My Former Student’s Confession in Uniform

What I’m about to tell you happened a long time ago, and I still get hard remembering it.

I confessed it to Mauro in a café downtown, one of those places where nobody listens to anyone and the clatter of cups covers any kind of indecency. He’d been watching my face for a while, waiting for me to finally explain the reason for my idiot grin. I’d said I wasn’t planning to tell anyone, but with my second coffee inside me and the memory squeezing my fly from within, I finally gave in.

—If I tell you, you keep your mouth shut —I warned him.

—Now you’ve got my attention —he said, leaning across the table—. Talk.

I took a deep breath before letting it out.

—I slept with a former student. Years later, when she was an adult, in case you’re thinking of making that idiot face. And it wasn’t just any fuck. It was the most disarming fucking of my life.

Mauro set his cup down on the saucer with a sharp clack.

—I don’t believe a fucking word.

—I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t been there.

It all began in the most absurd way. I’d just come out of a job in an old building, toolbox in one hand and the smell of plaster clinging to my clothes. I hadn’t taught for quite some time; after my separation, I’d left that stage behind and made a living fixing what other people broke. Installations, faucets, wires, blinds. Concrete things. Simple things. Nothing like the strange tension I’d felt for years whenever a certain student walked into the classroom and sat in front of me.

That afternoon I got on a bus that wasn’t even part of my usual route. I was tired, sweaty, and thinking about taking a shower. Then I saw her board through the front door.

It was her.

I didn’t recognize her completely at first, but by the way she looked. She had the same crooked smile, the same brazen confidence in her eyes. Only she was no longer the girl I vaguely remembered from the past, but a fully grown woman. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, she wore a tight skirt and a light blouse, and she had legs that made me forget my exhaustion completely.

She looked at me, frowned slightly, and then suddenly smiled in recognition.

—Don’t tell me you don’t remember me.

—Of course I remember you —I lied badly, because in reality I was trying to fit her adult face together with the blurred memory I had of her from years before.

She sat beside me as if years hadn’t passed. We talked about whatever came to mind: the weather, the neighborhood, my current job, how strange it was to run into each other like this. I told her I didn’t teach anymore, that I’d reinvented myself, that I lived alone. She listened with an attention far too sweet to be innocent.

Before getting off, she brushed my hand and left a folded piece of paper on my thigh.

—Call me whenever you want. I might need some help with an apartment.

I watched her get off, walk away without looking back, and disappear into the crowd. I opened the paper, and there was her name, a number, and an angled handwriting that seemed to have been written with every intention in the world.

Mauro let out a long whistle.

—And that’s when you jerked off thinking about her, I suppose.

—That night and several others —I replied—. But it took me days to call her. I thought maybe it had just been kindness or curiosity.

When I finally worked up the nerve, we talked for almost an hour. Her voice was warm, confident, playful. She told me she needed me to inspect an apartment she was thinking of renting, that a couple of outlets were malfunctioning and a tap was leaking. She gave me the address, and we arranged to meet one weekday morning.

I went intending to work and leave. I swear.

The building was new and quiet, with some apartments still vacant. She opened the door for me with a smile, dressed in pale shorts and a tight T-shirt that left little to the imagination. She wasn’t being vulgarly provocative, but the outline of her nipples beneath the fabric made it difficult to look anywhere else. She greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, closed the door, and let me in.

—Thanks for coming so quickly —she said—. I thought of calling you instead of just anyone.

—I hope you pay me better than your other contacts, at least.

—That depends on how well you work.

She delivered the line with such a calm smile that I felt a tug in my cock. Even so, I did my best to behave. I checked the kitchen, examined a switch, opened the cabinet beneath the sink. She moved behind me as if the apartment were too small for her to pass without brushing against me. An arm. Her hip. Her perfume.

At one point she leaned against the counter and asked me:

—Did you ever wonder whether I noticed?

I raised my head.

—Noticed what?

—The way you looked at me.

I went still. She held my gaze, enjoying my discomfort.

—You were an adult, and I’m an adult now —she added calmly—. You can stop pretending.

I didn’t know what to say. She smiled, turned around, and pointed down the hallway.

