Five Students, an Empty Classroom, and No Way Out

I was twenty-six when I started teaching community development workshops in the Faculty of Social Sciences. I wasn’t a lecturer or a researcher: I got there thanks to Gonzalo, a friend who was active in the student union and got me a space in the basement, a small classroom with peeling walls and plastic chairs nobody used during the week. The place didn’t matter to me. The work did.

For the first few months, three or four people would show up when things went well. I didn’t get discouraged. I liked the feeling of building something, even if it was small. It was more than the private English classes gave me in that sense.

In March, Rodrigo, Tomás, Sebastián, Martín, and Diego appeared. They arrived together, sat in the back row, and against everything I expected from a group of college kids on a Thursday afternoon, paid attention. At the next workshop they brought more people. At the one after that, even more. In two months the basement had become too small and I was assigned an old classroom in the north wing, with room for thirty people, which also filled up week after week.

The five of them became my assistants without anyone formalizing it. They handed out materials, moderated the small groups, stayed behind to help me tidy up when everyone else had already left. I trusted them more than I should have.

***

One Thursday in April I arrived and there were very few people: no more than eight, besides the five of them. Rain and midterms emptied classrooms more efficiently than any reasonable excuse. Tomás took out the mate before I’d even finished setting the materials on the desk.

—Rain does that —Tomás said—. People convince themselves the world can wait one more Thursday.

—Even better —I replied—. Today we can work in smaller groups. Discussion gets easier.

I was about to start when the fire alarm exploded over our heads. The sound was shrill and continuous. I stood up from my chair without really knowing what to do.

—Are we leaving? —I asked.

Sebastián was already on his feet.

—Follow me —he said—. I know the basement evacuation protocol by heart.

He led us down a corridor I didn’t recognize, farther in, away from the stairs that led to the street. I thought about saying something, but the alarm kept screaming and the group was walking with confidence. Sometimes you trust because it’s more comfortable than doubting.

He opened the door to a classroom that smelled of damp and old wood. The windows were covered with folded-up posters and no natural light came in. The desks and chairs were stacked against the walls. The other workshop attendees were not with us. It was only the five of them and me.

—Wait —I said—. There’s no exit to the street here.

—No need —Sebastián replied—. This section is cut off from the main building. If there’s a collapse or the fire spreads, it won’t reach here. This is the safety point for this wing. When everything’s over, we’ll get out just fine.

It was a convincing explanation. Or I wanted it to be.

I looked at my phone: no signal. Twenty minutes had passed since I’d wanted to start the workshop. The alarm had stopped sounding.

—When did the sound stop? —I asked.

—A while ago —Martín said—. That was only the first part of the drill. There’s still an informational talk. Two hours total, more or less.

Rodrigo was sitting on a stacked desk, arms crossed, looking at me in a way I didn’t like.

—Does your boyfriend know you’re here? —he asked.

The question caught me off guard. I laughed so I wouldn’t show how uncomfortable I was.

—No —I answered—. And if he did, he’d make a scene. That’s how he is, way too jealous. But I’m used to it by now.

—Has he always been like that? —Tomás said.

—We’ve been together since the last year of high school. We always liked each other, but we made it official late. And yes, he’s always been jealous. I’m not exactly a saint either, so sometimes I give him reasons, I’m not going to lie to you.

Rodrigo calmly took out his phone and showed it to me. He had a video of the last two minutes: me talking about Nicolás, about his jealousy, about not being much of a saint. The quality was good. The audio was crystal clear.

—What is that? —I asked, though I already knew.

—Your problem —Rodrigo said—. Or not, depending on what you decide.

He climbed down from the desk and walked toward me slowly. The other four were already moving into place around us, unhurried, as if they had practiced it before.

—Gonzalo’s closer friends with Nicolás than with you. Always was. If this gets to him, the workshop shuts down this week and your boyfriend gets the video the same day. All at once, in the same message.

He paused briefly.

—We don’t want money. Just for you to agree with what we have in mind. A yes. That’s all.

For a moment my legs wouldn’t quite respond. I thought of Nicolás. I thought of the workshop, of the people who came every week, of Gonzalo, who in fact had been closer friends with Nicolás than with me for years. All of that was real.

And I also thought, though I didn’t like admitting it, that Rodrigo and Tomás had been looking at me for weeks in a way that wasn’t exactly hostile. That I had noticed. That I hadn’t always ignored it completely. That more than one night, in bed with Nicolás, I had closed my eyes and thought about what it would be like to have one of the five on top of me. Or two. Or all of them.

—Fine —I said.

