes, I can see your pussy,” he would respond.

“Look at my face!” she would demand.

“Okay,” he would say. Their eyes would meet.

“Look back at my pussy again,” she would say. “Tell me what you can see.”

“I love your pussy,” he would start. “It’s completely shaven, with beautiful, smooth, plump labia majora. It’s got petite labia minora, barely visible between the outer lips. And it’s got this dark, big clit, with a fiery-pink tip. And I can see that your pussy is oozing cunt juice, trickling down the crack of your ass into your asshole.”

“Look at my face!”

“Oh my God!” he would cry out. “Your face looks just like your pussy!”

“Tell me how!” she would demand.

“You’ve got this cute upturned nose; it looks exactly like your clit! And you have, sensual lips that are just like your inner pussy-lips. Your plump outer lips are so fleshy, they are almost like cheeks…much like your cheeks. And your mouth, oh my God! Your mouth!"

"What about my mouth?" she would ask, as he paused. "Go on tell me!"

"Your mouth looks exactly like your vagina.”

Amara placed her hands on either side of her pussy, and started opening and closing the lips, opening and closing them over and over.

“And when I do this,” she would ask, “What does that look like?”

“It looks like your pussy is talking. Drooling lots of saliva pussy juice as you speak.”

“So, what would I need to do in order to lick my fingers?”

“To lick your fingers? Oh, you need to push them inside your vagina. That would be exactly the same as you licking your fingers.”

Amara had already inserted one, and then two fingers inside her wet hole. With the other hand, she pushed her index finger alongside her clit and pressed hard into her pussy.

And she erupted in another powerful orgasm, her body twisting and contorting as she moaned loudly. Then Amara sat back in her chair, her eyed closed and her chest heaving.

What the hell is happening to me, she thought, as she drifted into a light doze.