I Went to Challenge My Grade, and My Professor Gave Me a Lesson

This is one of the many things that happened to me in my university years, and probably the one I’ve told the least. Like almost all my friends, that was the most dizzying and shameless period of my life. Many of them arrived at the dorm still virgins; I, on the other hand, had already had a few boys between my legs before I ever set foot in a classroom.

In a way, that gave me an edge. At night, when we gathered in one room or another, they all ended up bombarding me with questions. What they wanted to know most of all was what the first time had been like, in a futile attempt to clear up doubts that can only be settled with a guy in front of you.

At those get-togethers I became a sort of improvised teacher. One of the lessons they asked me for most was how to give a boy a blowjob without hurting him with your teeth. Using a prop banana, I explained that the secret was to open your mouth wide and work with your lips covering your teeth.

Most of my classmates came from small towns, and almost all of them were fairly prudish. Even so, the repression of the rural environment produced curious contradictions. Carla, for example, was technically a virgin and, however, knew more about anal sex than any of us.

At the start of every academic year we had a ritual: going through the catalogue of new professors. There were always one or two who stood out. Some were handsome, nothing more; others had a body that took your breath away. The rest were better left unmentioned.

The great monument of that year was Damián, the lecturer in Theory of Education. A man through and through: tall, lean, with that broadness of shoulder that gives away years in the gym. Under his shirt you could make out arms that looked as if they were capable of throwing a woman over their shoulder, and I swear more than one of us would have followed him to the far end of campus.

At the time, I was the typical woman just past twenty with a body that caused accidents in the hallways. Grateful for that gift, I made no secret of my legs, my navel, or my cleavage. I was studying Sports Science, so being fit was almost part of the syllabus.

Besides being popular with the boys, I was one of those students who butter up the professors. The benefits were modest: a couple of extra days to hand in a paper, half a point more. It also suited them to have complicit female students, capable of helping them manage the rest of the class the way a shepherd dog guides the flock.

Since I already had plenty of bust, I usually wore fitted blouses with balconette necklines, which is how they look best. As soon as the cold let up, I brought out the shorts and skirts that brushed up against the forbidden. I was always the first to bare my legs in spring.

That semester I piled up exams and showed up for Theory of Education having barely opened the book. I’d reviewed a third of the material, if that. The result was a 4.5, my first fail in years. What was curious was that even that grade seemed generous to me for how little I’d studied. I looked right away at when the review session was.

If I had to go and fight for half a point, I’d rather do it with the most interesting professor in the faculty than with some textbook-style chairholder. I turned up for the review wearing a loose shirt and, just before going in, I undid one extra button. Along the edge of my neckline peeked the lace of my bra, one that suited me beautifully and that, with its lift, kept my breasts firm and gathered despite their size. My skirt matched: tight, discreet only on the surface.

—Well, Elena! —he greeted me as soon as he recognized me.

—Good afternoon, Professor Damián —I replied in a respectful tone—. I’m here for the review.

—Don’t tell me you were expecting to pass —he said, surprised—. It was very weak, Elena; even I was shocked. I gave you the 4.5 to encourage you to show up in September, but what you handed in wasn’t even worth a three.

—I know, but I worked all semester —I argued—. I don’t know what happened that day. I blanked out.

—I know, and I value that. But with the papers alone, I can’t certify that you have a minimum level.

I understood that the man wasn’t going to give me anything for free, and I started getting nervous.

—I could do something else —I said, not weighing my words—. An extra paper, an oral exam, whatever.

On hearing me, Damián raised his head, eyes wide open. Then he looked me up and down, slowly, as if recalculating the whole conversation.

—What do you mean by “whatever,” young lady? —he asked, suddenly formal and wary—. Explain yourself.

He had completely misunderstood me. And no matter how I’d dressed, that had never been my intention. My only plan was to sweet-talk him, distract him the way a pickpocket distracts you to snatch your wallet. To snatch the passing grade from him, nothing more. But the damage was done: the most coveted professor on campus thought I was a slut willing to sell herself for half a point.

Angry with myself, I stood up and faced him with my hands on the desk. Damián lost that stare-down in an instant: his eyes slid toward my cleavage before he could stop them.

