My First Submission Began at the Academy

I had never been with another man. Not once. I had reached adulthood clinging to the promise of waiting, as though patience were virtue enough to bring order to a body that had been asking for something else for years.

On the outside, I was proper and serious, mistress of my classes and my schedules. Inside, I was a poorly concealed fire. I watched porn in secret, came with toys until my legs trembled, and then left the house in tight dresses, tiny thongs, and that absurd need to provoke without ever going all the way.

I had been with my boyfriend for years. He talked about the future, living together, marriage, peace. I nodded, smiled, and kept pretending I was made of the same discipline I had been raised with. But every week I bought smaller, bolder lingerie, more useless for a woman who claimed to be waiting.

In the mornings I worked at the university. In the afternoons I taught extra classes at a private academy. That was where I allowed myself certain liberties: shorter skirts, lower necklines, sheer stockings, perfumes that lingered in the classroom even after I closed the door.

That was where I met Darío.

He was tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered, one of those men who seemed built not in a gym but by the blows of life. He had tattoos on his arms, large hands, and a way of looking that asked no permission. He worked at a hospital in the mornings and came to my classes in the afternoons with a mixture of cheek and attentiveness that unsettled me.

There was also Vera, an on-and-off student with whom he had a strange relationship, sometimes a couple, sometimes at war. She was brazen, adult, and conscious of the effect she had. Between the two of them there was constant tension, a way of talking about sex without quite naming it that ended up contaminating the atmosphere.

Darío liked to tease me.

—You put on a respectable act, Professor, but you look like you think about a lot of filthy things —he would say with a crooked smile.

—And you look like you’ll fail if you keep talking instead of studying —I would reply, holding his gaze longer than I should have.

He would laugh, leaning back in his chair, as if he knew that this back-and-forth was more than a verbal game. The worst part was that he did know. And so did I.

For months I fed that tension with small cruelties. I crossed my legs slowly in front of him. I leaned over his desk more than necessary. I let him look at my legs, the curve of my breasts, the line of the thong hinted at beneath a dress that was far too tight. I turned him on and then stopped him. Him. Others. Myself.

You’re a cocktease, I told myself more than once in front of the mirror, without getting too indignant because, deep down, the word described me better than any other.

The afternoon everything changed, I left home after a small, filthy scene with my boyfriend. He had grabbed my ass in the bedroom and joked about my toys, how worn-out I left them, how eager I must be for our wedding night to finally arrive. I looked at him in silence and reminded him, almost coldly, that we were both waiting.

He fell silent. I left wearing a strappy dress clinging to my body, mid-height heels, and a black lace set that barely covered anything.

When I arrived at the academy, Darío was already there.

—You’re more dangerous than usual today, Professor —he said as soon as he saw me enter.

—You’re more of a loudmouth than usual today —I replied as I set my bag on the desk.

—No. Today I’m horny. It’s not the same thing.

I shot him a hard look, although part of me felt the familiar tug between my legs. I tried to continue with the lesson like any other day. For a while, I managed it.

The other students left early for various reasons. When I closed the door behind the last one, I was alone in the classroom with him. It was still hot outside. Inside, the fan stirred the air without cooling anything.

Darío took off his sweat-soaked shirt with the ease of someone in his own home. Beneath it, his torso was bare, defined, covered in ink and that damp sheen that made me swallow.

—Does it bother you? —he asked.

—It should —I said.

—But it doesn’t bother you.

I didn’t answer. I approached him under the pretext of looking at one of the tattoos on his shoulder. He began explaining the meaning of a date, a phrase, a scar badly concealed by ink. I was barely listening. I was too aware of the smell of his skin, the heat coming off him, the obscene closeness that was no longer academic in the slightest.

I ended up sitting on his lap without remembering the exact moment I made that decision. Maybe it was when he held my waist. Maybe when I felt his breath on my neck. Maybe I had been deciding it for months.

Then my phone rang.

I pulled away in annoyance and answered. It was a friend. Or so I thought, until she began to speak. I immediately recognized the triumphant tone, the satisfied indecency, the cruelty of someone calling to document a betrayal that had already been consummated.

