I Gave My Thong to the Teacher in the Middle of Class

My name is Camila. I’m nineteen years old, I’m five foot two, and there are two things about my body that nobody overlooks: a pair of big breasts that fill out any uniform blouse and a round ass that, when I cross my legs, grabs attention without me having to make any effort. My uniform skirt was always right on that edge, neither too long nor too short, just a little loose at the waist so I could move around comfortably. What happened with Professor Bermúdez in the school library nobody ever found out, and to this day I’d never told anyone about it.

It started one Tuesday morning. I was half asleep, sat down in the third row as always, and crossed my legs out of habit. Bermúdez taught literature, a guy about thirty-five, married, with a spotless shirt and a navy-blue tie. Nothing special, but he had a deep voice that, when he read a fragment of Neruda in class, made you think things a student shouldn’t be thinking. That morning, while he was explaining some nonsense about the boom generation, I felt him looking at me more than usual. At first I thought I was imagining it. When I crossed my legs again the other way, I confirmed it: his eyes followed the movement under the desk.

I was wearing a peach-colored thong. For a few months I’d stopped wearing regular panties; I liked the feeling, it made me feel grown-up, owner of a secret nobody could see. Discovering that he could see it changed everything.

—Camila —he said from the desk, without raising his voice much—. Come here a moment.

I stood up with the most fake calm in the world. When I reached the desk, he lowered his tone even more.

—Stop distracting me, please —he told me, without taking his eyes off the notebook open in front of him.

I understood it exactly backwards. I nodded, went back to my seat, and for the next twenty minutes I crossed and uncrossed my legs with a slowness that was anything but innocent. He didn’t get up from his chair until the bell rang. When he finally stood, I saw him adjust his pants in a way that left no doubt. I laughed quietly, put my things away, and left the classroom as if nothing had happened.

***

That afternoon, locked in my room, I masturbated thinking about the way he had looked at me. I imagined his left hand moving down under the desk while his right hand took attendance. I imagined his eyes fixed on my thigh, slowly climbing, stopping where the skirt opened as I moved. I shoved my fingers between my legs in a hurry, first over the fabric and then directly on my clit, getting wet within seconds. When I finished, I was shaking and wetter than I’d been in a long time, and I already had a plan for the next day.

I chose the smallest thong in the drawer, a black lace one my cousin had given me for my last birthday. I put on the uniform skirt a finger’s width looser than usual. I got to school with my heart beating strangely, as if I were about to take an exam I had actually studied for.

He came in, said hello, took attendance. He started writing something on the board. I opened my legs a little, just enough so that if he looked toward my row, he’d see the black edge of the fabric. I looked at him. He looked at me. His eyes stayed there two seconds longer than normal.

—Camila, to the desk.

Now his voice didn’t tremble.

—If you keep playing like that —he told me very quietly when I leaned over his desk—, I’m not going to be able to hold myself back.

—Can I go to the bathroom, sir? —I answered.

He gave me permission with a gesture. In the bathroom I took off the thong, tucked it into the pocket of my sweater, pulled my skirt up another finger’s width, and went back to the classroom with my skin burning. I sat down, looked at him, and when I opened my legs there was nothing covering anything. He took half a second to realize it. He didn’t look away. I didn’t close my legs either until I smiled at him.

When class ended, before I left, he motioned for me to come over.

—What you’re carrying now, in your pocket. Lend it to me.

—It’s a gift. I can’t.

—One class. I’ll give it back next time with a surprise. I promise you.

I hesitated. Then I pulled the black thong out from under my sweater, clenched it in my fist so it wouldn’t show, and slid it onto his folder. He covered it with a sheet of paper, put it in his briefcase, and motioned for me to leave as if nothing had happened. The last kids were going out behind me without suspecting a single thing.

***

Two endless days passed. I didn’t have class with him on Thursday. Friday, though, we had a double period in the last slot. That morning, when I got dressed, my hands were shaking. I went to the school bathroom before class started and took off the thong I was wearing that day. I left it at the bottom of my backpack. I wanted to enter the classroom in the same condition I’d left on Wednesday.