—I’m going to the bathroom for a minute. Don’t leave.

I heard the door close. I stood in front of the sink with a wrench in my hand and my breathing short, like an idiot on the verge of doing something stupid. A minute later, the door opened again.

When I saw her, I froze.

She was wearing a fantasy uniform imitating the style of a private academy: dark-blue pleated skirt, light button-down shirt, knee-high stockings, and shiny shoes. She didn’t look like a minor; she looked like an adult woman playing at bringing a specific image to life, fully aware of the effect. And it worked immediately. The contrast between her mature body and that performance struck me straight in the gut.

She approached slowly, with an insolent smile.

—I always wanted to know whether it was true —she murmured—. Whether I made you nervous.

—You shouldn’t be doing this.

—But you want me to.

She stood in front of me and touched my chest over my work shirt. Her fingers moved slowly down to my abdomen and stopped at the obvious tension in my trousers. I still didn’t move, torn between the kink, the guilt, and a brutal urge to grab her.

—Tell me to stop and I’ll stop —she whispered.

I didn’t.

Her mouth brushed mine first with a slowness that drove me crazy. It was a soft kiss, almost a test. When I didn’t pull away, she grabbed the back of my neck and thrust her tongue into my mouth, deep and hungry. The kiss turned dirty in two seconds. I opened my mouth, welcomed her, pressed her against me, and felt her firm breasts flatten against my torso.

The wrench fell to the floor.

—Fuck —I muttered against her mouth.

—That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.

I grabbed her by the waist and pushed her against the counter. We kissed with pent-up fury, biting lips and breathing hard. My hands traveled up her back, dropped to her ass, and squeezed eagerly over her skirt. She let out a hoarse moan and rubbed her pelvis against mine, letting me feel that she was aroused too.

I fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, undoing them too quickly. She helped me, pulling the fabric aside to reveal her tits. They were round and firm, with hard, pink nipples already taut with arousal. I lowered my head without thinking and took one into my mouth. I sucked it hard, circling it with my tongue while one hand kneaded her other breast.

—Yes... like that —she panted—. Don’t be gentle with me.

I lightly bit her nipple and she arched her back. I took the opportunity to slide a hand between her thighs. Beneath the skirt she wore a tiny thong. I yanked it aside and slipped in two fingers. She was soaked, hot, already open for me before I’d even properly touched her.

—Fuck, you’re really wet —I said.

—I’d been thinking about this since I saw you on the bus.

I pulled out my fingers, and she looked at them glistening. She sucked them one by one without taking her eyes off mine. That gesture nearly made me come in my clothes.

I turned her around and sat her on the counter. I pushed her skirt up to her waist and knelt in front of her. Her legs opened slowly, as if she knew the exact effect she was causing. I pulled her thong completely aside and saw her glistening pussy, swollen and throbbing with desire.

I didn’t speak. I put my face between her legs and licked her from bottom to top with my whole tongue.

Her reaction was immediate. She grabbed my hair, let out a loud moan, and spread her legs wider. I licked her again, slowly this time, stopping at her clitoris, sucking it and caressing it with the tip of my tongue. She tasted of arousal and clean skin. Every time I plunged my tongue into her pussy, I felt her shudder above me.

—Fuck... yes... keep going —she said, breathing unevenly—. Don’t stop, please.

I slid two fingers inside her while sucking her clitoris. They went in easily. I pumped slowly at first, then harder, curling them inside her. Her hips began moving against my mouth. She no longer moaned prettily; she panted, growled, and let out scattered, obscene, disordered words.

—You’re going to make me come... like that... just like that...

I grabbed her thighs and kept eating her pussy hungrily, without tenderness. My beard scraped her skin, my fingers went in and out soaked, and she writhed so hard she nearly knocked everything off the counter. When she came, she did it by squeezing my face between her thighs and releasing a long, broken moan that bounced off the empty apartment walls.

She lay there trembling for a few seconds. I stood and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. She looked at me as if she still hadn’t had enough.

—Now you —she said.

She climbed down from the counter and went straight for my belt. She undid my work trousers, lowered the zipper, and slipped her hand inside my boxer briefs. When she pulled out my cock, it was so hard it hurt. She held it for a moment, weighing it, smiling with a brazenness that undid me.