She neither let me interrupt nor paused for breath. In one rush, she told me that my boyfriend had just fucked her in my house. She told me about her tongue, his cock, how he had pinned her against the wall, how many times he had fucked her, how much he had enjoyed it. She said everything as if slowly driving a needle into me, waiting to hear my pain on the other end.

I didn’t give her that satisfaction. I hung up.

I remained motionless for a few seconds with the phone in my hand. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. What I felt was something else: brutal clarity, hot rage, a desire to tear off once and for all the disguise of the proper woman to whom I had chained myself.

I turned back toward Darío. He was looking at me seriously, asking no questions.

—Do you want to help me change a few things? —I asked.

—Tell me how.

I looked him up and down slowly, and for the first time I didn’t play at hinting. I gave an order.

—Get naked.

He blinked, surprised, and then smiled.

—Are you ordering me or asking me?

I felt something flare fiercely in my chest.

—I’m ordering you.

His expression changed. He stood and obeyed without another word. He took off his trousers and underwear and stood naked before me. He had a thick, heavy cock, already half-hard simply from the tone of my voice. His balls hung full and tight, and seeing him like that—exposed, obedient—sent an unexpected jolt through me.

It wasn’t just desire. It was power.

I was still dressed. That difference made me breathe more easily. I opened my bag, took out a small bottle of oil, and sat in front of him. I removed my shoes without taking my eyes off his face.

—Sit down. Legs apart.

He obeyed.

I poured oil onto the soles of my feet and into one hand. Then I began brushing my fingers over his cock, barely touching it at first, just to feel it harden completely beneath my palm. He let out a breath through his mouth.

—Look at me —I ordered.

He looked at me.

I ran the sole of my right foot along the base of his cock and slowly upward, leaving a gleaming film on the hot skin. I went back down. I repeated the movement with more pressure, trapping it between both feet and sliding them up and down with calculated slowness. The lubrication did the rest: a wet sound, firm friction, his breathing increasingly ragged.

—Fuck, Professor…

—Don’t call me that now.

—Then tell me what you want me to call you.

I thought about it for only a second.

—Ma’am. Or don’t call me anything.

I saw him swallow. He nodded.

—Yes, ma’am.

I continued jerking him off with my feet, slowly, cruelly, enjoying every expression on his face. My dress had ridden up my thighs, and I knew perfectly well what I was showing. His gaze strayed toward my crotch once, twice, until I clicked my tongue.

—I told you to look at me.

—Sorry, ma’am.

The word pierced me like a finger. I squeezed harder with my feet, barely twisting his cock between them. He let his head fall back.

—That’s it. Like that. Hold on.

The tip was already shining, swollen, leaking fluid. I spread it with my big toe and kept moving over him. Darío let out short, hoarse moans, and every so often a filthy word that made me squeeze my thighs.

—You’re wearing a tiny thong under that, aren’t you? —he murmured.

—You’re not in a position to ask questions.

—No. But I can smell it. And it’s driving me crazy.

I smiled for the first time since the call.

—Then go crazy in silence.

I brought him to the edge without letting him cross it. Every time I felt him about to come, I eased off. Every time he tried to lift his hips, I fixed him with my stare and he stayed still. As I did it, I discovered that commanding him aroused me more than I had imagined for years.

—Don’t come —I said.

He moaned.

—If you come without permission, you can forget about the rest.

His cock trembled between my feet. The effort of holding back stood out in his neck and abdomen, his hands clenched around the edge of the chair. I was soaked. I could no longer deny anything.

I stood slowly. Then I pulled my dress up to my waist and showed him the tiny black thong clinging to a pussy that had already soaked it almost completely.

—Now you can look.

Darío let out a low oath.

I slipped my hand beneath the fabric and touched myself in front of him for only a few seconds, just long enough to show him how aroused having him obey me had made me. His eyes followed every movement.

—On your knees —I ordered.

He dropped to his knees at once.

I gripped his hair with one hand and brought his face toward my crotch, still covered.

—You’re going to lick me through the thong. Nothing else. Until I say so.

