The Professor Who Taught Me to Obey

The table was lively when I arrived. There were former professors, some classmates from my year whom I only vaguely remembered from the lecture halls, and Camila. I had missed her company so much: her bright smile, her alert gaze, that calm of hers that was so contagious. We had been great friends in college, and we even shared an apartment throughout the degree. We hugged the moment we saw each other and didn’t hesitate for a second before sitting together. We had far too much to catch up on.

—Helena, can you pass me that bottle of wine? —asked Don Aurelio, one of our old lecturers.

I obeyed without thinking, and he gave the barest hint of a smile. Serious, rigid, he remained motionless as a rock. He had placed the graduation sash on me years ago, and although I recognized my teacher’s intelligence, his character didn’t exactly invite long conversations. It felt as if every word had to be chiseled out of him.

—It’s a shame about Marcos, but well, it’s not the end of the world either —murmured Camila beside me.

I nodded and took a generous sip of my glass, letting the champagne wash away the fleeting memory of him. Camila had asked, and I had told her without details that we had broken up. Her dark eyes shone: she knew there was more, but she didn’t press.

—I’m sure this master’s program launch will be a success —said Don Ernesto, head of the department, applauding—. The surveys say the places will fill in the first round of allocations.

Everyone celebrated the prediction with a cheerful toast.

—And even more so if we count on former students as exemplary as the ones we have here —added Doña Beatriz, the only invited professor.

Camila and the others stirred, thankful for the compliment. She seemed to grow nervous: she toyed with a strand of her wavy hair while her other hand crushed the napkin until her knuckles went white. The tension dissolved almost instantly.

I looked around. We were the only young ones there. The professors were around fifty or older; time showed in the corners of their eyes, in the shine that was already fading, in the discreet age of their suits. Standing out among them was Don Aurelio’s ensemble: a checked corduroy jacket, open, revealing a black bow tie snug against the collar of his white shirt. Suspenders peeked out when he straightened. His gray eyes had lost none of their edge, nor his cunning, and his lips seemed carved into a thin line that barely curved.

As if he sensed I was watching him, he raised his eyes and pinned me with them. I looked away at once. I had always suspected those eyes could probe into the very last corner of a student’s mind. He was the professor who caught the most cheating on exams, the one who inspired the most respect.

Camila jumped beside me. I looked at her, but she gave me a warm smile and eased my unease. She was radiant in her white blouse and black tailored trousers. She blushed when Don Ernesto recalled how she managed honors marks almost effortlessly, though I knew it was pure dedication: she threw herself into study without caring what hour of the morning it was.

—Sorry —I said when the fork slipped from my fingers and fell between the two of us.

I held Camila back, since she was about to pick it up, and bent down myself just as Don Ernesto stood and a firm silence fell over the room. It was only two seconds, but enough for me to catch, beneath the clink of a teaspoon against glass, a faint buzzing that made the hair on my neck stand up.

I straightened, shaken. I glanced sideways at my friend, who was shifting in her seat and blushing even more. She avoided my eyes, murmured an apology, and left for the bathroom almost in flight. Don Aurelio arched one eyebrow in disdain; Don Ernesto brushed it off with a gesture. I got up and excused myself too.

I went into the restroom very carefully, pushing the door so it wouldn’t make a sound. My heart was pounding. From one of the cubicles came panting and hurried whispers, as if someone were trying to cover their mouth.

—Please, no more, you’re going to... stop it, stop it —begged a broken, very low voice.

I froze in front of the door from which those sounds were coming. I swallowed, unbelieving.

—I can’t take it, I’m going to... God, Aurelio, I’m going to...

I put a hand on the edge of the sink, stunned. Aurelio? Camila and he were...? At that very moment the latch, with its broken handle, gave way and the door swung open on its own. In her rush, she hadn’t even noticed she had chosen the farthest cubicle, not the safest one. And before me appeared one of the most disturbing scenes I had ever imagined.

Camila was sitting on the toilet lid, her trousers around her ankles, her underwear tangled around her shins, both hands pressed between her legs. Her head was bowed and her hair hid her face.

—Camila? —I whispered.