—I imagined it so many times —she murmured.

She spat on the tip, stroked it a couple of times, and then knelt. Seeing her like that, with her skirt pushed up, stockings taut over her thighs, and her gaze fixed on me, was one of the most brutal sights of my life. She opened her mouth and took me slowly, swallowing the tip first, then more, until her lips almost reached the base.

I swore and braced one hand against the wall.

She sucked wonderfully. Not with the ridiculous exaggeration you see in movies, but with genuine hunger. She moved her head up and down rhythmically, squeezing just enough with her lips, using her tongue along the underside, pausing to lick the head before swallowing me again. Then she went lower and sucked my balls, wet and slow, while stroking my shaft with her hand.

—Fuck... I can’t take this —I panted.

She looked up at me from below and smiled without letting go completely.

—Then hold on.

She took me into her mouth again, deeper this time. I felt the warmth of her throat, the effort of her restrained gagging, her hand holding the base while she swallowed as much of me as she could. The sight drove me crazy. I grabbed her hair, not to force her but to keep time with her rhythm. She accepted my hand on her head as if it turned her on even more.

—You’ve got a good mouth —I told her, breathing hard.

She answered by pulling off just far enough to say:

—Fuck me already.

I pulled her up by the arms and kissed her violently. She tasted of my own cock and her saliva. I turned her around, pressed her against the refrigerator, and pushed her skirt higher. She immediately spread her legs. Instinctively I searched for a condom in my toolbox, but she stopped my hand.

—I want to feel you for real.

I looked at her for barely a second. Then she grabbed my cock, rubbed it between her soaked lips, and placed it at the entrance to her pussy.

—Now —she ordered.

I thrust in all at once.

I entered her to the hilt with a sharp impact, and we both moaned. She was tight and wet, hot as if she were swallowing me whole. She dug her nails into my shoulders and threw her head back. I stayed inside her for a second, enjoying the sensation of being buried completely in her.

Then I began to thrust.

Hard and short at first, finding the rhythm. Then deeper, faster. The refrigerator vibrated with every thrust. Her white stockings stretched over her spread legs, and her skirt bunched at her waist, making her look even more provocative. She moaned my name and spat out increasingly filthy, broken phrases.

—Yes... like that... harder... don’t stop... fuck...

I grabbed one breast with one hand and her ass with the other, driving into her with my whole pelvis. The wet sound of my cock entering and leaving filled the kitchen. Each time I pulled almost all the way out, I plunged back in to the hilt, feeling her tighten around me.

—Look at me —I ordered.

She opened her eyes. They were bright, undone with arousal.

—Tell me you like it.

—I love you fucking me —she answered shamelessly—. I love your cock inside me.

That sentence aroused me even more. I pulled out for a moment and turned her around. She bent over the counter, hands braced against it and ass raised toward me. I pushed her skirt aside and took in the sight for a second: her arched back, stockings pulled high, her pussy open and wet, waiting for me again.

I slapped her ass. She shuddered.

—Again —she asked.

I slapped her again, harder, then drove my cock back in to the hilt. She screamed without holding back. I began fucking her in that position with long, dry thrusts, holding her by the hips. The sound was even more obscene. Her ass struck my pelvis, and every blow drew a different moan from her.

One hand went to her hair. I gripped it in my fist and pulled back just enough to make her raise her face.

—This is how I wanted you —I growled.

—Then fuck me however you want.

That’s what I did. I increased the pace until I stopped thinking. I drove into her hard, feeling her muscles tighten around me, watching her body tremble with every jolt. She put one hand to her pussy and began rubbing her clitoris while I kept fucking her from behind.

—I can’t hold on... I’m going to come again...

—Come.

She did, with a sudden spasm, squeezing my cock so tightly that I had to stop for a second to keep from coming too. Her orgasm left her legs weak. I took the opportunity to lower her carefully to the floor and lie her down on some packing blankets in the empty living room.

***

The light coming through the picture window outlined her entire body. She lay on her back, breathing quickly, shirt open and skirt pulled up to her waist. I knelt between her legs and entered her again, slowly this time, savoring every inch.

