My Tutor Caught Me With Her Vibrator in My Hand

I was in the last month of my thesis, and my advisor had become my point of reference. Mariela lived alone, in a spacious apartment in the north side of town, and it no longer made sense to see each other by video call when there were only a few days left before my defense. I’d go to her place in the late afternoon, she’d make me coffee, and we’d sit down to correct chapters until night fell.

She was forty-four, tall, and walked as if she were on an empty runway. Very light brown eyes, freckles on her face, and—as I had many times been able to verify, not entirely on purpose—freckles on her cleavage too. She wore blouses that would come open an extra button when she leaned over her laptop, and then I’d discover a flag of freckles running down toward a pair of large breasts, held up by lace she didn’t even bother to hide. She was gorgeous, and she knew it.

I’d been going over every day for two weeks. That afternoon, after arguing through an entire chapter about theoretical frameworks, she closed the laptop and leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed.

—Sofi, tell me something —she said, without opening her eyes—. How much do you fuck with your boyfriend?

I nearly choked on my coffee.

—What kind of question is that, prof?

—A useful one. You can tell when a woman is being properly taken care of and when she isn’t. You aren’t.

I laughed, more from nerves than anything else. I told her, speaking quickly to hide how uncomfortable I was, that between the thesis and Mateo’s night shift, my boyfriend and I ended up in bed together twice a week at best.

—Oh, sweetheart —she said, finally looking at me—. If I were a man, I wouldn’t leave you alone long enough to go to the bathroom.

She said it laughing, but the line stayed inside me all afternoon.

***

At six it started to rain. Not that fine May drizzle that ends quickly, but a heavy downpour hammering against the windows. Mariela complained about her neck. She’d spent the whole day hunched over the screen and, according to her, she could hardly turn her head anymore.

—Wait —I said—, let me give you a massage. My mom’s a physical therapist; I’ve learned a few things.

I lied about my mom’s profession. The truth was I’d been thinking for months about touching her and had never had such a clean excuse.

She told me where a menthol gel was, and I started with her shoulders. Her skin was warm and firm. When she dropped her shoulders to release the tension, her blouse opened even more, and from above I could see with no effort at all how her white breasts appeared, the pink, broad nipples marked by two children who were already studying in another city. I swallowed hard. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen something like that, but before it had only ever been a split-second glimpse. Now I had her under my hands.

—I swear you’ve got a masseuse’s hands —she said quietly—. Let’s go to the bedroom and I’ll lie down, so you can work on my whole back.

—Whatever you say, prof.

***

In the bedroom, Mariela took off her blouse before I could react. She was topless in front of me, with the slightest hint of discomfort, and let herself fall face down on the bed. I knelt beside her, the bottle of gel still in my hand, and tried to breathe normally.

—Start slow —she murmured into the pillow.

I did what I could. I worked her neck, her shoulders, her shoulder blades. Mariela made small guttural sounds every time I found a knot, and each one of those sounds was making me wetter inside. After a while she went quiet. When I slowed my hands, she was already breathing deeply. She’d fallen asleep.

I stood carefully and moved away toward the window. The rain kept falling just as hard, and my laptop was in the living room. I was going to have to wait until it stopped to go home.

That was when I saw the half-open drawer of the bedside table. Something was shining inside. I don’t know what made me pull, but I did, and the drawer slid all the way open. Inside was a plug topped with a blue stone reflecting the little light coming in through the window, a large, thick dildo in matte black, and a pale pink silicone vibrator.

I grabbed it without thinking. The vibrator was heavy, more than I’d expected. I pressed the button and the motor began to hum softly against my palm. I felt the tingling climb up my wrist and my arm. I’d never touched a toy like that. None of the boyfriends I’d had before Mateo had been the type to suggest things like that.

I looked at Mariela. She was still asleep, one arm crossed under her face and her breasts flattened against the bed. The gray light of the afternoon traced the curve of her hip and the white of her back. While I watched her, with the vibrator still running in my hand, I felt my white jeans growing damp.

I went into the bathroom with the vibrator hidden under my blouse, as if someone could see us.

***

I closed the door. Almost. Poorly, as I would later discover. I took off my denim jacket, my blouse, and slid my pants down to my ankles. I was left in my panties, a gray string thong wetter than I was willing to admit. I sat down on the toilet lid and turned the vibrator to the lowest setting.

I started over the fabric. The vibration came through muted, but it was enough. I imagined Mariela still face down, those huge breasts pressed against the mattress. I turned the vibrator up to the second setting, then the third. I pulled the thong to the side. The tip of the toy touched me directly, and I let out a sigh so loud it startled me.

I covered my mouth with my free hand. This was going to be quick. It had to be quick. I slid the tip inside a couple of centimeters, feeling the hum turn into something electric rising through my pelvis. I pushed a little farther. The first orgasm hit me almost without warning, and I gave a short, muffled moan that rang against the tiles.

