I Followed the Class Clown to His Room

During my university years, I was, without apologizing for it, a free woman. I lived in an apartment with three roommates, far from my parents’ control, and my weekends belonged to me: bars, nightclubs, outdoor sports, and above all, the curiosity to find out what would happen next. We went out together to look after one another, not from men, but from idiots. And I have several stories from that time, but there’s one that comes back to my mind more than any other—the one that slips between my thighs every time I touch myself alone thinking about it.

I had a classmate I’ll call Bruno. He was the life of every party, the one who made everyone laugh, the one who made filthy comments to women, always in a joking tone. “If you gave me a chance, you wouldn’t be able to walk the next day,” he’d tell me, and I’d laugh and throw a napkin in his face. He wasn’t my type, not by a long shot. Tall, yes, with thick lips, enormous hands, and the little belly of a man who enjoyed his beer. But as far as being attractive went, by my standards back then, he didn’t have much going for him.

What he didn’t lack was persistence. And something else, something I hadn’t known how to read until that night.

One night we all went to a nightclub we used to frequent, La Magnolia, on Libertad Avenue. It was famous for live rock and for mixing everyone together at the same bar: foreigners passing through, people from the neighborhood, girls who had come to have fun. I liked playing pool and standing around talking to anyone. After three in the morning, when the group was already breaking up, Bruno came over to me with that same old smile.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” he said.

I burst out laughing, as I had so many other times. But that morning, I don’t know whether it was exhaustion or my own impulse always to take the risky route, I thought: I’m going to give this poor guy a chance.

“All right,” I answered. “But you behave like a gentleman.”

“I can’t promise that with you,” he whispered, sliding a hand around my waist in a way that wasn’t friendly.

We got into his old Corolla and took off. He kept spouting nonsense that made me laugh until suddenly I realized where we were headed. La Cantera. We turned onto a narrow street filled with wooden shacks and stopped in front of one of them. This is a mistake, I thought. But we were already there, and that part of me that always wanted to know what came next outweighed the fear. And something more honest: between my legs, my panties were already wet from the moment he’d whispered in my ear in the car.

***

He turned off the car and opened my door. A barely lit passageway led to a wooden staircase. At the far end, a group of men were talking and listening to music. When they saw Bruno, they greeted him and exchanged words I couldn’t make out, while I stayed pressed against his back, nerves on edge. He was my only salvation in that place.

He started up the stairs with exasperating slowness. I felt like shoving him. I felt like a fawn following its mother, with a spotlight shining on my head and making me visible for miles. We reached the top, passed two doors, and he opened the third. Voices could be heard everywhere; it seemed no one in that place ever slept.

The room was small and messy. An unmade old bed, two curtainless windows, a vanity about to collapse under the weight of all the things piled on it, and beside the bed, an enormous stereo and a television. Nothing else. I was still standing by the door, clutching my purse in both hands, dressed in white Lycra pants and a blue blouse, repeating to myself that I still had time to ask him to take me back.

“Do you want anything?” he asked as he set his keys on the nightstand.

“No,” I said, my voice trembling.

“I do,” he replied, looking me up and down as if he were already undressing me.

He approached slowly. He looked at me, caressed my face, brushed my earrings, buried his fingers in my hair, and finally kissed me. My legs went weak. Those thick lips that had so often seemed comical to me were now sucking me whole, biting my lower lip, thrusting his tongue deep into my mouth. I placed my hands on his arms, thick as tree trunks, and he pressed closer, pushing me against the wall. I felt something hard and incredibly long against my hip, an impossible bulge that made me open my eyes in the middle of the kiss. Holy shit, I thought. What does he have in there?

We kissed like that for quite a while. His huge hands held me by the hips, and I felt his belly pressing against my stomach in a way that, far from bothering me, was strangely erotic. Suddenly he pulled away, took off his T-shirt in front of me, and attacked me again. His hot body, my cheeks burning. In one quick movement he grabbed my ass and lifted me off the floor; I wrapped my legs around his back as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Between my open thighs, I felt his rigid cock fully against my pussy, separated from it by only the Lycra, and a silly moan escaped me against his mouth.

“Are you already wet, little one?” he whispered, lowering one hand between my legs to squeeze the fabric plastered against my cunt. “Oh, yes. Soaking wet.”

“Shut up,” I told him, dying of embarrassment and arousal at the same time.

“I’m not going to shut up. I’m going to do something to you tonight.”

***

He began devouring my neck slowly, following the trace of my perfume. My skin prickled. My earrings swung every time he moved his head, and I clung to his immense shoulders. I could feel how badly he wanted me: his hard cock drove into my crotch every time he moved his hips forward, rubbing against my pussy through our clothes. Then, without warning, he lowered me to the floor again, and from the way he looked at me, I knew what he wanted.