He came in, set the briefcase on the desk, took attendance. When he said my name, I answered as steadily as I could. A minute later, he walked between the rows and dropped a cream-colored envelope on my desk. He kept going as if nothing had happened toward the board.

I opened the envelope under the desk. Inside was the black thong, carefully folded. I took it out for a second, covering it with my hand, and noticed that one area was stiff. The smell reached me before I even thought about it: dry, but unmistakable.

I looked up. He was writing something on the board, his back to me.

—Camila —he said without turning around—. Go to the bathroom.

I went with the envelope pressed to my chest. I slipped into the last stall. I put on the thong, pulled it up as far as I could, until the fabric was marked exactly where I wanted it marked. My wetness mixed with the other thing without resistance. I went back to the classroom with weak legs.

I sat down. I opened my legs. He raised his eyes from the book for a second, saw what I wanted him to see, and smiled. Then he told the rest of the class, in a normal tone, like someone mentioning an extra exercise:

—Camila is coming with me to the library at the end of the day. She’s a very obedient student.

Some of the girls snickered under their breath. I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh too. The rest of class passed very slowly and very fast at the same time.

***

At the time I was supposed to go, he came to get me in the other classroom. He spoke for a moment with the teacher from the last class. I gathered my things without my hands shaking, which surprised me. The other teacher told me to take everything, in case I wasn’t coming back to the classroom. How little he knew.

We walked down the hallway without speaking. The school library was on the second floor, at the back, a large room with four aisles of shelves and two oak tables. At that hour there was nobody there. Bermúdez locked the door without bothering to hide it and put his hands on my shoulders from behind.

—I want to touch everything my eyes have seen this week —he said in my ear.

—And what do I get out of it?

He gave a short, surprised laugh. He hadn’t expected me to ask that.

—I’ll give you the best grades of the semester.

—I don’t need them. I’m a good student.

He went quiet. Then he took out his wallet, counted a few bills, and set them on one of the tables.

—Do we have an understanding with this?

I looked at the amount. It was enough for what I had planned to spend that weekend, and there was money left over. I slipped it into the inner pocket of my backpack without answering. He understood that the answer was yes.

He kissed my neck first, slowly, with a patience that sent a shiver through me. He moved down along my jawline, to the corner of my mouth, and there he kissed me properly, with restrained hunger. I unbuttoned the first button of his shirt and then the second, sliding my hand under the fabric to feel his chest and the hot skin there. He brushed my hair off my shoulder and started opening my blouse button by button, unhurried, until my bra was exposed. He stared at my breasts, weighing them with his eyes, and sucked one nipple through the cup until my whole body tingled.

—Fuck —he muttered, his voice breaking—. You’re soaked.

—And you’re horny —I shot back.

He smiled, embarrassed and turned on at the same time, and led me to the aisle between the classic literature shelf and the essay shelf. From the floor he pulled out a rolled-up mat; I guessed the gym teacher used it when some student got dizzy. I didn’t ask. He unfolded it, laid me down on it, and pulled my thong aside with two fingers.

His mouth went down to my cunt like he already knew exactly where every part was. He spread my lips with his tongue, first testing, then licking from top to bottom, straight over my clit, with short, precise movements that made me arch my back right away. I grabbed his head and pressed my legs against his cheeks, trembling with every pass. He sucked me like he was genuinely hungry, tongue in, then back out, licking around the edges, holding my ass with both hands so I wouldn’t get away.

—Don’t stop —I told him, my breathing shattered.

—I’m not stopping —he answered, and shoved two fingers inside me without warning.

I moaned loudly, too loudly, and covered my mouth with my forearm so I wouldn’t blow everything up. He laughed against my pussy, satisfied, and kept alternating his tongue with his fingers until I was completely open, hot, and dripping. When I felt I was about to come, I suddenly sat up, pushed him back so he would lie down, and knelt between his knees.