Then I went around the desk, trailing my fingers along the polished surface, hardly able to believe what I was about to do. One thing was flashing your underwear to close a deal. Quite another was being willing to take it off.

I rested my thigh on the edge of the desk, next to him, put a hand on his knee, and whispered to him.

—If you pass me, I’ll let you examine me this weekend.

He thought it over for a few seconds, not many. He agreed to give me a 5, but on condition: that Friday, when classes were over, he would tell me where and when, because the grade depended on me proving my “aptitudes” to him.

That was when he caught me off guard. He took my hand and slid it from his knee to his groin. I didn’t see it, but I felt it, and I understood that this man was hiding something measured on a different scale. Until then I had only slept with three boys; nothing like him.

A warm smile from him woke me from my stupor and made me pull my hand back in a hurry. I felt like an idiot. I was about to run out of that office like a little girl when, at the last moment, I turned around, lifted my skirt just enough, and showed him my ass barely covered by the fabric of my thong. He could keep that.

***

On Wednesday I ran into Damián on the stairs. When he greeted me, he told me in a low voice that on Friday at nine he would be waiting for me in an expensive restaurant on the far side of the city.

Puffed up with pride, I announced that I wasn’t going.

—I’m not your whore, handsome —I shot back without raising my voice—. You’ll have to settle for looking at my ass, just like the rest of the creeps.

Damián kept watching me as I kept going down the steps.

—Elena! —he called, raising his voice.

—What do you want? —I snapped back, ready to send him to hell.

—I’m glad you changed your mind —he said, almost admiringly—. In any case, I’ll defend your case at the Evaluation Board. You have the 5. Congratulations.

I wasn’t expecting that. Without understanding how, he had once again made me feel like a capricious little girl who broke her word so as not to face the consequences.

I clenched my fists and walked away from there briskly. I had a tremendous urge to shout at that conceited bastard that I was much more of a woman than any of my classmates, and much bolder than all the ones drooling after him.

That same morning I went back to his office. Since he wasn’t there, I sat on the bench next to the door and waited for him. When he came out of the elevator and saw me there, he froze. He made a face, studying me like someone sizing up an opponent, and then walked toward me.

—I don’t want you to pass me —I said as soon as I had him in front of me.

Damián opened the door as if he hadn’t heard me.

—Come in —he ordered firmly.

I snorted in pure anger, but I obeyed without breaking eye contact. I was wearing the same blouse as the first review, although this time the skirt wasn’t so short. It was true I’d checked myself in the bathrooms before coming up, but only because it was necessary, nothing more.

That arrogant man ran his eyes over me from head to toe without saying a word. If he thought he was going to make me lose my nerve so easily, he was very much mistaken. I would respect him as a professor, fine, but he also had to treat me decently, and that was exactly what I was going to explain to him. Before I could open my mouth, he put a finger to my lips.

—Silence —he said—. Even if you’re a good student, I’m going to have to punish you. Do you understand?

—Yes —I replied without thinking, dazed by his closeness and his gaze.

—Elena, you need to learn to behave like the woman you are, and not like a ten-year-old girl —he said—. Don’t disappoint me again.

Unable to answer, I shook my head.

—Now sit down. And close your mouth, you look stupid.

Never taking his eyes off me, my adored professor began to unbutton my shirt. My nerves made me breathe deeply, and my chest rose and fell visibly. Then he moved behind me and unclasped my bra. He hardly had to do anything: he slid the straps off with two fingers and let the garment fall under its own weight.

He slid his hands under my arms and took hold of each breast. Satisfied, he began kneading them firmly, slowly, until my nipples hardened, which I noticed when he brushed them with his fingertips.

—What lovely breasts, young lady —he admitted, a breath from my ear, raising goosebumps all over my skin—. I love them. I’m going to enjoy them very much.

There was a long silence. I was squeezing my thighs together in secret, beside myself. Unable to control myself, I took a hand back to search for his groin. He was so hard I couldn’t help imagining how brutal the punishment would be.

In a surge of impulse I wanted to turn around, bend down, and pull it out of his pants. I was dying to do it. But he didn’t let me.

