My Student Waited for Me in the Plaza with Everything Planned

I’ve been teaching at a high school on the north side of the city for three years, and I still haven’t gotten used to the effect produced by an ironed shirt and an ID badge hanging around my neck. Authority attracts—that much I discovered early on. Not shouted authority, but the other kind, the kind exercised with a low tone, a measured smile, and a couple of well-placed silences. For some female students, that package works like a magnet they don’t even fully understand themselves.

Renata was in my fourth-semester class. She had just turned eighteen, was slim and very fair-skinned, with brown hair almost always tied back in a loose ponytail. She had medium-sized, round breasts and a narrow back that defined her waist beneath the uniform. When she sat in the front row, she crossed her legs and her skirt rode up a couple of inches without her seeming to notice. Or maybe she did notice. I’ve been trying for a long time to tell one thing from the other and I never quite get it right.

Renata didn’t talk much in class. She raised her hand only when she was very sure, and at the end of the period she stayed just long enough to ask me some question I suspected she had made up. She looked me in the eyes for a second longer than was reasonable. Sometimes her arm brushed mine when she handed me a sheet of paper. I pretended not to notice, smiled with that neutral smile of a tired teacher, and carried on with my business.

But I kept an eye on her, too. Whenever some classmate approached her with too much confidence, I intervened with any excuse: the rules, putting the phone away, wearing the uniform properly. I did it with everyone, not just her, so no one would suspect anything. Even so, Renata noticed. I could tell by the way she looked at me when she left the classroom, with a mixture of gratitude and something else that wasn’t innocent.

One afternoon, after an exam, she stayed behind until the classroom emptied. Her eyes were red. She told me things at home were bad: a stepfather who shouted too much, a mother who didn’t dare defend her, a younger sister whom she felt obligated to protect. She spoke while looking at the floor, playing with the hem of her skirt.

“I’m thinking of leaving,” she said at last. “I have a friend who says I can sleep on his couch for a few days.”

“Bad idea,” I answered calmly. “Those things seem temporary until they stop being temporary. And sometimes you get involved with someone who promises you a way out and end up worse off than before.”

She nodded silently. Then she lifted her face and held my gaze longer than she should have.

“What about you, prof?” she asked. “Do you have bad ideas too?”

It took me a while to answer. Not because of the question, but because of the way she asked it. Her voice trembled a little, but her eyes were steady. It was a question that already had its answer in her head; she only needed to hear it from my mouth.

“Half the school has bad ideas about you, Renata. You should know that.”

“And you don’t want to make a bad decision with me?” she said, and she brought her hand to her chest without entirely disguising the gesture. She squeezed one breast over her blouse, two fingers twisting the nipple until it showed beneath the fabric. “Because I think about you every night, prof. I put my hand inside my panties and touch myself thinking about your cock. I don’t even know what it looks like, and I already make myself come imagining it.”

***

I stayed quiet for a few seconds. Then I took out my wallet, pulled out a bill, and left it on the desk between us.

“If this is going to happen,” I told her very seriously, “we’ll do it my way. I’m not giving you my number. You’re not going to message me. We won’t talk about this inside or outside the school. I leave at three. We’ll meet at four in the new plaza, the one beside the bridge. That money is for the bus, in case you need it. Today or tomorrow?”

“Today,” she answered, almost breathless. “Today, prof. I can’t wait any longer.”

“One more thing. When you arrive, you’re going to give me your phone, turned off. I’ll keep it until we’re finished. And I’m going to check that you don’t have another one. I don’t want to scare you; I just want to be sure.”

“All right,” she said, and a smile lit up her face—a smile that wasn’t the same as before. She took the bill between two fingers, tucked it into her skirt pocket, and left the classroom slowly, swaying her ass beneath the checked fabric as if she wanted me to watch.

I watched.

***

I left school and drove to a pharmacy three neighborhoods away, where no one knew me. I bought condoms, lubricant, and a box of emergency contraceptive pills, just in case. Then I went to the new plaza and parked in a distant corner, beneath a tree that cast some shade. At five past four, I saw a girl get off a city bus. Pink backpack, sleeveless purple blouse, light-gray sweatpants, white sneakers. It took me a few seconds to recognize her. Without the uniform, without the ponytail, with her hair loose over her shoulders, she looked like another person. Older. More determined.

