The Meeting Where the Headmaster Ended Up Begging

Carla, Lucía, Daniela and Beatriz had known each other for years. Their four children had shared a classroom since first grade, and between all the meetings and birthday parties a solid friendship had been forged. They were around thirty-five, forty. Normal lives: two housewives whose leave had just been renewed, an accountant who had asked for the day off, and a theater teacher who gave drama classes at a downtown academy.

That morning, however, the four of them walked in silence down the school corridor with their heads bowed, as if they were the ones being punished. The conference was not being called by the homeroom teacher. It was being called by the headmaster.

—Come in and sit down —don Ricardo said from his armchair without standing up.

He was a tall, gray-haired man with those thin-rimmed glasses he took off whenever he needed to seem important. Beside him, standing, waited the homeroom teacher: don Vicente, bald, bearded, with a nasal tone of voice that verged on a shriek. He was holding a folder and trembling with pure, contained indignation.

—Enough is enough —Vicente began without greeting them—. The graffiti on the wall, the firecrackers inside the blackboard, the oil on the desks in classroom three. Your children are a disgrace.

Beatriz, the oldest of the four, raised an eyebrow. She was forty-one and had a temperament she had kept clenched for far too long.

—Excuse me —she said calmly—. Why is it always our children? There are three hundred kids in this school.

—Because it’s always yours —Vicente spat. And literally spat. A drop sailed over the desk and landed on Beatriz’s white blouse.

She stared at the stain. She still said nothing.

The headmaster cleared his throat and delivered the line he had rehearsed.

—Ladies, I bring you the proposal for expulsion. Fifteen days for the four of them. They have the profile of savages, and we can’t keep tolerating it.

—Savages? —Carla, the youngest, gave the table a small slap with her open hand—. My son is a savage?

—That is the correct word —don Ricardo replied.

Lucía, the drama teacher, still hadn’t said a word. She settled into her chair, crossed her legs, and watched the scene as if studying a script. Daniela, seated beside her, was massaging her knuckles without realizing it.

Vicente decided to finish them off. He spat again as he spoke.

—Yes, yes, yes, four savage sons of a…

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Beatriz stood in a single clean motion and drove her knee between his legs. The blow sounded dull, filthy. Vicente folded over, his glasses fell off, and he let out a cry so sharp it sounded like a joke. He dropped to his knees and clutched his crotch as if he wanted to protect it from the whole world.

—What are you doing? You crazy bitches! I’m going to report you! —Don Ricardo rose from his armchair with his face twisted, ready to make for the door.

He didn’t make it.

Daniela stepped in front of him. She had been practicing karate since she was seventeen and had a second-dan black belt. She caught his arm in a hard lock, twisted his wrist until the headmaster screamed, and with her other hand landed a short strike on the nape of his neck that dropped him to his knees on the carpet.

—Stay still —Daniela whispered—. Not a peep.

Lucía, still seated, smiled.

—Lock the door —she said very softly.

Carla turned the key in the office door. Click.

***

What happened next was quick and silent.

Beatriz took a roll of cotton rope from her bag. She’d been carrying it around for years “just in case,” without ever quite admitting what for. Carla helped her tie the headmaster to his own armchair, arms behind his back, ankles to the chair legs. Daniela sat Vicente in one of the visitor chairs and did the same to him with a double knot the bald man wouldn’t undo in an hour if he tried.

—Gentlemen —Beatriz said once they were both bound—, we’re going to talk like civilized people. You two rip up that file right now. We leave. This never happened.

—Bastards —muttered don Ricardo. He still had enough dignity left for insults, not much else.

Carla slapped him across the face with her open hand. The blow left the imprint of her fingertips on his cheek.

—Again —Lucía said from her chair, not moving—. Harder.

Carla obeyed.

The headmaster clenched his teeth and called them crazy again. On the third attempt at an insult, Carla gave a quick, practiced yank at her skirt, pulled her panties down to her ankles, and slipped them off. They were black, cotton, and there was a dark stain in the crotch.

—I’m on my period —she said in a sweet voice—. I hope that doesn’t disgust you.

She shoved the panties into the headmaster’s mouth. She pushed them in with two fingers, all the way back, until he gagged. When she withdrew her hand, a red thread was running from the corner of his mouth.

Beatriz watched the scene with her lips parted.

—Fuck, girl.

—My husband loves it —Carla replied with a shrug—. And before him, so did a few others. Today it’s this asshole’s turn.

And she didn’t stop there. With her skirt hiked up over her waist and her cunt out in the open, she hopped onto the headmaster’s desk with athletic ease, sat on the edge, and spread her legs wide in front of his face. Thick, white thighs, and between them a shaved, wet cunt, parted open, with red, swollen lips. A thin line of menstrual blood gleamed between the short hair and the skin.