—Not so fast —he scolded me—. I like that resolve, but now it’s time to show composure. Knowing how to conduct yourself, do you understand?

By then one of his hands was already under my skirt and I couldn’t stop moaning.

—Has anyone ever done it to you from behind? —he asked bluntly.

The question threw me completely off balance. He wanted to fuck me in the ass.

Some nights I’d touched myself while fantasizing that strangers came into the house and took me from both sides at once. In the fantasy, the idea turned me on like few others; in reality, I was almost ready to run when I heard him ask about my ass’s virginity.

—No —I answered with visible worry, also shaking my head.

—Don’t panic, little one. Almost all of them end up liking it —he said with a certainty that made it clear he knew what he was talking about.

It wasn’t hard to imagine the haughty professor of History of Education, with her tight skirt-suits, bent over some table by that same man.

Then he made me turn around and began lowering himself in front of me. First he traveled over my chest with his mouth, unhurriedly. Then, with the tip of his tongue, he traced little circles around my navel. At last he lifted my skirt and moved the fabric aside.

He placed a finger on my pussy and stroked it until he opened me a little, parting my lips carefully until he found the exact spot. He began to massage it gently. I felt his finger enter very slowly while he brought his mouth closer and his tongue probed the same place. He was looking up at me from below, attentive to every shiver, drawing moans from me that I could no longer hold back.

Just when he was about to finish, Damián gave one of my buttocks a sharp slap.

—Get undressed, quickly —he ordered—. You’re going to do it to me now.

Furious at being left hanging halfway, I was going to reproach him for something when I saw him lunge at me, already with everything out. He made me kneel without even giving me time to take off my clothes. I could barely open my mouth.

While one of my hands caressed him underneath, the other accompanied the movement of my lips. More composed now, he let me show off, and I gave him a blowjob you don’t forget. Right away I discovered what drove him wild and I focused on repeating it.

—What a mouth you have —he murmured—. So good, really.

Almost without realizing it, I started touching myself at the same time. My fingers were rubbing frantically and I kept running my tongue from the base to the tip. Damián went back to taking my breasts in his hands. I could feel he was at the limit, and I wasn’t far off.

One muffled moan from me was enough to break what little endurance he had left. I felt him shake, and in a few seconds he finished. I tried to hold onto his essence, but since he wouldn’t stop moving, it slipped out the side of my mouth and splashed onto my breasts. I swallowed almost all of it and wiped away the rest without thinking, because by then I was so far gone that any modesty seemed ridiculous.

***

Months later, after the final evaluation, my name appeared on the notice board with an 8.5. For how little I had studied, it was an excellent grade, but when I saw it I felt cheated.

A couple of weeks earlier, after Carla had explained in detail everything a girl needed to know about sodomy, I had gone back to Damián’s office determined to get an A.

Just as my friend had predicted, the professor bent me over the desk and, with a single stroke, put an end to my ass’s virginity. In the blink of an eye I went from intact to completely filled.

Luckily, he was patient. With caresses, kisses, and words, he gave me time to get used to the intrusion. Only when he felt my body give a little did he start moving, first back and forth calmly. He turned out to be as learned in that as he was in his subject: while he advanced without haste, he whispered all the sweet lies a woman would want to hear.

I began panting, and then he added another stimulus. His fingers returned to my pussy and that conductor led me to sing out moans I didn’t know I had in me. The rhythm of his thrusts grew in step with my cries until, in a careless moment as he pulled almost all the way out before driving back in, he slipped and struck air. I screamed twice: the first time when he came out, the second when he came back in hard and dragged me into an orgasm from another dimension, one that left me trembling like a half-closed faucet.

When I came to, still clinging to the desk because my legs wouldn’t hold me, I told him I gave in. The last thrusts had been definitive.

—I’m done too, beautiful —he announced after a slap on the ass—. What a wonder. What a body you have.

He left without warning and I felt, unable to stop it, how something was spilling out. A mix of shame and satisfaction that I still struggle to name today.

So this is my confession. I got the 8.5, yes, but sometimes I wonder whether I didn’t deserve that A. You, the ones who’ve made it this far, what do you think?