She searched for me with her eyes for a moment, until she saw the car and her smile opened on its own. She crossed almost at a run, opened the passenger door, and climbed in without saying hello. She smelled of cheap shampoo and sweet perfume.

“You brought it turned off,” I said, more as a confirmation than a question.

She handed me the phone. It really was off. I left it in the glove compartment. Then I asked her to give me the backpack. I searched it slowly, without hurrying. Clean underwear, a charger, a cosmetic bag, a bottle of water, a toothbrush, and, folded carefully, her entire school uniform: white blouse, sweater, checked skirt.

I raised one eyebrow at her. She laughed, biting her lip.

“I’ll explain later,” she said.

I told her to spread her arms. I ran my hands over her waist, her back, the inner sides of her thighs. I moved upward slowly, squeezing the soft flesh through the sweatpants, until the edge of my hand brushed her crotch. She let out a sudden breath. I lingered there for a few seconds, pressing with two fingers through the fabric, and noticed the light gray of her pants growing damp in a dark spot the size of a coin. I wasn’t looking for a second phone—I already knew there wasn’t one. I was looking to establish who was in charge and who wasn’t. She understood the game from the first second and stopped laughing, beginning to breathe more deeply, her breasts rising and falling beneath the purple blouse. When I finished, I started the engine.

“Very cooperative,” I said without looking at her.

“I just want to get there already, prof. I’m soaking wet—you felt it, didn’t you?”

“I felt it.”

“Then drive faster, because I’m going to wear out my panties before I get out of the car.”

***

The motel I chose was twenty minutes away, on an avenue with no traffic at that hour. I asked for a room with a closed garage, paid cash, and we went upstairs by the inside staircase. As soon as I closed the door, Renata threw her backpack onto the floor, took the pharmacy bag from my hand, tossed it onto a chair, and lunged at me with one arm around my neck.

She kissed me as if she had been planning it for months, and she probably had. She thrust her tongue deep, sucked the tip of mine herself, bit my lip, and pulled it backward. I lifted her off the floor by gripping her thighs from underneath, and she locked her legs around my waist. Her pubic mound pressed against my fly, and she began rocking on top of me, seeking her clitoris through the fabric of my pants like a cat in heat. I took three steps and dropped her onto the bed. Before she could react, she was already pulling off her purple blouse. Beneath it she wore a plain bra of the same color, simple and without lace, her small, firm breasts pushing the cups upward. She kicked off her sweatpants and was left in her underwear, looking up at me with her legs slightly apart and a very light damp patch at the crotch of her white panties.

“Wait,” she said when I knelt at the edge of the bed. “I want to ask you for something.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s going to be my first time. And I want it to be with my uniform on. That’s why I brought it.”

I looked at her for a moment. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were very wide, as if she were waiting for me to say no.

“Put on the uniform,” I answered.

She jumped off the bed and dressed in front of me, slowly, without taking her eyes off me. White blouse tucked into the checked skirt, sweater open over her shoulders, socks reaching halfway up her calves. When she sat down at the edge of the mattress again, she didn’t look like a student in costume: she looked exactly like what she had been that very morning, sitting in the front row of my classroom.

“I’ve wanted this since the first day,” she told me softly while I took off my shirt. “I imagined myself with you all the time. In math class I would slip my fingers beneath the desk while watching your mouth. When you drove the other boys away, I thought it was because you had already decided I was yours. And I decided it too. All of this is yours, prof.” She opened her sweater and squeezed her breasts over her blouse. “My tits, my cunt, my ass, my mouth. Use me however you want.”

I didn’t answer her with words. I put one hand behind her neck and kissed her again, while with the other I lifted her skirt to her waist. I hooked two fingers into her white panties and pulled them down to her knees. They were soaked. I peeled them from her flesh with a wet sound, slipped them past her socks, and tossed them onto the floor. She opened herself, embarrassed and shameless at the same time, showing me a pink, hairless cunt, gleaming with wetness all the way to her thighs. I gently pushed her down so she would lie back and opened her legs even wider. I lifted her skirt to her navel to see her whole body. I began slowly, with my mouth, without touching the center yet. I went down the insides of her thighs, up the other side, and returned to the middle. I ran my flat tongue from her asshole to her clitoris, very slowly, and felt her whole body contract. Renata gripped the sheet with both hands.