She jerked her head up, pale but consumed by a deep blush across her cheeks and neck. That blush was the trace of the orgasm she had just had seconds before.

—Helena! —she exclaimed, pulling at the door.

I reacted and turned around, covering my face.

—I didn’t see anything, don’t worry, I...

—Wait, wait. Damn it, don’t go!

She stepped between me and the exit, now dressed again, fixing her hair, with a nervous smile.

—Don Aurelio and you...? —I blurted out, direct, shocked at hearing my own words.

She lowered her head and took a few slow steps toward the mirror. She rubbed one arm, searching for words, and endured another shiver.

—He put beads in me... —I suddenly understood, seeing why she walked as if every step were agony.

—We have a kind of... strange relationship, you know? But it’s secret. Don’t tell anyone —she whispered, avoiding my gaze.

—He’s your thesis advisor. Is he blackmailing you?

—No, Helena, he would never do that. It’s just that he likes me to feel dominated, trapped in his hands. And I... I like it. Don’t look at me like that!

—But Camila, him? How old is he, sixty?

—Fifty-two, and carrying it very well, I can assure you. So what? I wish the people I’ve crossed paths with had that kind of experience.

—He forced you to put beads in yourself and you expect me to believe you did it because you wanted to...

—You can’t imagine how much I liked it, how hard it was for me to hold back... —she shuddered, looking at herself in the mirror—. I asked for it. I wanted to feel that heat, that pulse that runs through you when the sting of pleasure drives through you.

Her voice was steeped in adoration for that man. I shivered: she wasn’t pretending, she was telling me the truth with raw sincerity. She turned and took my hands.

—I spend many hours locked away, buried in research. With him guiding me, correcting me, so close to me... I don’t know how it started, but it happened. And he’s different from the others. He’s not a man who bows to sex just for the sake of sticking it in. He’s... different.

—Do you still have them in? —I asked in a whisper. She nodded.

—Until he gives me permission to take them out, I have to wear them. I asked him to and he ordered me to. He makes them vibrate when he wants, Helena. They make me shudder, they excite me...

I stepped back, shocked. Her face twisted in a grimace of pleasure and then she composed herself again.

—That man is using you, you can’t let him —I insisted.

She looked at me with wet eyes and hugged me. I hugged her back, remembering all our nights together, our kitchen talks, the coffees stolen from study time. The whirlwind of joy that was Camila stood in terrible contrast to that dark, new identity. She whispered in my ear, first shyly, the things he did to her. I listened and grew more unsettled with every word.

—Let’s go back before we draw attention —I suggested, and she nodded.

When we returned, I didn’t miss the long, thoughtful look Don Aurelio sent us, nor the sly gleam in his eyes when he looked me over from head to toe. An image assaulted me and I shook my head, horrified: me on all fours, underwear around my ankles, listening to firm footsteps approaching, watching the outline of an imposing arm cast on the floor. What the hell had I just imagined? I drowned the thought in my glass.

***

The rest of the evening was tense. Camila disappeared again and, when she came back red-faced, announced she was leaving: she had an early start the next day. Don Aurelio watched both of us as if evaluating us, and every time his eyes brushed over me I felt intimidated, as if I had drawn the attention of something far beyond me.

I confronted him. I took advantage of the fact that we were left alone at the table, sat beside him, and told him everything. I let the knot in my stomach pour out, the uprooting feeling of watching the image I had of my professor shatter while Camila whispered those things to me. He said nothing. He only listened. He listened to every insult, each one more visceral than the last. I told him he was a pervert, an obscene man, that Camila meant nothing to him so long as he could satisfy his vice. I told him he had crossed the line. He let me speak until I was almost voiceless, my mouth dry, a tremor running through me.

And he only watched. That gaze still makes me shiver. It was as if he were memorizing every word, storing them in a dark corner of his mind to release at the right moment. When I fell silent, my heart pounding, he simply wrote something on a napkin and handed it to me: «If you feel ready to meet a man like me, come to my house tomorrow at 7:30 p.m. Come dressed as you are today and prepare to feel what pleasure is, Helena. Because I’m going to fuck you, not make love to you».