—Look closely, motherfucker —she told him, grabbing his hair with both hands—. Look at what you’ve been insulting for weeks whenever you insult our children. The cunt they came out of. Look at it.

She brought his face closer. Don Ricardo tried to turn away, but Carla pinned his head against her crotch. With the panties still stuffed down his throat, the headmaster couldn’t bite, couldn’t speak, could only breathe through his nose. And through his nose came everything: the smell of woman, of blood, of sweat from the school stairs. Carla rubbed her cunt against his face like someone wiping a plate clean. She smeared his forehead, nose, and chin with thick discharge. When she let him go, the man’s face looked like it had come out of an accident.

—Now you know what an angry mother smells like —Carla whispered.

She climbed down from the desk with her skirt still around her waist and stood there, cunt on display, with no hurry to cover herself.

***

Vicente tried to scream. Beatriz covered his mouth with her hand, lit a cigarette with the other, and blew smoke into his face. Ash fell onto his beard.

—I never smoke —she said—. But today I’m making an exception.

She pressed the tip out on the back of the homeroom teacher’s hand. A brief smell of burned skin filled the office. Vicente strained against the rope, kicked his legs, tried to beg through Beatriz’s fist. She loosened her hand just enough to listen.

—Please —he moaned—. Please.

—“Please,” what? —Lucía asked from the far end of the table.

—I’ll void the file. I’ll void the file.

Lucía finally stood up. She took the folder from the headmaster’s desk, pulled out the letterhead pages, tore them in half, and left the pieces on Vicente’s lap. The homeroom teacher started crying silently.

Beatriz looked down and saw, between the bald man’s bound legs, a hard bulge swelling the fabric of his trousers. His cock had gone stiff. Vicente, crying, humiliated, with a burned hand, had gotten hard like a teenager.

—You have got to be kidding me —murmured Beatriz, then smiled—. Girls, look at this.

She yanked down his zipper and pulled his cock out. It was hard, red, with a clear drop at the tip. Slim, short, pathetic, but hard as a rock.

—So this is what gets you going, asshole —she said in his ear—. You like being treated like shit. Look at you.

She took him in her hand and started jerking him slowly, squeezing hard, up and down. Vicente closed his eyes, turned his face away, but his cock didn’t lie: it got even thicker, throbbing in Beatriz’s hand. She spat into her palm and kept going, her wrist firm, pinching the glans with her thumb every time she came up.

—Look what the teacher’s doing —Beatriz said to the others—. Give me two minutes and I’ll have him filling my hand.

Daniela stepped closer, crouched down, and drove two fingers into his balls, not to caress them, to squeeze them, to remind him he was an inch away from losing everything. Vicente groaned, not knowing whether from pain or pleasure. Beatriz sped up her hand. The bald man’s cock made that wet, obscene sound of skin sliding over wet skin. In half a minute he came, shaking, with the veins in his neck standing out, his mouth twisted, biting his lip so he wouldn’t scream. His semen shot out in bursts, splattering his trousers, the torn-up file, Beatriz’s hand.

She pulled her hand away and slowly wiped it on Vicente’s own beard. She left the stream stuck to his chin, hanging there.

—There —she said—. Easy now. It’s over.

The homeroom teacher was really crying now, his cock still out, hanging dead and glossy, humiliated beyond what even he could believe.

—The other one’s missing —Daniela said.

Don Ricardo, who had been trying to spit out the panties with his tongue, raised his head with hate in his eyes. The saliva mixed with blood had stained his shirt.

Daniela moved in behind him. She grabbed his hair with one hand and rubbed his cheek against the wooden desk. Three times, unhurried, like someone wiping away a stain.

—Look at me —she ordered in his ear—. Do you know how long I’ve had to put up with you talking to us like we were trash? Every meeting, every note in the agenda, every phone call. Do you know how long?

The headmaster made a choking sound.

—Too long —she answered herself—. Today it ends.

She loosened the panties in his mouth just enough for him to speak. Don Ricardo spat, coughed, begged for air.

—I’ll void… I’ll void the expulsion. Everything. I swear it.

—Swear it again.

—I swear it.

—Louder.

—I swear!

—Good.

Daniela lowered her free hand, found his crotch over the trousers, and squeezed his testicles with just enough force for him to understand what could happen if he took back a single word. The headmaster groaned like a small animal and wet the front of his pants.

—He’s pissed himself —Carla remarked.

—Better —Beatriz said—. That way he’ll remember it better.

Daniela wasn’t done. She pulled down his zipper, took his cock out —thick, wrinkled, still dripping piss— and weighed it in her palm with contempt.

—Suck —she told him—. Suck your own panties. Suck my friend’s. Suck what we stuffed into you. And while you’re sucking, listen.

She shoved the soaked cloth back into his mouth. Daniela massaged his balls slowly, squeezing and releasing them as if they were ripe fruit she was deciding whether to crush. The headmaster’s cock, against his will, began to harden. At first limp, then soft, then a vertical plank pointing at the ceiling.

