The Night I Spied on My Literature Teacher

My name is Iván, I’m twenty-one years old, and what I’m about to tell you happened almost three years ago. Back then I was finishing my last year of secondary school and dragging around a way of treating other people that today I’m ashamed to remember. It all started changing thanks to Mariana, the literature teacher who came in that semester to replace the regular teacher.

Mariana was one of those women who didn’t seem like she belonged in a classroom. Very pale skin, almost translucent under the fluorescent lights of the room. Her black hair, cut short at chin length, framed her face in a way that made her look fragile and tough at the same time. She had a body of soft lines: wide hips, long legs, and a round ass that showed under any pencil skirt no matter how modest it was. Her tits were small compared with everything else, but you could make them out beneath her formal blouses with an insistence I found hard to ignore, with her nipples sometimes showing when the classroom air conditioning dropped suddenly.

That woman had to call me into her office after one of my classmates told her I kept harassing him nonstop. It wasn’t hard to guess who had talked, but she never said. For almost two weeks straight, all she did was ask me to stay twenty minutes after the bell and listen to me. She didn’t scold me. She listened. She asked about my home, my friends, why I needed to feel big by humiliating other people.

We talked in her office with the door half open and a thermos of tea on the desk. I learned more in those two weeks than in six years of classes. At home things were falling apart — my father had left and my mother took it out on me because I was the one closest at hand — and my friends weren’t friends, they were competitors. Mariana was the first person in a long time who treated me like I was worth something without making me prove anything.

I fell in love with her. Simple as that. And since I was eighteen and my head was full of impulses, I decided I had to tell her.

I got her address by asking around, lying, pretending I had errands. It was winter and the street outside her building was icy. I walked forty minutes from my house with my hands in my pockets and my jaw trembling, repeating to myself that if I let the night pass I’d never have the courage again. I got as far as the gate to her front garden and stood there, looking at the lit window on the first floor. I couldn’t bring myself to ring the bell. Not even to cross the three meters separating the gate from the door. I turned around and started walking back toward the avenue, crying like an idiot.

I would have kept walking if I hadn’t seen, as I passed along the side of her house, the clothes hanging on a line behind a low wooden fence. A blouse, two pairs of stockings, and some pieces of lingerie that my mind, at that moment, decided I needed. I don’t usually masturbate with stolen things. I don’t usually steal. But that night, frozen and humiliated by my own cowardice, I convinced myself I deserved something.

I climbed the fence. The garden was small, with two flowerpots and a bare tree. I walked across the grass, stepping with the tips of my feet so I wouldn’t make a sound. I was taking down a red thong and a piece with black lace when I heard it. A moan. Low, guttural, clearly female, coming from the first-floor window.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

I started crying again, this time with another woman’s underwear in my hands, listening to the woman I was in love with moan for somebody else. I thought about leaving. I should have left. But curiosity — or something worse — pushed me toward the window. The curtain wasn’t properly closed and left a vertical strip of yellow light. I crouched down and pressed my forehead against the cold glass.

Mariana was kneeling on the floor of her bedroom. In front of her, standing and completely naked, was a man I recognized at once. Damián. A classmate of mine. The quietest, most insignificant guy in the group, the one who ate alone in the courtyard and who I’d mocked more than once. He had a soft belly, light brown skin, hair flattened by sweat.

And he had a huge cock. Enormous. The kind you only ever see in the videos I used to watch in secret, always attached to a tall, muscular man, not to an overweight classmate I gave nicknames to in class. Thick as my wrist, veins standing out along the shaft, the head swollen and purple. I stared at it with my mouth open, the glass fogging up from my breath.

Damián had one hand on Mariana’s nape and was setting the rhythm. She had his dick all the way in her mouth. Every few seconds he’d pull back a little and take it out so she could lick it clean, like an ice cream, with a devotion I’d never seen in anyone. She ran her tongue from his balls to the tip, lingered on the frenulum, wrapped her lips around it and sank back down until her nose touched his pubic mound. She gagged on purpose. Strings of saliva stretched from the corner of her mouth to her tits, which had spilled out of her unbuttoned blouse. Her pink nipples bounced with every thrust he gave her mouth. Her eyes were closed and her face was wet. She was enjoying it. Purring with his cock inside her, as if she were savoring it.

Damián grabbed her head with both hands and started fucking her mouth for real. She didn’t resist. On the contrary: she clung to his thighs and opened her throat until her uvula stopped resisting him. I watched his stomach tense, watched his balls tighten against his body. He emptied his load straight down her throat. She swallowed, swallowed, swallowed, and when he pulled out there was still semen hanging from her lips and a white thread connecting her mouth to his glans. She licked her fingers. She smiled at him, grateful.

***

I pulled out my phone without thinking. I recorded exactly four minutes. Four minutes that still make me ashamed. Then I climbed back over the fence where I had come in and walked home with my hands burning. I didn’t sleep that night. I thought about a thousand things. The most reasonable would have been to delete the video. The one I ended up choosing was another.

The next day, during the last period, I asked to speak to her alone. I told her something had happened at my house and I needed to tell her about it. She agreed, of course she agreed: that was what she’d been doing for two weeks.

We went into her office when there was almost no one left in the school. I locked the door. I lowered the blinds. I pulled my pants down. I played the video from my phone before she could understand what was happening.

—Suck me or this goes to the principal this afternoon.

The questions came out all mixed together. When, how, from which window, what I wanted to get out of it. Her voice kept breaking. She went through disbelief, rage, denial. I already had every answer ready from the night before.