He stood up and left, leaving me with the words on my tongue and the crumpled napkin between my fingers, furious, agitated, disturbed.

***

I parked the car and walked up to the threshold of his house. With every step, a battle raged inside me. I kept telling myself I was a fool, and at the same time a voice pushed me to surrender to that man’s hands to feel what I had glimpsed in Camila’s eyes.

I think I threw myself at his feet because I felt broken over Marcos, after Lucía. I blamed myself for the breakup, for the harm I had done him. That gnawed at me, made me believe I deserved the pain, that I deserved for someone to use me however they wanted. At the same time, I was dying of curiosity to discover what had so enchanted my friend, what this man had that made her not only accept it, but ask for it.

He welcomed me in the same outfit as at dinner, except for the jacket. His sleeves were rolled up and he looked at me in ecstasy.

—Come in, Helena, I was expecting you —he said with a wolfish smile.

—You have a beautiful house —I replied, looking at the huge living room: shelves full of volumes and jars with liquids and submerged creatures, dim light, soft music that reinforced the solemn air of the place.

—Compared to your beauty, it’s insignificant —he whispered, helping me take off my trench coat.

When the back of his hand brushed my neck as he removed the garment, I shuddered. It was as if a current sprang from his skin and ran through me. I turned and nearly collided with him. He was looking at me in silence. No: he was piercing me with falcon eyes, putting me on trial in one I would lose beforehand. I shrank back, avoiding the wild gleam of his gray eyes.

—I apologize for yesterday —I whispered, barely audible.

He stroked my cheek, gently, sensing my trembling. It was the cruel caress of a tiger’s claw over its surrendered prey.

—No apology is necessary. But today I’ll be frank: I need your trust, your full trust. What I’m going to do with you is not making love. I’m not here to lie down as a tender lover. I’m going to fuck you. Do you accept?

Hard, blunt, his words were softened by a calm, measured, assured tone.

—Will it hurt? —was the only thing I managed to ask, scorched by the incendiary gleam of his eyes.

—It will be a pleasurable pain. And at any moment, if you wish, you can order me to stop. You have my word.

—Fuck me, sir? —I begged in a trembling voice, stunned, feeling myself shake like a hummingbird in the rain. My body was burning: thighs, sweaty palms, the agitation in my stomach.

—I don’t ask anyone to address me by that term —he laughed, pleased—. But I like your initiative. Keep only your underwear on and stand there, on your knees on the rug, facing the door.

His words tore through my mind like a stampede. He granted me a reprieve, walked away, and rummaged through some drawers with his back to me. If I wanted, I could grab that door and get out of here. I took off my shoes. You can still run, a little voice insisted. Just pick up your shoes and leave, even if it’s barefoot.

But the sweater slipped from my fingers, and then the undershirt resisted a little. He was still feeling through the drawers: opening one, closing another. I knew he was watching me, but I didn’t turn around. I unfastened my belt and the buckle rang against the floor. What was I doing? I couldn’t stop, couldn’t ignore the blaze crackling inside me like a coal. I shed my trousers and, when my bra fell to the floor, I felt how sensitive my nipples were, how much they needed to be touched.

His breath brushed the back of my bare neck. His warmth melted into mine. Then he fastened something cold and rough around my throat. I closed my eyes: I knew what it was before he buckled it. A dog collar.

He kissed the hollow of my neck, caressed my shoulders, slid his fingers down my back and sides. He stalked my breasts without yet claiming them. He played with my underwear, tugging the fabric so it clung to my skin, so it compressed my ass, and I moaned. I could feel my sex pulsing, my whole body surrendering to him. I tried to touch his arms, but he dodged my contact.

From behind he fondled my breasts, slowly, savoring them. He circled my nipples with his thumbs, traced their outline with the tips of his index fingers. It was a skill that dragged me into a vortex of desire I hadn’t felt in a long time.

The spell broke when footsteps approached the entrance. The doorbell rang and I almost felt the smile on his lips against my ear.

—Stay kneeling and stay quiet.