—Look what we’ve got here —Daniela said to the others—. Another one who’s enjoying it.

Carla, still with her skirt hiked up and her cunt exposed, bent down and spat on his cock. A thick white gob of spit slid down the glans. Daniela used it as lubricant and started jerking him with a hard wrist, without tenderness, with the dry technique of someone squeezing juice out of a lemon. Up, down. Up, down. Pinching the glans every time she came up. The headmaster’s cock, red, swollen, shining with saliva and menstrual blood —because the panties had left a trail across the whole scene— began releasing little spurts of pre-cum.

Don Ricardo groaned through the gag. His hips jerked involuntarily, seeking the hand.

—Oh, do you like that? —Daniela stopped dead and let go of his cock. The shaft kept twitching in the air, red and throbbing, looking for something—. Well, too bad.

She left him half done. The headmaster, eyes rolling back, made a choking, animal noise, almost a plea. Daniela smiled, took his cock again and kept going, now faster, harder, until the man convulsed tied to his own armchair and came in a long, humiliating spasm, spraying semen over his shirt, over the desk, over the torn pieces of the file. The load came out yellowish, thick, mixed with piss. A viscous puddle on the mahogany.

—There —said Daniela, and wiped his sticky cock clean with the headmaster’s own tie, then tied it around the limp shaft like a bow—. There. You’ve behaved yourself now.

She yanked the panties from his mouth, soaked with saliva, blood and semen, and stuffed them into the front pocket of his shirt like a gala handkerchief. The headmaster was crying silently, mouth open.

***

Lucía took a transparent plastic bag from her purse, one of those supermarket bags. She held it up at the headmaster’s face and stared at him with an expression that was not anger, not disgust, not even amusement. It was something worse: absolute calm. As if she were measuring how much punishment his lungs could take before failing.

Don Ricardo stopped moving altogether.

—Relax —Lucía said without raising her voice—. I’m not going to use it. I just wanted you to know I could.

She folded the bag carefully and put it back in her purse.

—This is what’s going to happen —she continued—. You two are going to tear up the file in front of us. You’re going to throw it in the bin. Tomorrow, when the inspector I know is due to come Monday arrives, you’ll tell him the kids have behaved well these last few weeks, that it’s just their age, that you’ve spoken with the families and everything is in order. And you will never, ever, call ten-year-old children savages in front of their mothers again. Is that clear?

Both of them nodded. Vicente was crying openly, his cock still outside, limp, hanging between his bound thighs. Don Ricardo kept his eyes lowered and his tie tightened around a cock that was still dripping.

—One more thing —Lucía added—. If either of you even thinks about reporting this, tomorrow morning a recording of this office shows up online. Carla has recorded everything from her bag. The panties, the kick, the piss, the handjob, the cum. Everything.

Carla raised her phone with a brief smile. She wasn’t recording anything, but they had no way of knowing that.

—And even if she hadn’t recorded it —Beatriz finished—, do you really think anyone would believe that four mothers of third graders overpowered you in your own office, came all over you, and you let yourselves be jerked off? You’d look like two idiots. And since you’re civil servants, you’d lose your jobs too.

***

The four of them took ten minutes to undo the knots. They made sure Vicente picked up the torn pages himself, sticky with semen, and threw them in the bin. Don Ricardo, still with Carla’s garment hanging from his pocket and his tie knotted around his cock inside his trousers, offered to escort them out. Beatriz declined with a gesture.

—Stay here. You need to change your trousers. And clean the desk.

They left the office one after another, orderly, smiling for the janitor. They crossed the courtyard in silence until they reached Daniela’s car. Only when she closed the driver’s door did Beatriz burst out laughing. A strange, nervous laugh that spread to Carla and then Daniela. Lucía, in the front passenger seat, was looking at her hands with an expression that was not exactly joy.

—Fuck, Lucía —Carla said from the back—. You even had me believing the bag thing. I thought you were really going to do it.

Lucía turned her head toward her and winked.

—I’m an actress, dummy. The best one at the academy. Have you never played a psychopath?

—Nope.

—Then try it. It’s addictive.

Daniela started the car.

—Where to? —she asked.

Beatriz looked at the dashboard clock. It was eleven thirty. Recess didn’t end until twelve.

—To one of ours —she replied—. I need a drink. And I’ve got a whole lot of day left.

The car pulled out of the parking lot unhurriedly. In the headmaster’s office, two men were silently wondering how they were going to explain the next half hour without anyone finding out, how they were going to hide the semen stains on the desk, how they were going to look their wives in the eye that night. And deep down, neither of them dared admit the one thing that truly terrified them: that those four women might come back to the school the following month for another conference. Nor the second thing that terrified them: that if they did come back, they might get hard again.