The Thong I Left in the Professor’s Briefcase

My name is Camila and I’m eighteen years old. I’m one meter fifty-two, I’m tiny, and I have bigger breasts than it looks like at first glance. I wore the uniform like almost everyone else: neither too long nor too short. The only difference was that I preferred the skirt a little loose at the waist. Not for comfort. It was so that any movement would pull it up a little more.

It all started on an ordinary Monday. I had literature class with Professor Andrade first thing in the morning. Andrade was in his thirties, with graying hair and thin-rimmed glasses he kept adjusting on the bridge of his nose whenever something distracted him. That morning he adjusted his glasses many times.

I was crossing my legs. It’s something I do without thinking when I’m bored. But that morning, while I listened to him read a passage from a book I barely even remember now, I noticed he wasn’t looking at the book. He was looking at me. More precisely: he was looking at my legs.

I’d started wearing thongs two weeks earlier instead of the cotton panties my mother put in my backpack at the start of the semester. Not for anyone. For me. Because I liked feeling grown-up. That morning I was wearing a simple black one from a drawer my cousin had given me.

—Camila —he said suddenly—, come up to the desk for a moment.

I stood up. The skirt tightened on me as I swung the backpack onto my shoulder and I pretended not to notice. When I reached the desk, he spoke softly, looking me in the eyes and never lower.

—You’re distracting your classmates. Close your legs.

He said it seriously. But his voice trembled a little at the end. I nodded, smiled like a good girl, and went back to my seat.

I crossed my legs again. And uncrossed them. And crossed them again. Until he stopped getting up from his chair, until I understood he was adjusting his pants under the desk. I’ve got him.

The bell rang and we left. He didn’t look at me when we said goodbye.

That afternoon, in my room, I touched myself thinking about him. I imagined what he would look like seeing me. I imagined what he might be doing at home thinking about me. I slid two fingers into my cunt and pulled them out wet. I smelled them. I imagined it was his mouth down there, licking me slowly, opening me wide to put his whole tongue inside me. I came biting down on my pillow.

***

The next day I was bolder. I put on a pale pink thong, almost white, that sat a little tighter against me. I came to class with my head full of plans and sat in the front row. Andrade came in, took attendance, and started explaining something about Sor Juana. I opened my legs a little. Not much. Just enough that, if he looked, he’d see.

He looked.

—Camila, to the desk.

This time he leaned forward. He spoke even more quietly.

—Don’t play games like that with me. I won’t be able to hold back later.

I played dumb.

—Professor, can I go to the bathroom?

He nodded without looking at me. I left, walked slowly to the second-floor restroom, locked myself in a stall, and pulled off my thong. I folded it and tucked it into the inner pocket of my uniform sweater. I pulled my skirt up just a finger-width higher than allowed. I went back to class.

When I sat down, I opened my legs. Slowly. Without looking at him. I heard him swallow. I smiled with my lips closed and crossed them again.

Fifteen minutes later he came over to my desk pretending to check an exercise.

—And your underwear? —he murmured without looking at me.

—I took it off, Professor.

—Give it to me.

—How?

—The one you’ve got in your bag. Give it to me.

I told him no. It was mine, it had been a gift. He offered me something in exchange: in the next class he’d give it back with a surprise. I thought about it for three seconds. I took it out carefully, folded into a tiny square, and handed it to him like I was passing a note. He put it in his briefcase without even really trying to hide it.

He went back to the front. The class went on. I kept opening my legs.

***

I had to wait two days. Two days in which I couldn’t sleep, thinking about what he was doing with my thong. Whether he’d smelled it. Whether he’d tucked it away in some drawer. Whether he’d used it to jerk off thinking about me, whether he’d come on the fabric and then cleaned it or left it with the dried stain.

On Friday I got there early. I went to the bathroom before his class, took off the panties I was wearing that day, and stuffed them in my backpack. No thong, no panties, just the skirt and air against my skin. When I got to my desk, I couldn’t sit down comfortably. I felt every movement.

Andrade came in. He found me with his eyes and held my gaze for two seconds. He began taking attendance. When he got to my name, instead of marking me and moving on, he came over to my seat. He left a white envelope on my desk, sealed with a sticker.

—This is yours —he said in a low voice—. Go to the bathroom and put it on. Now.

He said it in front of the whole class, but nobody noticed. We talked that quietly.