***

Diego was the first to come near. He was the quietest of the five and also, I realized then, the one who had looked at me the most during the workshops without my fully registering it. He took my chin with two fingers and kissed me slowly, pushing his tongue deep into my mouth without hurry, as if he knew he had all the time in the world. He bit my lower lip when he pulled back and left my nipples taut beneath my bra. The other four stayed where they were, watching in silence, but I could already hear one of them breathing harder.

Diego slid his hands under my T-shirt and yanked my bra up, baring my tits. He grabbed them with both hands, squeezed hard, bent down to suck one nipple while with the other hand he pinched the other. I dug my fingers into the back of his neck without even realizing it. I heard a short laugh from Rodrigo behind me.

—Look at her getting worked up —someone said—. She’s already wet, for sure.

He led me little by little toward the desk, one hand on my back and the other on my hip, as if he already knew the route. When we got there, he turned me around and left me leaning against the edge. He pulled my T-shirt all the way down, took off my bra, and tossed it into a corner. I heard the sound of a phone taking pictures behind me and a few low comments.

—From day one we knew this was going to happen —someone said.

—Ever since you came in with that white T-shirt and jeans —another added—. Everything showed. We’d be leaving every Thursday with hard cocks.

Diego took me by the shoulders and I went down until I was kneeling on the cold floor. He unbuttoned his pants, pulled them down with his boxer briefs, and put his cock in front of me. It was hard, thick, with a pronounced vein on the left side. I took him with both hands, looked him in the eye, and brought him to my mouth slowly, first the tip, sucking it like candy, then deeper, until I felt it touch the back of my throat. He closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled.

—Like that —he said quietly—. Suck it all, don’t be lazy.

He pressed a hand into the back of my neck and started moving my head to his rhythm. I let him, eyes watering, swallowing saliva and sticking out my tongue to lick his balls between thrusts. The wet sound of my mouth could be heard, my muffled gagging every time he pushed it all the way in, and the other four commenting under their breath while they unzipped their pants.

The other four came closer one by one. Rodrigo was second. He stood beside Diego and grabbed my hair with both hands.

—Take turns, kitty —he told me, and turned my face toward his dick.

His was longer and less thick. He shoved it into my mouth without care and pushed it in until he made me cry. Then he forced me to move from one to the other, from Diego to him and back, alternating, while Sebastián moved to one side and pulled out his cock too, pressing it against my cheek, against my lips, waiting his turn. I ended up with three heads brushing my face, sucking one while stroking the other two with my hands, saliva dripping down my chin and chest.

Then Martín, then Tomás. I moved from one to the next, looking them in the eyes the way they seemed to like. They were different from each other: Sebastián closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, saying nothing; Martín held my head with both hands and shoved himself into my mouth carelessly, growling every time he hit my throat; Tomás stayed silent, jaw clenched, and fed himself into me little by little, measuring how much I could take. The five of them took their time. My knees were scraped against the tiles and my tits were bare, nipples erect from the cold and from something else I didn’t want to name.

Rodrigo was the one who stood me up. He turned me around, braced my elbows on the desk, and unbuttoned my jeans from behind. He pulled them down to my thighs along with my panties, and stood behind me without moving for a moment, as if assessing the situation. I could feel him looking at my ass, showing it to the others. Someone gave a low whistle.

—Don’t play dumb —he said in my ear, running an open palm over one cheek and squeezing it—. You know damn well about this.

He slid his hand between my legs before continuing. He shoved in two fingers in one quick motion and pulled them out wet. He lifted them so the others could see.

—Look at how wet the workshop lady is —he said—. Drenched like a bitch.

He rubbed his wet fingers over his cock, lined himself up at my cunt, and pushed.

The first thrust was direct and without preamble. He drove into me all the way in one shot, both hands on my hips, and the desk creaked under me. I shut my eyes and held my breath. The initial pain dissolved quickly into something different, something the body processes according to its own logic, without consulting thought. He started fucking me hard, without rhythm, pulling my hair back with one hand while with the other he gripped my waist. With every thrust I pressed my chest harder against the wood.

—That’s how you like it, isn’t it? —he panted—. Say it. Say you like it.

I didn’t answer. He grabbed my hair harder and turned my head so Tomás could see my face. Tomás stood in front of me and offered himself without words, pressing his cock against my lips. I opened my mouth without needing to be asked twice and took him in while Rodrigo kept pounding me from behind.

Being with two at once was something I had imagined before, but never under these conditions. The rhythm between them wasn’t coordinated, which made everything harder to ignore: every time Rodrigo pushed in, Tomás’s cock went deeper into my mouth; every time Tomás pulled my head, I opened my ass farther back. The sounds of the classroom, the cold floor, the filthy light from the one working lamp, the others’ voices murmuring as they filmed. The three remaining ones had settled around us, jerking themselves off unhurriedly, waiting their turn with an audience’s patience.