I began kissing his chest. I ran my tongue over one nipple, then the other, while I heard the sound of his belt coming undone. I moved lower toward his navel, kissing that warm skin. He took advantage of my position to caress my ass without hesitation; his hand covered almost all of it. He slipped his fingers beneath the Lycra, searching for the cleft of my ass, and pressed the tip of his thumb against the hollow without going in, merely marking me.

“Get on your knees,” he said hoarsely. “I want to see you with my cock in your mouth.”

I crouched down. His pants had already fallen, but the final frontier remained. With my heart about to leap out of my chest, I lowered the last garment. What I saw left me breathless. Everything about that man was disproportionate, and that was no exception. His cock sprang out in front of my face, huge and thick, with prominent veins and a purple head, glossy with swelling. A thread of pre-cum hung from the tip. I stared at it like an idiot, trying to figure out how I was going to fit that thing into my mouth, and especially into my pussy, without splitting myself open.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Start slowly.”

I took it between my hands, uncertain, and stroked him while he placed one hand on my head to guide me gently. I ran my tongue over the tip first, gathering that thick drop. It tasted of man, sweat, and salt. I licked him underneath, from his balls to the head, long and slowly, while looking up at him. A growl escaped him, and his hips thrust forward on their own.

“That’s it, slut, that’s it.”

I moved closer slowly. Anxiety devoured me. When at last I took him into my mouth, a current of pleasure shot through my brain. I could barely manage part of him; my tongue played over him, explored him, got lost in him. I sucked his head with my lips tight around it, creating suction, letting the air whistle as it entered, while my hand worked the shaft that wouldn’t fit. I pressed him against my cheek, kissed his sides, licked his tight balls, and put him back into my throat until I gagged and my eyes filled with tears.

“Look at me,” he asked, and I fixed my wet eyes on him while I kept sucking. “You suck so good, baby. So good.”

I braced myself against his firm legs, completely devoted to the task, drool running down my chin and my pussy throbbing like a drum, until he had to stop me, take my hands, and lift me up again.

“If you keep that up, I’ll come in your mouth. And not yet.”

He kissed me again while unbuttoning my blouse and unclasping my bra. My breasts fell against his chest, and he immediately lowered his mouth to suck them, one and then the other, biting my erect nipples until I screamed. My cinnamon skin against his dark skin formed a contrast that excited us both. He picked me up again and carried me to the bed. He pulled down my Lycra and underwear in a single tug, with no care at all, leaving me naked. I closed my legs instinctively, but he gripped my hips and dragged me toward the edge of the mattress.

“Open up,” he ordered. “Let me see that cunt.”

I obeyed, trembling. I spread my legs with my hands, showing him everything, and he licked his lips as if he were genuinely hungry.

He lowered his head and began devouring me with a fury that left me stunned. I wondered what I had that could provoke such hunger. He ran his whole tongue from my ass to my clitoris, slowly, using its full breadth, then narrowed it to a point and drove it inside me. He sucked the lips of my cunt one by one, stretched them with his teeth, and fucked me with his tongue as if it were a tiny cock. And he always returned to my clitoris, sucking it like candy, those thick lips drawing on it mercilessly.

My legs rested on his shoulders, and I gripped the sheets while a delicious orgasm rose uncontrollably through me. I moved my hips, convulsing against his mouth, and he didn’t stop. He pushed two thick fingers inside me while continuing to eat my clitoris, and with those fingers he touched a spot inside that made me see stars.

“Bruno, Bruno, I’m coming, I’m coming, oh, you son of a bitch, I’m cooooming!” I screamed, and came all over his face.

He didn’t let up. He swallowed everything, growling against my pussy, until the last spasms faded and I was left panting, legs spread and my pubic mound shining with saliva.

***

Exhausted, I let myself fall backward. He climbed onto the bed, which sank beneath our weight, and settled in front of me. I knew what was coming, and it frightened me a little. He grasped his cock and ran it over the lips of my cunt, up and down, coating himself with my juices, teasing my clitoris with its fat head.

“Ask me for it,” he said, wearing that same roguish smile as always, but now charged with something else.

“Put it in me,” I whispered, dying of embarrassment.

“Louder.”

“Put it in me, please, Bruno. Put it in me now.”

He pushed slowly, without rushing, reading every expression on my face. At first he didn’t seem to be advancing. The head alone stretched me in a way that hurt. He tried another approach: he took my legs beneath the knees and folded me nearly in half, leaving me completely exposed, my pussy spread wide open for him.