—You never get enough —she said, biting her lip.

—And you never get tired of asking for it.

I lifted one of her legs over my shoulder and began fucking her at a steady, deep rhythm. From there I entered differently, deeper. She grabbed her tits and squeezed them, then asked me:

—Spit on me.

I looked at her for a second to make sure I’d heard correctly. She nodded. I spat on my fingers, lowered my hand, and rubbed it around her clitoris while continuing to penetrate her. The moan she let out was almost a growl. I began moving my thumb over that spot while my cock opened and closed her with every thrust.

—Fuck... fuck... you’re killing me like this...

I leaned over and sucked one of her nipples without stopping my movements. The combination drove her wild. She scratched my back, wrapped her legs around my waist, and took me even deeper, as if she wanted to swallow me whole. Sweat glued our skin together, and the smell of sex filled the apartment.

I felt my orgasm approaching, thick and inevitable.

—I’m going to come —I warned.

—Don’t stop —she said immediately—. Don’t even think about stopping.

I gave her several more brutal, disorderly thrusts. She looked at me with her mouth open, completely lost in what she was feeling. When I knew I couldn’t hold on, I pulled out abruptly and masturbated over her. My orgasm burst in jets across her belly, pussy, raised skirt, and upper thighs. It was abundant, hot, almost violent. She lowered her gaze, watched it fall over her skin, and let out a satisfied moan.

I remained panting, hand still on my cock, while she slowly touched herself between the legs, using some of my semen as lubricant. The sight gave me one last lash of desire.

—Come here —she asked.

I lay down beside her. She kissed me, calm now, without the violence of before. Then she sat up, went to the bathroom, and returned with a damp towel. She cleaned me first, then cleaned herself with a domestic naturalness that contrasted with what we had just done.

—Don’t make that face —she said, seeing me silent.

—What face?

—The face of a man already imagining doing it again.

I couldn’t help laughing.

—I’d be an idiot if I weren’t imagining it.

She sat on the floor, crossing her legs.

—That’s precisely why I’m going to make it clear. This was a fantasy of mine. One time only. I wanted to make it real with you, not just anyone. And that’s it.

The sentence hit me like cold water and turned me on even more at the same time because of how definitive it was. She had planned it, chosen me, and was shutting the door in my face with the same calmness with which she had opened it.

—Never again? —I asked.

She shook her head with a gentle smile.

—Never again. Better this way.

We dressed in silence. I collected the tools I had barely used. Before leaving, she gave me a short kiss on the mouth, enough to leave me wanting her again.

—Thanks for coming to fix my apartment —she said, amused.

—I didn’t fix a damn thing.

—You fixed me.

She opened the door, and I left with an absurd mixture of satisfaction, emptiness, and animal pride. I went down in the elevator still smelling of sex, my hands stained with her and my head a complete mess. I never saw her alone again.

For weeks I masturbated thinking about that empty apartment, her skirt gathered at her waist, her mouth swallowing me, the sound of the refrigerator banging against the wall with every thrust. And every time I saw a fantasy uniform in a shop window, my cock hardened as if my body had a memory of its own.

I finished my coffee and looked at Mauro. He’d listened to the whole story with his elbows on the table and his jaw hanging slack.

—I told you you wouldn’t believe me.

He exhaled slowly and shook his head.

—Now I believe you. And I hate you a little too.

—You weren’t the only one.

—And there really wasn’t a second time?

—Not once. That’s why it’s still perfect.

Mauro let out an incredulous laugh, but immediately lowered his voice.

—No wonder you came in with that bastard’s grin. I swear, you left me imagining everything.

I shrugged, though inside I still felt the same dark heat of that day.

There are fucks you forget within a week. And there are others that stay lodged in your body like an invisible mark. That one wasn’t the tenderest, the most sensible, or the most repeatable. It was better. It was a confession made flesh, an old fantasy turned into a real, sweaty, obscene morning.

And I can still close my eyes and see her leaning against the refrigerator, an adult, smiling, soaked, telling me with all the confidence in the world:

—Fuck me already.