He did it. The first lick drew a sharp gasp from me. I felt the hot wetness of his mouth seep through the fabric, the tip of his tongue pressing exactly where I needed it most. I pulled harder on his hair.

—Again.

He repeated it. And again. And again. Each pass soaked the fabric further, until the lace clung to my lips. I rocked against his mouth, losing my composure at a speed that aroused me as much as it frightened me.

—Take it off with your teeth.

I saw him smile before he obeyed. He caught the fabric, drew it slowly down my thighs, and left me naked from the waist down in the middle of the classroom. The air struck my open, glistening pussy. Darío stared at it for a moment, almost reverently.

—Don’t just stare. Eat.

He buried his face between my legs hungrily. His tongue went straight to work, raw and without unnecessary delicacy. He licked me from bottom to top, spreading me with his fingers, pushing his tongue into my wet opening and then returning to my clitoris with firm pressure, as if he had spent his whole life learning exactly how to make me lose control.

I braced myself against the desk so I wouldn’t fall. I moaned shamelessly, head thrown back, giving him broken orders.

—Harder… there… don’t stop… put your tongue in… fuck, like that…

He obeyed and, at the same time, devoured me in his own way. I felt him open me with two fingers and push them slowly inside, curling them as he searched for a spot he found far too quickly. My body reacted with a violent jolt.

—Do you like being eaten like this, ma’am? —he asked, his mouth wet, when he pulled away for a moment.

—Yes, bastard. I love it. Now keep going.

He buried his face again and didn’t speak anymore. Between his tongue and his fingers, he brought me to the edge of orgasm within minutes. I could feel it coming like a taut wave building in my belly.

—Stop.

He pulled away immediately, panting too, his beard and mouth shining with me.

He looked at me with a mixture of frustration and desire that made me smile again. He wanted to come. He wanted to fuck me. He wanted me to stop playing. And for the first time, I enjoyed drawing it out.

—Stand up.

He did.

I undid the belt he had left hanging from his half-removed trousers and tied it around his wrists in front of him, not to truly restrain him but to mark the gesture, the place, the tone. He glanced down and then back at me.

—Is this serious?

—Very serious. If you don’t want it, speak now.

—I want it. Too much.

I slapped his cheek lightly. Not as punishment. As affirmation. To test how that kind of contact sounded between us. He closed his eyes for a second, and his cock jerked.

—Then learn to wait.

I pushed him against the desk, made him bend over, and ran my hand over his tattooed back, his hard ass, his thighs. I touched him as if inspecting something I had just bought. Then I knelt behind him and ran my tongue from his balls to the tip, slowly, in one long stroke.

Darío let out a deep moan.

—Holy shit…

I took him into my mouth without preamble. I couldn’t take all of him, but enough to feel his weight against my tongue, the salty taste of his arousal, the hard pulse beating between my lips. I sucked him rhythmically, alternating depth and pressure, while gripping his buttocks to keep him still.

He tried to move his hips once. I bit him just enough to warn him.

—Stay still.

—Yes… yes, ma’am.

That made me even hotter. I kept sucking him until I heard him breathing like a tired animal. Then I stood and turned around, bracing my hands on the desk.

—Now. Fuck me.

He didn’t move.

—Ask permission —I added.

I heard his broken voice behind me.

—Let me put it in you, please.

I spread my legs farther apart.

—Put it in me already.

He gripped my hips and pushed the tip between my swollen lips. The first touch made me gasp. I had spent so long desiring this moment with fear that, when it finally happened, I felt a brutal mixture of anxiety, rage, and hunger. At first he entered slowly, opening me, barely forcing me, letting me feel every inch.

It hurt. Not too much, but enough to draw a rough cry from me.

—Don’t stop —I said immediately.

He obeyed. He finished entering and remained still for a second, completely inside me. I felt his cock stretching me from within, the pressure, the heat, the physical reality of no longer being a virgin with a student who had been kneeling at my feet only minutes earlier.

—Fuck —he murmured. —You’re so tight.

—And you’re inside me. So stop talking nonsense and move.