I opened the lips of her cunt with two fingers and stayed there for a while, sucking her clitoris as if it were a piece of candy, alternating with long licks along the entire slit. I put in one finger first, then two, curling them upward and searching for the rough spot inside while I kept sucking her button. When I increased the intensity, she stopped holding back. She spoke aloud without realizing what she was saying, repeated my name, begged me not to stop, said, “Suck my cunt, prof, suck all of it, don’t stop, don’t stop.” I had to hold her hips to keep her in place because she kept climbing onto my face, seeking more. The school skirt wrinkled beneath my arms, the white blouse still buttoned to the neck, the white socks level with my shoulders. She came in my mouth with a long shudder, squeezing my head between her thighs and moaning with a broken voice. I felt the warm liquid run down my chin, mixed with saliva. If there was one image that would haunt me for months, it was that.

***

When she sat up, still breathing unevenly, she was the one who took control. She sat on the edge of the bed, unbuckled my belt with almost schoolgirl-like concentration, and yanked down my pants along with my boxers. My cock sprang out hard and stuck to her cheek. When she had me in front of her, she laughed softly, as if she still couldn’t quite believe it. Then she leaned closer, looked me in the eyes, and stuck out her tongue to run it all along the underside, from my balls to the tip. She began kissing the head with closed lips, giving me little pecks; then she opened her mouth and took the whole head inside. It was obvious she had no experience: she gagged the first time and pulled back with threads of saliva hanging from her chin. But she made up for it with a strange mixture of curiosity and boldness that left me breathless. She tried again, looking up at me with wet eyes, took me down to her throat, held out as long as she could, and pulled off coughing and laughing, her mouth full of saliva.

“Teach me, prof,” she said hoarsely. “Teach me how to suck it properly. I want to learn with yours first.”

I put one hand on the back of her neck, grabbed the ponytail she had made earlier that afternoon, and began setting the rhythm. I showed her how to seal her lips tightly, how to use her tongue underneath, how to move up and down without pulling off. She learned quickly. In two minutes she was sucking me all the way down, making a wet, obscene sound that bounced off the motel walls. She held my balls with her other hand, took them into her mouth one at a time, and went back to my cock. When I reached toward the pharmacy bag, she stopped me.

“No,” she said, her mouth still shining. “Buy one of those pills if you want, but no condoms. I came so we wouldn’t stop. I came to feel all of you inside me. And so you can come wherever you want.”

“Not stop until when?”

“All night. That’s why I brought clothes. I told a friend I was staying at her house. And she’ll tell my family the same thing.”

I stared at her. She had just turned eighteen, a school skirt pulled up to her waist, and a smile far too calm for the situation.

“Then here comes your bad decision,” I told her, drawing her close.

“I’m your student,” she answered. “I’m whatever you want me to be. Fuck me however you like, prof. Break me.”

I laid her down again, opened her legs, and rested the tip of my cock at the entrance to her cunt. I rubbed it up and down, wetting it with her juices, and with the first thrust I opened her by barely a finger’s breadth. A sound rose in her throat that never became a scream. She closed her eyes for a moment, opened them again, and fixed them on mine. I pushed deeper, slowly, feeling her give way inside with a burning tightness that gripped me at every inch. When I had entered her completely, she lay still, mouth open, a tear running along her temple.

“You’re broken,” I whispered in her ear. “You’re mine now.”

“I’m yours now,” she repeated.

It took her a couple of minutes to adjust to the rhythm, and when she did, she didn’t want me to slow down. I began slowly, with long thrusts all the way in, watching her face change with every stroke. She asked for more. She dug her fingers into my shoulders and hooked her heels into my back so I would go deeper. I ripped open her blouse, sending two buttons flying, lowered the cup of her bra with one hand, and bit one nipple. She grabbed her other breast entirely in one hand, squeezing it until it turned red. I licked her nipple, sucked it, nibbled it while I kept thrusting into her.