—Let me see it —I told him.

I unbuckled his belt, pulled his pants down to his knees, and freed his cock with my hand. It wasn’t big or small: it was proportionate, hard, with veins standing out in a way I liked more than I expected. I stroked it from the base to the tip, feeling the wet foreskin and the agitated breathing already escaping him. Then I took it in my mouth without any preamble. He put his hand on the back of my neck and set the rhythm. Every time I took him all the way to the back of my throat, I made a sound I didn’t know I could make. He thanked me with a short moan he fought not to let out.

—Just like that, fuck —he told me, his fingers tight in my hair—. That’s how I want you to take me.

I licked the tip, my tongue flattened against the slit, then went up and down with my mouth full, smearing saliva on my chin. When I felt him get really hard, hot and throbbing, I pulled my mouth away to breathe and started working him with my hand while I licked his balls, one by one, slowly, tasting him. He asked me not to make him wait and I smiled, because I loved seeing him lose control.

He pulled me away from there with firm gentleness, turned me over, and shoved me against the mat with my face to the floor and my ass up. I felt his open hand on one cheek, heavy, before he pulled my thong all the way aside. He opened me with his fingers, checking how wet I was, and then brushed the tip of his cock against my entrance several times, as if punishing me with the wait. He entered slowly at first, pushing just a little, and when he felt I was ready, he started moving for real.

—You like the way I fuck you, huh? —he breathed, hoarse, right against my ear.

—Yes, sir —I told him, and sank my nails into his thigh.

The impact of each thrust shook me from my belly to my throat. The mat shifted under us, books trembled on the nearby shelves, and my face was buried against the fabric so I wouldn’t scream to the whole world what he was doing to me. He held me by the waist, going deeper and deeper, pulling his cock out all the way and driving back in with one hard stroke, as if he wanted to split me in two. I begged him for more, harder, deeper, and he answered with another slap on my ass, then another, until my skin was burning.

At some point the school bell rang for dismissal. I heard footsteps in the hallway downstairs, distant shouts, laughter. He didn’t stop. He yanked me upright, braced me against the edge of one of the shelves, and fucked me from the front now, holding one of my legs up in the air to get in deeper. The books vibrated every time he drove into me; one fell to the floor, and I watched it snap open without either of us moving to pick it up. He pushed his cock all the way in, jaw clenched, staring at my face as if he wanted to memorize the exact second I came apart.

—Look how you leave me —he said, his voice wrecked.

—Then fuck me better.

A brief, brutal laugh escaped him, and he gripped me harder under the buttocks. I wrapped my legs around him, squeezing, feeling him open me again with every thrust. It didn’t last much longer. He put me back on all fours on the mat, spread my ass wide with one hand, and started moving faster, wilder, breathing like a cornered animal. I felt myself speeding up too, heat climbing my back and stomach, my cunt throbbing in time with his hits. I came first, my whole body convulsing, my face buried in my own arm to muffle the sound. He let out a growl, gave two more thrusts, and pulled out in time, shooting his hot load over the lower part of my back and the top of my ass, a thick stream that left me shaking.

I stayed like that for a second, breathing, with his fingers holding my hip and semen sliding down my skin. Then I sat up, grabbed the edge of my thong, and used it to clean myself as best I could. I pulled it back on, wet as it was, and straightened my skirt. He was already buckling his belt, with red cheeks and a silly half-smile I hadn’t seen all week.

—Monday —he told me.

—We’ll see —I answered, and left the library without looking at him.

I caught up to my classmates in the courtyard when they were already walking toward the exit. I still felt open, and the thong fabric had soaked through again. I walked the fifteen minutes home with a smile nobody could wipe off my face.

As soon as I got there I locked myself in the bathroom. I took off the thong. I smelled it, tasted it, closed my eyes. Monday is still far away, but I already know what I’m going to wear.