He pushed again, with steady, patient pressure, and I felt my body give way inch by inch. I breathed in gasps, gripping his arms and looking at him almost pleadingly. He knew exactly how to do it. He stopped, pulled back, and tried again. Each time he returned, he filled me a little more, until an absurd pride mingled with the pleasure: I was capable of taking him all the way. I felt his balls press against my ass and knew he was fully inside me.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he panted, holding still without pulling out, letting me feel every inch. “You’re milking me already, little one.”

“Move,” I begged. “Fuck me, please.”

When we finally found our rhythm, he began with long, deep thrusts. He pulled almost all the way out and drove back into me to the hilt, with a sharp impact that shook my whole body and made my tits bounce. Sometimes I placed my hands against his belly to restrain his force, but there was no turning back. The old bed creaked with every movement, and the friction was total, complete, overwhelming. I felt every new stroke inside me, the way he opened me, scraped my walls, the way his fat head struck bottom and tore a fresh moan from me each time.

“Tell me you like it,” he demanded, biting my neck without stopping his thrusts.

“I love it, I love your cock, don’t stop.”

“Whose cunt is this?”

“Yours, yours, you son of a bitch, yours.”

He released my legs and turned me over as if I weighed nothing. He put me on all fours on the bed, my face against the dirty mattress and my ass raised for him. I saw his enormous shadow behind me; he spat into his hand, gripped his cock, and shoved it back into me in one long, brutal thrust. I screamed into the sheets.

He began fucking me like that, doggy-style, holding my waist with both hands and driving me against him with every thrust. My buttocks slapped against his belly—smack, smack, smack!—in a rhythmic spanking that mixed with my muffled moans. He pressed his thumb, wet with my own saliva, against my ass and pushed it in there too, just the tip, and I nearly fell apart.

“Hold me, hold me,” I begged, but he had no intention of holding back.

He stretched over my back, grabbed my hair with one hand, and found my clitoris with the other beneath me. He began rubbing it while he kept fucking me with those broad hips, and I trembled like a leaf on the verge of something enormous. The orgasm split me in two. My walls clenched around his cock, sucking it, and I let go with a long howl into the bed.

“That’s it, milk my cock, take all of it,” he growled in my ear. “Now it’s my turn.”

My legs shook on their own while he kept going, stretching out that endless trembling, until he reached his limit too. He buried himself to the hilt, stayed there, and I felt his cock throb inside me, shooting hot stream after hot stream that filled me completely. He bit my shoulder to keep from shouting, and I squeezed my eyes shut, savoring the sensation of feeling myself overflowing inside. What an incredible night, I thought, still breathless, his come running down my thighs when he finally pulled out.

It wasn’t just once. We rested for a while, lying on our backs and panting, while he caressed one of my breasts with his open hand. As soon as he got hard again—and it didn’t take long; I barely felt him grow against my hip—he sought me out again with the same intensity, by then with the first light of dawn coming through the curtainless windows.

This time he had me ride him. He made me straddle his cock, and I impaled myself slowly, looking into his eyes as he pierced me. He grabbed my tits and squeezed them, pinched my nipples, and whispered filthy things in my ear while I moved on top of him, riding him with my hands braced on his chest. Then he turned me toward the wall, on my side, with one leg over his shoulder, and drove into me again until my vision blurred. He arranged me however he wanted, and I let him do everything. That man used me, and I loved letting myself be used, feeling small, feminine, and surrendered in a way I had rarely felt before. He came a second time over my tits and neck, marking me white, and I ran my finger over my skin and brought it to my mouth without taking my eyes off him.

“You’re crazy,” he said, finally laughing.

“You made me this way.”

***

At around ten on Friday morning, it was time for me to leave. Sweaty, my hair a mess, my pants misshapen, and my dignity stuffed into my purse. It didn’t even occur to me to ask to use the bathroom. I could still feel semen sliding down the inside of my thigh as I went down the stairs, and my breasts burned from all the hickeys. I felt the eyes of everyone who lived there on me, those judgmental looks that seemed to say, “Look at her, with that innocent face—who would’ve guessed?” It seemed word had spread during the night. And why not? Every one of my moans must have been audible through those wooden walls.

I walked beside him, dodging the fixed stares, until we reached the street and the morning air returned a little of my pride. We had three more encounters after that one, and each time he fucked me with the same fury: in his room, in the back seat of the Corolla, and once even against the sink in the faculty bathroom. I even started thinking about staying with him. But Bruno eventually chose paths I didn’t want to follow, and despite my advice, we each went our separate ways.

Of my entire university years, that is the dawn that returns most often to my memory. The night when the class clown, the one nobody would ever have taken seriously, showed me that curiosity and risk sometimes pay off many times over. And I, who had always been the kind of woman who preferred to find out what came next, don’t regret it for a second. Even today, whenever I pass near La Cantera, I squeeze my thighs together and remember the size of that cock filling me completely.