I turned her over on the bed, lifted her skirt above her waist, and put her on all fours. I pushed the back of her neck down so her breasts pressed against the mattress and her ass was raised. I spread her buttocks with both hands and drove into her from behind again, all the way to the base, with one hard thrust. Renata screamed into the pillow. I began fucking her hard, holding her hip with one hand and the back of her neck with the other, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the hilt. The checked skirt slapped against my groin with every thrust. Her ass cheeks rolled in waves each time I struck her. I spat on her asshole and ran my thumb over it in circles, without putting it in, merely pressing against it, and she let out a higher moan.

“Not there yet,” I said. “I’m saving that for later.”

“Whenever you want, prof. It’s all yours.”

Renata laughed and moaned at the same time. Every so often she turned her head to look at me with the expression that was already beginning to belong to us: half triumph, half plea. I let her go for a moment, pulled her hair backward, and made her arch her back. I slapped one cheek with an open hand, leaving a red mark against her pale skin. She cried out and squeezed her cunt around my cock, gripping it inside. I slapped the other one. She tightened again.

“Again,” she asked.

I slapped her three more times in succession, until both buttocks were burning red. Then I gripped her waist with both hands and drove into her to the bottom, pounding her without mercy. I could feel the trembling building inside her. When she came, she came screaming, biting the sheet, her cunt milking me so hard it almost dragged me over the edge.

I held out. I pulled out in time, turned her onto her back again, took myself in hand, and came all over her breasts, neck, chin, and open mouth. Thick and white, in four long spurts that stuck to her unbuttoned white blouse and wrinkled sweater. She ran two fingers over her chest, gathered it up, put them in her mouth, and sucked them while looking at me.

“Good, prof,” she said. “That’s how I imagined it would taste.”

When I finished the first time, she lay on her back, still wearing the wrinkled, stained white blouse, her skirt bunched around her waist like a belt, her cunt swollen and red between her spread legs. She breathed with her mouth open, smiling at the ceiling.

“Can we do it again in a little while?” she asked.

“Whenever you want.”

“And tomorrow too.”

“Tomorrow too,” I repeated, because by then there was no point pretending I was going to back out.

***

We ordered something to eat in the room, watched television without really watching it, and started again twice more before sunrise. The second time I sat her on top of me, her skirt still bunched at her waist, and made her ride me while looking into my eyes, my hands on her breasts and her hands on mine. She moved on her own, back and forth, learning the rhythm she liked, moaning softly each time the tip touched her inside where it needed to. She licked the sweat from my neck and whispered things in my ear that someone her age shouldn’t even have known.

The third time I lifted her onto the room’s table, facedown, her breasts flattened against the cold wood, and ate her ass first, my tongue thrusting all the way inside until I left it open and shining. I applied lubricant and inserted one finger first, then two, until she stopped complaining. When I penetrated her ass, it was difficult for the first few seconds, and then it opened around me like a glove. I grabbed her by the hair and drove into her slowly, all the way in, taking care not to tear her, while she slipped two fingers into her cunt to touch her clitoris. When I came inside her, I felt her ass contract around me, milking me to the very last drop. She lay sprawled across the table, my semen running down her thighs, laughing without any strength left.

At some point during the night, she fell asleep with her head on my chest and her fingers intertwined with mine, as if she were afraid I might leave. It took me a long time to close my eyes. I thought about Monday’s class, the hallways, and how I was going to hold her gaze in front of thirty classmates without giving myself away. I thought this couldn’t happen again, and at the same time I knew it would.

In the morning I drove her in silence to the bus stop, two neighborhoods before her house. Before getting out of the car, she leaned over, kissed the corner of my mouth, and told me softly what I already knew:

“See you Monday, prof. And I’ll be wearing my uniform underneath, just in case.”

She closed the door, and I watched her walk away with the pink backpack over her shoulder, like any other teenager returning from a friend’s house. I started the engine and drove slowly to the first traffic light, where I stared at the red without seeing it, knowing there was no turning back and that this was exactly the part I liked most.