His eyes searched for mine one last time before he went to the door. He didn’t open it: he was waiting for my consent. I gave it by placing my knees on the rug, sitting back on my heels, legs slightly apart and hands on my thighs. I lowered my gaze, flustered, blushing, aroused. He smiled at me, eyes sparkling with pride at his former exemplary student, now turned into his obedient bitch.

He opened the door and the conversation flooded over me. I could only see his black loafers, motionless. The light from the landing cut through my eyelids when he turned to retrieve his wallet from a piece of furniture by the door. I knew that at that very moment a stranger was looking at me, stunned to see a nearly naked blonde woman with a collar on and on her knees less than a meter away. My heart was trying to come out of my mouth.

—Here you go, Daniel, a good tip for your punctuality. I told you 7:40 and you delivered —Don Aurelio was saying, cheerful.

I shuddered. He had planned everything in advance.

—Yes... thank you, sir —the delivery man answered, flustered.

When the light reached me again, I opened my eyes, blinded, and could only make out a silhouette outlined in the doorway. Even so, I sensed the greedy gleam of eyes traveling over me, wanting me. At last he closed the door and turned back to me.

—Good, Helena —he said, stroking my chin—. Do you want me to take you to my bedroom?

—Yes —I muttered, my tongue thick.

He offered me his hand to help me stand, then took it to my crotch, pressing his palm against the fabric.

—I can feel your heat —he whispered near my ear—. Did it excite you that much, that man seeing you?

—Let’s go to the bedroom —I begged, unable to confirm what he already knew.

He stifled a chuckle and led me down a long, dark corridor. We passed closed doors. My bare feet made almost no sound against his heavy footsteps. The bedroom door was ajar. He opened it and, before I could go in, stopped me.

—No woman enters here with clothes on.

He switched on the light and I felt him crouch behind me, sliding the last garment down my legs. Meanwhile I looked at the room: austere, undecorated, white walls, a double bed with a mahogany headboard. And I shivered when I saw them: gleaming, cold, unmoving. Handcuffs anchored into the openings of the headboard.

His fingers fitted over my ass like claws and slid down my thighs like a feather. He kissed my hips, parted my cheeks, licked between them. I squirmed when I heard the wet sound of one of his fingers in his mouth; he coated it in saliva and slid it between my cheeks without going any further.

—Your ass isn’t virgin —he whispered, amused.

I confirmed it with a slight gesture. He stroked the hair of my pubis, so close to my sex that I felt I might faint.

—And you come to me as a woman, not shaved smooth. Your lips part before me, ready to receive me. Do you still want to continue?

He stroked my lips, barely brushing my clit, his tongue winding between my cheeks before reaching my sex. I was delirious, defenseless, offered up like a sacrifice.

—Make me yours —I panted when his tongue slid between my lips.

He stood and ordered me in a hard voice, right in my ear:

—Lie on your back on the bed.

I obeyed without a word and he handcuffed me, devouring me with his gaze. I spread my legs wide to show myself shamelessly to him. I wanted to kiss him, almost begged him with trembling lips. He took my chin and kissed me: a long, torrid, passionate kiss. When he pulled away, I moaned in distress. I surprised myself, so needy for that man.

Then he rummaged in a drawer and showed me an old instant camera. He gave me a lustful smile, asked my permission, and I nodded, offering him my nakedness. He turned off the light, I heard the flash and then an awkward silence. He moved among the darkness like a shadow. He opened a drawer again and, when the light came on, I saw him holding it out in front of him: implacable, disturbing.

—From your eyes, I gather you know what it is.

He passed it over my feet, up my legs and thighs. He traced my sex with those thin leather tongues, with an almost tender care.

—A flogger —I whispered when the strands brushed my nipples.

He nodded, pleased, and flicked it before my eyes. A spark of fear crossed my face and he noticed it.

—Take five, and you’ll understand.

Five. The handle snapped and the fringe flew over my breasts. More than pain, I felt stinging, heat, and something unknown. He let the tails graze my reddened skin before striking again, harder. The sensation was confusing: pain, heat, and a strange tingling dissolving into one. The last strike made me whimper and then purr with pleasure.