I left. In the bathroom I opened the envelope. My thong was there, carefully folded. It smelled like perfume and something that wasn’t perfume. Something thicker, more intimate. I brought the fabric to my nose and knew what it was. Dried semen. He had come on my thong and given it back to me like that, with the stiff stain against the cotton. I put it on anyway. I pulled it up higher than usual, adjusted it so it outlined my cunt lips, lowered my skirt back to its usual place, and returned to the classroom with my legs slightly trembling.

I sat down. Opened my legs. Andrade smiled for the first time in class.

—Camila is a very obedient student —he said to the whole group, never taking his eyes off me—. Later I’m taking her to the library to reward her with a surprise.

Some people laughed. They thought it was a joke.

***

The hour before my surprise was the longest of my life. I could barely pay attention in chemistry. I kept thinking about what I was wearing, about the smell I was carrying with me, about what was going to happen when he came for me again.

And he came. He knocked on the classroom door fifteen minutes before the bell and explained to the chemistry teacher that he needed my help in the library with an interschool project. The other teacher told me to bring my things, in case I didn’t make it back in time.

We walked down the hallway without speaking. He was a step ahead. I watched his back and the way his jacket hung a little wrinkled on one side.

The library was empty. The librarian left early on Fridays. Andrade locked the door from the inside, put his briefcase on the reading table, and came toward me. He put his hands on my shoulders, with a softness I hadn’t expected, and pressed me against the nearest bookshelf.

—I want to touch everything I’ve been seeing for two weeks —he murmured near my ear.

—And what do I get out of it? —I asked.

He smiled. He hadn’t expected me to negotiate.

—Better grades.

—I don’t need them.

He thought for a moment. He took his wallet from his inside pocket, counted out some bills, and folded them into my palm. I didn’t look at how much it was. I slipped them into my backpack, into the pocket where I keep my phone, and held his gaze.

—Done —I told him—. Pay up.

His lip trembled a little when he laughed.

***

He kissed my neck first. Slowly, as if he didn’t want to rush. One hand slipped between my legs over my skirt and started rubbing my cunt through the wet thong. I could feel his fingers pressing into the fabric, searching for my clit through the cotton, and I opened my legs wider so he could get his hand in properly. The other hand unbuttoned my blouse one button at a time, unhurried, feeling each button before letting it go. When he got to my bra he pulled it up just enough to free my tits without taking anything off. My nipples hardened in the cold air of the library. He grabbed them with both hands, squeezed them, bent down, and sucked one and then the other. He bit them just enough to make me moan, and then licked them as if asking forgiveness.

—You’ve got the tastiest tits I’ve seen in my fucking life —he told me against my skin—. I’ve been imagining them for two weeks.

He took me to the back hallway, between two tall bookshelves where no one would see us even if someone came in. He pulled out one of the mats they use in the theater workshop and spread it on the floor. He made me lie down. He knelt between my legs, lifted my skirt to my waist, and looked at my cunt, barely covered by the thong, for a second before moving it aside with one finger.

—Look at how soaked you are —he murmured.

He ran his whole tongue from bottom to top, all at once, and I jerked my hips up. He held my thighs with open hands and pressed his mouth hard against my cunt. He licked me slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, circling my clit without touching it, sucking my lips one by one, sliding his tongue into me and pulling it back out with a wet sound that made me bite my fist so I wouldn’t scream. Every time I arched my back, he pulled away for a second to look at me, his chin shining with me, and smiled before going back down.

—Professor, don’t stop, please —I begged him—. Eat me out like that, don’t stop.

He slid two fingers into me while he licked my clit. He moved them inside, searching for a spot I didn’t even know I had, and when he found it I understood why people make such a fuss about it. I dug my fingers into his hair and pressed his face harder against me. When he felt I was close, he pulled away.

—Not yet —he told me, his mouth shining—. You’re not coming yet.

I sat up, shaking. I took off his jacket. I opened his belt with my teeth, just because I knew he’d like that, and pulled his pants down to his knees. I pulled his boxer briefs down too. His cock sprang out, hard, with a red tip and a clear drop waiting on top. It wasn’t huge, but it was rock-hard and the veins stood out in a way that made me want it in my mouth immediately. I held his gaze and took the whole thing into my mouth.

He liked the way I sucked him. He told me so in a low voice while he grabbed my hair with both hands and set the pace.

—Like that, like that, suck it all, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.

Sometimes he shoved it down my throat and I had to breathe through my nose so I wouldn’t choke, my eyes watering, spit running down my chin and dripping onto my tits. Sometimes he let me take over, and I sucked him slowly, playing with my tongue on the tip, taking his balls into my mouth and letting them out again, sliding my tongue flat all the way up the shaft like it was a popsicle. He tasted like something I’d never tasted before. Salty, thick, loaded.