—Fuck, man, look how he’s fucking her —Martín said, cock in hand, watching closely.

Rodrigo sped up. He dug his fingers into my hips, rammed into me faster, deeper, until Tomás had to pull his cock out of my mouth so I wouldn’t choke. Rodrigo came first. He announced it with a short growl and didn’t pull out until he was completely finished. I felt the hot spray inside me, thrust after thrust, and how he left it in me while he shook. On the way out, he gave me a sharp slap on the ass and stepped aside.

—Served —he told the next one.

I turned to see who was next. Sebastián was already behind me. I felt his cock settling between my buttocks, not against my cunt.

—Not the ass —I said.

—Why not? —he asked, as if it were a perfectly reasonable question.

—Because not. I’m saving it for someone I want.

—For Nicolás —Sebastián said—. Who still doesn’t know what you’re doing here.

That ended the discussion.

Sebastián took his time. He bent down first and spread my cheeks with both hands. I felt his warm tongue running over my asshole from top to bottom, coating me with saliva nonstop, just barely entering at first and then deeper, while a finger went in and out of my cunt, dripping Rodrigo’s come. When he decided I was wet enough, he stood up, smeared saliva over his cock, and started to enter.

—Relax —he told me—. Relax, babe, because if you tense up it’s worse.

He went in slowly, in stages, without hurry. The first minutes were the hardest: a dull, burning pain that made me clench my teeth and anchor myself in any other thought. I gripped the edge of the desk with both hands and endured. Sebastián slid his palm over my back while he pushed farther in, murmuring things in my ear as if he were doing me a favor.

—There, almost. Relax your ass. Like that. Like that.

When he was all the way in, he stayed still for a moment. Then he started moving slowly, barely half an inch at a time, making room little by little. Behind me I could hear the others murmuring, one saying “look how he’s taking her,” another asking him to pass the phone so he could film better. The pain fell underneath something else, a different sensation the body began processing on its own. Without meaning to, I started pushing my hips back. The body is more adaptable than one thinks, and more treacherous too.

Sebastián sped up. He rammed into me all the way and then pulled almost all the way out, and I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip so I wouldn’t moan, but it escaped anyway. Diego, who was off to one side, slid two fingers into my cunt while Sebastián fucked my ass, and moved them slowly, searching me from the inside.

—She’s about to come —Diego said, not looking at anyone in particular—. The bitch is about to come with a cock up her ass.

And I came. I shook over the desk with my mouth open, silently, gripping the wood until a splinter lodged in my palm that I would only discover hours later. Sebastián came a few seconds afterward, inside too, and left me hanging there over the edge, with both our cum dripping down my thighs.

When it was over, I held onto the edge of the desk and said nothing.

The five of them took turns however they wanted and in the order they chose, without consulting me. They signaled with gestures, moved me, positioned me in different ways. On top of the desk, on my back, legs open and one cock in my mouth while another entered my cunt. Kneeling on the floor, with three around me, sucking one and jerking off the other two. Standing against the wall with my arms stretched out, Martín lifting one of my legs to ram into me from the side. Double penetration with Diego underneath me on the floor and Tomás behind, both of them so deep I felt like they touched inside me and I couldn’t get enough air.

They were methodical and had plenty of time. At some point Martín found the handle of the folding umbrella in the bag I’d left on a chair and used it in ways that drew laughs from the others. He pushed it into my cunt slowly at first, then deeper, while Rodrigo shoved his dick into my mouth and told me to open my eyes wide for the camera. Sebastián came a second time, this time on my face, and Diego followed his example a minute later. I ended up with my hair stuck with two men’s cum, my tits smeared, my thighs soaked.

I thought several times that I should feel humiliated. On some level I was. But the body doesn’t always follow thought’s instructions, and that afternoon mine had decided not to obey me. I came two more times before they finished. The second time, with Tomás’s cock in my ass and Rodrigo’s fingers inside my cunt, screaming against the desk in a way I didn’t recognize.

When they were done, they let me get dressed while Rodrigo showed me how he deleted the video from his phone. The deletion took a few seconds. He showed me twice so I could see it. Then we went out into the corridor and the building was functioning normally: people walking, students with folders, the bar on the first floor open. It was exactly as if nothing had happened.

I didn’t give the workshop that day. That week either.

***

I stayed away for two months. I told Gonzalo I had personal problems, that I needed to take some distance. He accepted it without questions and the workshop was suspended. Nicolás never found out anything. I went back to my English classes and kept living my life as if that Thursday in April had been any other Thursday.

But it wasn’t. Some nights, when Nicolás fucked me, I would close my eyes and be back in that classroom, and I would come sooner than usual, and he would look at me in surprise and ask what was wrong, and I would tell him nothing, that it was him, that it was him.