I strained against the handcuffs, more from the urge to throw my arms around his neck and beg him to make me his than to escape. My nipples were two bombs releasing an irresistible mixture of pleasure and pain. He stroked my cheek and I rubbed my face against his palm. Then he lowered his mouth to my breasts and kissed them, a cool balm over my burning skin. I moaned, feet clawing at the sheets, wrists pulling against the cuffs. My sex throbbed, demanding his arrival.

My eyes slid from his sly smile to the bulge outlined in his trousers. He suspended the flogger over my crotch and gestured with his free hand. I obeyed, parting my thighs, offering him everything.

—Five.

The first was almost a caress, a controlled jolt that made me bite my lip. The second flew down at once, along with his smile: the strands reached my cleft, the inner thighs, the edge of my ass cheeks. The third and fourth came together, flashes that trapped me in a stinging whirlpool. The fifth, when it came, was sharper but more incendiary, more pleasurable, and even convulsed his cold face.

I begged him to fuck me, to penetrate me. I fought against the handcuffs, my feet twitching, looking at him desperately. He seemed to hear me and brought his face close to my reddened sex. He inhaled loudly, breathed over it, and kissed and licked me unhurriedly, delighting in my moans. He attacked the swollen clit and then toyed with the hair, let his obedient tongue wander through my folds.

—Fuck me, please, I can’t take it anymore —I urged him, almost in tears.

Then he stripped off his trousers and underwear. He came closer with a savage grimace, gripped his cock, and dragged the head of it over my nipples while the hand holding the flogger claimed my sex.

—Oh, God —was all I managed to say, closing my eyes.

He was fucking me, yes, but not with his cock, rather with the end of the flogger, finished with a blunt ball, cold at first and then warm and vibrating. He pushed it in and out at will while he shook over my breasts. He came furiously, splashing me, and I was dragged into an orgasm so brutal it left me limp on the bed. I could feel his seed sliding over my skin and I didn’t care: I let myself be lulled by its warmth.

***

I woke the next day tucked in, my hands beneath a comfortable pillow. I opened my eyes without recognizing the place until memories rushed in when I saw him standing there in a robe, watching me. I blushed, but hid it with a smile, sitting up without worrying about the sheets slipping down.

—Toast with butter, or with ham and sliced cheese —he offered, setting a tray in the hallway. The smell woke my hunger—. I put cream on your breasts and your sex; the skin is very sensitive in those areas. Use it twice today and once again tomorrow. You can shower if you want —he added, returning to his usual indifferent tone, stripping away the warmth of before.

—You could shower with me, if you want —I offered, showing a thigh beneath the sheets.

—I’d love to make love to you under the shower, Helena, but no. I told you already: I was going to fuck you, and I did. I’m not a twenty-year-old nor a gallant seducer —he reminded me, indifferent to my invitation.

—I’ll be in the city three more days. Can I come back?

I surprised myself by saying it, by confessing the longing for him to use me again. He gave me a puzzled look.

—I’m sorry, Helena, but Camila...

—She won’t be an obstacle, I’m sure. Can you imagine the two of us...? —I offered, blushing with a suggestive tone.

My heart was pounding just from imagining myself in Camila’s arms, and that same strangeness unsettled me. Even he let the image show on his face.

—You surprise me. You’d really want, together with her...?

—Yes, sir.

The firmness of that word was enough to make him not answer and instead form an intoxicated smile.

—Would you even accept knowing we won’t be alone? An acquaintance is coming, a former college mate.

—Yes, sir.

This time my voice trembled. I had just agreed to give myself to a stranger just to get him to focus on me again, just to feel once more that pain transformed into blasphemous pleasure, so far from the romantic love I had known until then.

One day, I told myself, I would tell Marcos how I surrendered to that man’s hands, how he possessed me however he wanted for the sole promise of pleasing me in his own way, before my friend’s eyes and a stranger’s delight.

Even now Don Aurelio’s memory still disturbs and shakes me, as if I were waking from a dream. Even now pain grips me on the anniversary of his death, and I still remember how, five years later, Camila and I cried in each other’s arms over the loss of a mentor who pretended to use us when, in his own way, he loved us.