—Look at me while you suck me —he asked.

I raised my eyes without taking him out of my mouth. He got even harder.

He took his cock out of my mouth carefully, pulling my hair back. A thread of saliva hung from the tip of his cock to my lip. He pushed me back down onto the mat. He moved my thong aside and settled between my legs. I felt the tip brushing my wet cunt, searching for the entrance, and when he pushed in he went slowly, letting me feel every centimeter. He opened me up from the inside little by little. I took him all the way. A long moan slipped out of me when he reached the bottom.

—You’re so tight —he told me in my ear—. Holy shit, what a delicious cunt you’ve got.

I told him in his ear that he had to punish me for teasing him all week.

—I’m a very badly behaved student —I whispered—. Spank me. Fuck me hard. Tear my cunt up, Professor.

He slapped my ass. Not hard. Just enough to hear it. I moaned more than necessary and his breathing sped up. He gave me another one, firmer. My ass burned and I clenched around his cock from the inside. He huffed.

—That’s what you like, huh? Slut.

He started moving harder. He fucked me holding my waist with both hands, all the way in every time, knocking the air out of me with each thrust. The mat creaked against the floor. I dug my nails into his arms and begged for more.

***

We spent a while like that, in different positions. He bent me over the bookshelf, with my hands braced on a shelf at face height and my ass sticking up behind me. He entered me from behind and grabbed my hair, yanking my head back while he drove into me. I could see the book spines trembling with every thrust. He squeezed one breast with his other hand, kneading my nipple hard between his fingers.

—Tell me you love it —he demanded, never stopping—. Tell me you’re my fucked student.

—I’m your student, Professor —I answered, between moans—. Fuck me, I’m yours, do whatever you want with me.

He knelt me down again so I’d suck him, now with the taste of my own cunt on him. He held my head with both hands and shoved himself all the way to the back of my throat, fucking my mouth without letting me breathe much. Tears and spit ran down my face, and he kept going. Then he laid me back down on my back again, spread my legs as wide as they would go, lifted them onto his shoulders, and shoved himself into me again. In that position he went even deeper. I felt the tip pounding against something inside me that made me see stars.

At some point the dismissal bell rang somewhere far away, in another hallway, and neither of us stopped. He said things I had never heard him say in class. Pretty slut, my little slut, tasty cunt, watch me fuck you. I said things I had never heard myself say. Harder, like that, like that, don’t stop, I’m going to come, Professor, I’m coming all over your cock.

And I came. I came trembling under him, clenching his cock inside me in spasms I couldn’t control, biting his shoulder through his shirt so I wouldn’t scream. He kept fucking me while I came, stretching the orgasm until my vision blurred.

When he felt he was going to come, he pulled my thong off completely, wrapped it around his wrist like a bracelet, slipped out, and made me turn over. He jerked his cock over me twice and came with a low growl. I felt the heat on my lower back, on my ass, a warm stream falling and sliding down the cleft of my ass. He pushed the tip against one of my butt cheeks, finishing himself off against my skin. He stayed there for a moment, gripping the bookshelf, breathing like he’d just run a race.

I stayed face down on the mat, feeling all of it run over my skin. I laughed to myself. I laughed because I didn’t know what else to do with that laugh.

I wiped myself with the thong. I ran it over my back, over my ass, gathering his cum the way you collect water with a rag. I put it back on over the top, wet as it was, with his semen stuck to the fabric on the inside, against my cunt. I buttoned my blouse, fixed my skirt, ran my fingers through my hair. Andrade dressed in silence, helped me with a button that wouldn’t cooperate, kissed my forehead, and opened the library door for me.

I went out alone into the hallway. My classmates were already heading for the exit. I walked among them, wet, throbbing between my legs, hearing everything and hearing nothing. I could feel my cunt still opening and closing, my thong soaking up a fluid that belonged to both of us.

I got home and went straight to the bathroom. I pulled down my thong. I stared at it for a long while. Brought it up to my nose. Then, without thinking too much about it, I ran my tongue over it. I wanted to know what what he’d left inside me tasted like. I licked it slowly, as if it were a secret I had to learn by heart. I sucked the fabric until I got every bit of flavor out of it, my eyes closed, imagining it was him coming again in my mouth.

It tasted like something I now recognize anywhere.

I threw the thong at the bottom of the laundry basket, under the dirty clothes. I showered. I got into bed early. My mother thought I was sick and brought me tea.

The following Monday I walked into the classroom wearing another thong. Andrade looked at me a second longer than was proper when he passed by my desk. I crossed my legs. This is only just beginning.