I should have stopped there.

Get dressed, put the vibrator back, go back to the living room, wait for Mariela to wake up, pretend I’d been working on my notes. But inside me, something stronger than common sense was still vibrating. And I remembered the black dildo.

***

I came out of the bathroom in my underwear, barefoot, with the vibrator still warm in my hand. Mariela was breathing evenly, deeply. The drawer was still open. I took the dildo, cold, almost metallic to the touch, and went back into the bathroom. This time I still didn’t close the door properly.

I sat down again. I licked the tip of the toy as if it were a man, slowly, looking at my reflection in my advisor’s bathroom mirror. I was red, disheveled, my eyes bright. I didn’t recognize myself and, at the same time, I had never liked myself so much. I brought the dildo to the entrance of my vagina, rubbed it against my lips, pressed it inside. It was thick. I had to ease it in little by little. When I had it inside more than halfway, I picked up the vibrator again and pressed it against my clit.

After that I lost control of the sounds I was making. I shoved with my right hand and held the vibrator with my left, and every thrust tore a moan from me louder than the last. I closed my eyes. I didn’t hear her come in.

—Don’t stop —said Mariela.

I opened my eyes in shock. She was standing in the doorway, barefoot, wearing a short nightdress she must have put on at some point while I wasn’t there, her nipples outlining the thin fabric. She didn’t look angry. She didn’t look surprised. She looked like someone who had come downstairs to check on a noise and found exactly what she’d expected.

I froze. The dildo was still inside me. The vibrator was still on in my hand. I wanted to speak and nothing came out.

—Easy, Sofi —she said, stepping forward—. You were doing very well. I’ll help if you want.

***

She knelt in front of me. Up close she smelled of that menthol gel mixed with her perfume and something else, a scent of her that I had never been so close to identifying. She put one hand on my knee, then on the inside of my thigh, and gently took my fingers off the vibrator.

—Let me —she said.

She kissed me. It wasn’t a careful kiss. It was an open-mouthed, hungry kiss, her tongue sliding in right away, and while she kissed me she took her hand down to where I had the dildo halfway in and began pushing it herself. She set the rhythm. Deeper, out, in a steady motion that made me moan against her mouth.

Then she went lower. She kissed my clavicle, my breasts over the bra I hadn’t taken off, my navel. When she got to the bottom, she yanked the dildo out and replaced it with her mouth. Her tongue was wide, flat, patient. She licked me as if she had all the time in the world, and while she did it she slid two fingers in. I had both hands tangled in her hair and kept pulling without meaning to every time a wave hit me.

—Come to the bed —I said, once I got some of my voice back—. I can’t do this here anymore.

***

On the bed, she finished undressing me. She took off my thong, took off my bra, and removed her nightdress in one motion. At last I had her fully in front of me: the huge breasts with the freckles I already knew, the pink, hard nipples, the waist widening into white hips, the shaved pubis, the long legs. I felt ashamed and proud at the same time to have her like that.

—Now it’s my turn —she said.

She got on all fours on the mattress. Her nape was there for me, her round ass was there for me, everything was there for me. I ran the vibrator between her legs and left it pressed against her clit while I ran my tongue over the small of her back, over the curve of her hip, over her wet lips. Mariela started moaning differently from how I had moaned: low, rough, as if the words were forming themselves in her and not coming out.

—Harder —she asked—. Give it to me with your hand.

I slapped her ass a couple of times, first gently, then firmer, never stopping licking her. I grabbed the dildo that had been left on the bed and pressed it to her entrance. She was soaked. It went in all at once on the first push. Mariela buried her face in the pillow and let out a long moan that broke in two.

I fucked her with the dildo for a good while, on all fours, feeling her ass move against me with each thrust. When she told me she couldn’t take any more, she turned over and pulled me on top of her. We ended up chest to chest, our legs crossed, my clit against hers. She started guiding my hips with her hands.

—Like that —she said—. Like that, slowly.

We moved together. Her nipples brushed mine, the freckles on her chest blended with my skin, her mouth searched for mine without urgency. When I came, she came almost right away, both of us biting our lower lips so we wouldn’t scream any louder than we already had.

***

We stayed wrapped in each other’s arms on the bed, with the rain still falling outside, not saying anything for a long while. She ran her hand through my hair, slowly. She kissed my forehead.

—The thesis is going to come out well —she said, smiling—. But we’re not going to be able to concentrate on it anymore.

She was right. I defended my thesis two weeks later. I passed with honors, though I think part of the credit was the bedside table drawer. Mariela and I kept seeing each other, almost always on Wednesdays, after her building empties out. Sometimes I wait for her in the bathroom. Sometimes she’s the one who comes looking for me. I never used a vibrator again without thinking of that May afternoon.