—Getting you fired is the least of it —I said—. The worst part is going to be for Damián. Imagine what the universities are going to tell him when they see a boy sleeping with a teacher. I ruin his life in an hour.

I watched her anger turn to fear and fear, again, to anger. But it wasn’t the anger of an authority figure anymore. It was the anger of someone cornered.

She knelt in front of me. She took my half-erect cock between two fingers as if she were touching something dirty.

—You disappoint me so much, Iván.

She said it softly, without looking at me. She wiped away a tear with the back of her hand before taking me into her mouth. Her lips were warm, thick, soft. Her tongue circled my glans, pressed it against her palate, spoiled it with the technique of a grown woman that had nothing to do with the clumsy hands the girls my age had used on me up to then. She sank down slowly, taking every inch calmly, letting saliva drip down my shaft to my balls. She cupped them with one hand and started massaging them with her fingertips, never stopping sucking. Her mouth went up and down in a calm rhythm, almost teaching me, and every time she came up she stopped at the glans to run her tongue around it like someone licking a spoon. She went back down with her lips pressed together in a soft ring that clung to my skin. She was sucking me off as if she hated me and as if she knew exactly what she was doing at the same time. I didn’t need to close my eyes to know I was living the best and worst of the same minute.

I lasted less than I expected. I was eighteen and the woman I’d wanted for months was working my mouth into everything I had imagined a thousand times. I felt my balls tighten, the heat rising from the pit of my stomach, the tingling climbing up my spine. I was ready. Before I could warn her, one of her hands squeezed my balls hard, almost to the point of pain, and cut my orgasm off at the root. My whole body shook. A hoarse gasp escaped me, half pained, half pleading.

She took my cock out of her mouth.

—Don’t even think about finishing in here.

I slapped her forearm. She let go. What she had been holding back came out with the force of someone who’s been holding it in for hours. The first jet shot upward and hit her forehead. The next ones stained her blouse, her neck, her cheek, a heavy white stream crossing her lips and sliding into the corner of her mouth. A final spray hung from the tip of her nose and dripped onto her cleavage. She was covered in my semen and breathing with her mouth open, not daring to move.

—Fuck off, bitch.

I grabbed her hair with my free hand and brought her face back to my cock. I rubbed it over her cheek, over her lips, leaving a thick, shiny layer on top of the smeared makeup.

—You telling me to be a good person, not do harm, and all the while you’re letting the stupidest guy in the class ride you. I really liked you. Now I know what gets you hot. Getting it shoved in your mouth by someone you despise, right? Suck it. Suck it to the base.

I pushed the head between her lips again. She opened obediently, eyes closed and a tear running down through the semen on her cheek. I fucked her mouth two, three times, feeling the back of her throat tighten around the tip. Then I let her go.

I slapped her. Not hard, but a slap. I told her the video wasn’t getting deleted until she let me get inside her. She was frozen. She still wasn’t crying, but it was close. I took her by the arm, hauled her almost by force up onto the desk, lifted her pencil skirt to her waist, and slid her panties to one side. She had dense black pubic hair, different from the girls my age. The lips of her cunt were thick, wet despite everything, shining with a moisture that wasn’t the moisture of a woman who wanted it but wasn’t completely dry either. I brought the head of my cock up to her lips. Brushed against them. Ran the tip up and down her slit, feeling the heat rising from inside her. I rested the head at her entrance. Pushed just a little. Her lips opened and swallowed the first inch.

I stopped.

I don’t know why. Something inside me collapsed. Maybe it was seeing her like that, skirt bunched up, legs open on the desk where I’d sat talking to her about my mother, eyes glassy, silent, waiting. Maybe it was seeing my reflection in the glass of the framed picture on the wall. Whatever. I stopped. I pulled the tip out carefully, as if the gesture of taking it out could undo the gesture of putting it in.

Mariana started crying for real. Without yelling, without asking for anything. As if whatever she’d been holding back since I walked in had finally broken. I got off her. I pulled my pants up with clumsy hands. She stayed as I had left her, legs open, exposed, crying.

When I was about to turn the knob, I felt her hands on my arm. She hugged me from behind.

—You’re not like this, Iván. Don’t do this to me again. Not to me, not to anyone. My darling, don’t be like this.

And then I was the one who fell apart. I cried into her shoulder like I hadn’t cried since I was a kid. She was the only person in months who had cared about me and I had tried to rape her. I’m crying as I write this sentence too, now, three years later, just for having to use that word to describe what I did.

I apologized a thousand times. I handed her tissues from the box on her desk. She wiped her face and blouse and covered herself with a gray jacket. I deleted the video in front of her. I emptied the phone’s trash. I showed her the screen.

We left the office together as if nothing had happened. The school hallway was already empty. Near the end, when there were twenty meters left to the main door, she spoke to me without looking at me.

—Damián and I have been like this for two years. I’m not excluding you for any particular reason. It’s just that I have to ask him first before the three of us share anything.

—Share?

—I’m not giving up what I have for you or for anyone. The most I can offer is that you join in once. So you can try it.

—Do you share often?

—It’s been a year since we last did. But it doesn’t matter. Do you want me to ask him?

I thought about it. Being with Mariana, with her permission, with her hands and her mouth and her consent, was the paradise I didn’t dare aspire to even with the video. But Damián was part of the package. Damián, whom I’d harassed in class. Damián, with that body I still hurt to remember.

—Yes. Please.

She walked away toward her office without saying anything else to me. After three steps she turned her head just slightly.

—Don’t do what you did today again, Iván. I know you’re not like this.