The first thrust was slow. The second less so. By the third he was fucking me with a firm, increasingly confident rhythm, making me collide with the edge of the desk. The sounds filled the classroom: skin against skin, open breathing, small dull impacts, my moans no longer restrained in any way.

I felt him open me and fill me again and again. Each thrust went in a little more easily because I was completely wet, but the edge of discomfort remained, mixed with a new, savage pleasure that made me squeeze my pussy around his cock as if I wanted to keep it inside me.

—Harder —I begged.

He gripped my hips more firmly and gave me exactly that. Harder, deeper thrusts that made the desk vibrate. I let out a brief cry when he reached very deep inside me.

—There, bastard. There. Don’t change it.

He began talking dirty, almost through clenched teeth.

—Look how I’m fucking you… after playing the saint for so long… how you squeeze… how you begged for it…

—Keep talking —I panted.

—You were dying for it. It shows in that soaked pussy. You like ordering me around, but you love having me fuck you.

A shiver ran through me. It was true. I reached one hand down to my clitoris and began rubbing myself while he penetrated me without pause. The combination left me breathless.

—Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop…

I straightened a little and ordered him to untie my wrists. When he did, I turned toward him without pulling him out and pushed him back until he sat in the chair. I climbed on top of him, facing him, lowering myself slowly down his cock until I felt it deep inside me again.

From there I looked him in the eyes as I rode him. His mouth was open, his face hard with desire, his neck tense. I ran one hand over his throat and squeezed just enough for him to feel the gesture.

—Don’t come yet.

—You’re making it impossible.

—That’s the point.

I rose and fell over him with a rhythm that was no longer punishment but pure need. My breasts bounced beneath my raised dress, my breathing mingled with his, and his cock struck me inside in a way that emptied my mind. I leaned down to kiss him angrily, biting his lip, sucking the moan from him.

Then I pulled away and brought one hand to his throat again.

—Tell me what I am.

He held my gaze.

—A gorgeous slut who knows exactly what she wants.

That made me come.

The orgasm rose from my belly to my throat in a long, wet, brutal convulsion. I trembled over him while my pussy contracted again and again around his cock. Darío groaned when he felt it.

—Fuck… I’m going to come.

I stood abruptly, letting him slip out of me with a wet sound. He protested, but I silenced him with a look. I knelt between his legs and put his cock back in my mouth, fast, deep, determined to make him come when I wanted.

—Now you can. Come.

He needed nothing more. He gripped my hair without roughness, merely holding me, and emptied himself with hoarse moans. I felt the first hot spurt on my tongue, then another, and another. I swallowed some and let the rest run over my lips while I kept sucking until I wrung out his final contractions.

When I finished, I slowly straightened. He was sprawled in the chair, sweaty and satisfied, still half-tied with his own belt, looking at me as if he had truly discovered me for the first time.

I was different too.

I wiped the corner of my mouth with my thumb and sat on the desk in front of him, legs spread, without immediately pulling my dress back down. I felt the sweet soreness between my thighs, my limp body, my heart finally free of guilt.

—Are you all right? —he asked at last.

—Yes —I replied, and it was the simplest truth I had spoken in a long time.

He smiled, still panting.

—Quite a way to start.

I laughed softly. I looked down at his cock, still wet, and then back into his eyes.

—No. This isn’t a beginning.

I took his belt and untied it completely, setting him free. Then I stood, pulled my soaked thong back into place, and lowered my dress over my thighs with all the calm in the world.

—This was liberation —I said. —Next comes learning how far I want to go.

He stood slowly, still naked, and held my gaze without joking this time.

—Whenever you want to be in charge again, call me.

I picked up my shoes, closed my bag, and moved closer to give him one last kiss. It was short and wet, tasting of semen and a decision freshly made.

—Don’t get confused —I murmured against his mouth. —Sometimes I’ll be in charge. And sometimes I’ll let myself be used. But I will never again pretend I’m not hungry.

I left the classroom with trembling legs and a new sensation inside my body. I had lost one thing that afternoon and gained something far more important. It wasn’t innocence. It wasn’t decency. It was something better.

It was freedom.