In the final month I decided to return. I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe because the workshop genuinely mattered to me and it was a shame to let it die. Maybe because part of me wanted to know what would happen if I went back.

The day I returned, the classroom was almost empty. Of the five, only Sebastián and Diego were left. The others had stopped coming without explanation. When the workshop ended and the last attendees headed into the corridor, the two of them stayed sitting in their chairs without moving.

Sebastián had the phone in his hand.

—Turns out the video wasn’t the only thing —he said.

I looked at the screen. There were photos I didn’t remember them taking, captures from that afternoon in the back classroom taken from angles I hadn’t noticed at the time. In one I was kneeling with three cocks around my face. In another, leaning over the desk with cum dripping from my ass. I looked at them for a second and lifted my eyes.

—How long do you plan on doing this? —I asked.

—This time it’s only two of us —Diego replied—. More manageable.

I laughed. I don’t know if it was a nervous reflex or something genuine.

I knew what came next. I asked myself whether I cared as much as I should. The back classroom was the same as always: the same windows covered with posters, the same smell of wet wood, the same cold on the tiles. This time they had brought more things—a blanket, a bottle, two folded blankets piled on a chair—and we had the whole night, because the building closed late and nobody ever passed through that corridor.

Sebastián was the first to take me. He shoved me against the wall with one hand on my neck and the other on my hip, no questions and no preamble. He hiked my skirt up to my waist, yanked my panties off in one pull—I heard them tear—and put them in the pocket of his jeans like a trophy. Then he pried my legs apart with his knee, pressed himself against me, and fucked me standing up, my back against the cold wall and my hands on his chest to hold myself up. With every thrust he lifted me a few inches off the floor.

—Did you miss this? —he asked in my ear, still pushing into me—. Tell me the truth. I know you did.

I didn’t answer. I dug my nails into his back through his T-shirt and he laughed softly.

Diego stayed watching from a chair, arms crossed and zipper open, his cock out, jerking himself off without urgency, waiting his turn. In that dynamic there was also a form of domination: the one who watches and decides when he enters.

Sebastián made me come against the wall before pulling out. He shoved his hand between my legs while he kept fucking me, found my clit with his thumb and rubbed it in time with his thrusts until my knees shook and I had to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming. When I finished, he pulled his cock out and looked at my face, still hard.

—Now Diego —he said.

That night was different from the first time. With five people there’s urgency, there’s noise, there’s chaos. With two there’s something else: more focus, more slowness, more attention to every detail. Diego got me over to the blanket they’d laid on the floor. He finished undressing me slowly, piece by piece: the skirt, the T-shirt, the bra. He laid me on my back and opened my legs himself, with both hands, as far as I could take. He bent down and slid his tongue between the lips of my cunt, unhurried, licking me slowly, sucking my clit until I arched my back. He made me come like that, with his mouth, while Sebastián squeezed my tits from above and pinched my nipples.

Then he rode me. Diego knew how to last longer than Sebastián: he slid into me slowly at first, finding every movement, changing angles until he found one that made my eyes open wide. He stayed there, fucking me slow, deep, staring straight into my face while I bit my hand to keep from making noise. Then he turned me face down, lifted me by the hips, and drove into me from behind, harder, while Sebastián moved in front of me to offer me his cock again. I sucked him with my mouth open and my eyes closed, letting myself move to Diego’s rhythm, feeling Sebastián’s come fill my throat when he finished a second time.

They took turns for hours and at no point did they ask what I wanted, but they didn’t need to. At one point I was between the two of them, Diego underneath and Sebastián behind, both inside at the same time, moving alternately, so deep I lost count of how many times I came. At another I was on all fours on the floor with Diego fucking me from behind and Sebastián sitting against the wall watching and guiding him, saying “slower,” “like that,” “shove it in all the way,” as if they were training me.

At two in the morning I was sitting on the classroom floor with my back against the desk, my hair loose and stuck to my forehead, my shoes in some corner I didn’t remember. My legs were still open, my cunt swollen, dried cum on my belly and thighs. Diego handed me a bottle of water without saying anything. I took it.

—Are you coming back next month? —Sebastián asked from the other side of the classroom.

I didn’t answer right away. I thought about Nicolás, about the workshop, about Gonzalo, about the weight of that whole year. I also thought about the fact that I had come there that night knowing perfectly well what was going to happen. That I had put on lace panties that morning. That I had shaved.

—I don’t know —I said at last.

We left at three in the morning.

It was the last workshop I taught at that faculty. After that I devoted myself to other activities, in other places, with other people. But if there is one thing I learned in those months, it’s that desire doesn’t always stay within the frame we’ve planned for ourselves, and that there are certain moments one remembers with more exactness than one would like to admit, even years later.