The Class Nerd Was Waiting for Me in the Bathroom

I left Professor Linares’s office with jelly legs. It wasn’t desire. It was pure adrenaline. I had faced down the beast and stolen his lunch right in front of his own desk. I let out a muffled laugh, almost hysterical, as I leaned against the wall of the empty corridor.

The plug was still inside me, throbbing like a trophy, like a pulsing reminder that this time the control had been mine. I needed the bathroom. I needed a minute alone, to look in the mirror and recognize the woman who had just verbally humiliated the most feared teacher in the entire law faculty.

I pushed open the women’s bathroom door convinced it would be empty. It wasn’t. Standing in front of the mirror, washing her hands with exasperating calm, was Carolina. The one with the round glasses. The nerd who always sat in the front row. The same woman I had seen with her mouth open during my little scene in class.

She stopped. Our eyes met in the reflection. Her gaze wasn’t surprised. It was analytical. Too analytical for my taste.

—Marina —she said calmly, turning off the tap.

The dripping of the sink was the only sound for a few eternal seconds.

—Carolina —I replied, trying to make my voice sound firm. I failed spectacularly.

I leaned against the cold tiles, grateful for the support. She dried her hands paper towel by paper towel, with a methodical slowness that drove me crazy. Then she turned around slowly. Her glasses magnified the intensity of her scrutiny.

—Was the extra tutoring revealing? —she asked.

She used my own words. The same ones I had muttered under my breath when I closed Linares’s office door. My whole face burned.

—I don’t know what you’re talking about —I lied.

She smiled. A tiny smile, sharper than the professor’s.

—You smell like him —she said bluntly—. You smell like his cologne. And adrenaline.

She took a step closer. I tensed. Carolina stopped a meter from me, her gaze dropping very slowly down my body until it settled on the hem of my skirt.

—I saw how he looked at you in class, Marina. I saw your skirt. I saw your move. It was impressive. Masterful.

—I…

—And then I saw what bulged under his trousers —she went on, lowering her voice to a whisper—. And I saw how you looked at it. And how we all looked at you.

I swallowed. Her voice was making me more nervous than Linares’s own ever had.

—And then he called you into his office —she added—. You took a long five minutes to come out. He’s still in there. And you’re here, shaking.

I was left without arguments. All my arrogance, all my sense of control, evaporated in front of those round lenses.

—Congratulations —she whispered—. You caught the beast and left him hungry.

I looked at her, confused. Was she angry? Did she admire me? Both at once?

—It was legendary, wasn’t it? —she asked with almost academic curiosity—. His… bulge.

I nodded without thinking. My throat was dry.

—It was.

—And he didn’t fuck you.

It wasn’t a question. I shook my head.

—No.

Carolina drew in a deep breath, as if she were savoring the air in the room.

—I was horny too.

That completely threw me.

—For him?

She tilted her head.

—At first, yes. It’s undeniable. That power, that brute force. It’s like watching a train go off the tracks: you can’t look away. —She paused—. But do you know what got me much more?

I shook my head.

—You.

My heart lurched. The plug inside me seemed to move on its own.

—Watching you play, Marina. Watching you writhe in that chair. Watching you win. Watching you enjoy your own power. Watching you so fucking full…

She came so close I could smell her. She didn’t wear expensive perfume. She smelled like green tea and old library paper.

—Because I’ve noticed it too —she murmured.

—What?

—Your secret. The one you had on you before he walked into the classroom.

My eyes went wide.

—How…?

—I’m not the only one wearing one —she said.

And with a calm that froze my blood, she turned around and lifted her skirt. A long gray wool skirt, something an old professor would wear. I expected to see white cotton panties. She wasn’t wearing any. And buried between her buttocks, held in place by a thin chain that disappeared toward the front, was a plug. It wasn’t a pink heart. It was black metal, with a crescent-moon base.

The world flipped over. Carolina. The one with the round glasses. The silent nerd in the front row.

—The difference, Marina —she said, lowering her skirt and turning back to me—, is that yours is a declaration of war. Mine is for personal enjoyment.

She moved forward until our breasts almost brushed. And then, with a slowness that killed me, she went to the latch on the bathroom door and locked it. The click was a thousand times louder than the one on Linares’s office door.

—His cock is huge, yes —she said, her voice huskier, her warm breath on my cheek—. It’s an earthquake. It splits you open. It makes you scream. It’s masculine. It’s obvious.

She braced one hand on the wall beside me, trapping me gently.

—But do you know what’s better than brute force, Marina?

Her other hand, instead of going for my hip like the professor had, rested softly on my stomach, right below my navel. The heat of her palm burned through the fabric.

—Precision.

She leaned in and kissed me.

It was like being struck by lightning. There was no fury. No invasion. No pain. Her mouth was soft, but hungry. She tasted like green tea and a tanginess that tore a moan from me without asking permission. This wasn’t a conquest. It was a question.

And my body answered before my head did. My hands, which had been glued to my sides, tangled in her hair. The bun came undone with the first tug, releasing a chestnut waterfall that smelled of chamomile shampoo. My body, which had prepared itself for battle with Linares, suddenly understood that this was another war. A different war. New. Terrifying. Fucking hot.

Carolina’s intellect, combined with the secret we shared, was the most powerful aphrodisiac I had ever experienced in my life.

The kiss deepened. Her hand left my stomach and went lower. Not backward, toward the place I had offered the professor as bait. Forward. Toward my sex. My black lace panties were soaked, sticky, shamefully telling.

—He would have filled you up —she whispered against my lips, her voice vibrating inside my mouth—. He would have punished you. He would have made you scream in pain and then in pleasure. But he would have ignored this.

Her fingers, long and skillful, brushed my clit through the fabric. I let out a sharp, electric cry that bounced off the tiles. My body, which had learned to tremble from a deep, guttural place, suddenly rediscovered its first language. The clit. It was hypersensitive from the adrenaline, from the constant friction of the plug, and Carolina’s touch was too much.

—Fuck… —I gasped.

—Shut up —she said—. You played with him. Now I play with you.

And her fingers began to move. It wasn’t the rhythmic pounding I gave myself on lonely nights. They were precise circles. Expert pressure. She was a woman who knew exactly what she was doing, because she had the same map I did.

—He taught you depth, Marina —she murmured, sliding her mouth to my ear while her fingers sped up—. I’m going to teach you height.

She shoved me. Not against a desk, but against the wall of cold tiles. Her body slammed against mine, her wool skirt brushing my miniskirt.

—Open your legs.

I obeyed without thinking. Her hand slipped under my panties. The contact of her skin with mine was pure electricity.

—You’re dripping, Marina. Not for him. For you. For power. And now for me too.

Her fingers found me. Two of them. They slid in with obscene ease. I moaned against her shoulder. I was so fucking open. Linares would have penetrated me. Carolina was discovering me.

Her fingers moved slowly, scissoring inside me, while her thumb searched for my clit. The pinching motion. The world narrowed until it vanished. The bathroom stopped existing. Only her hands existed.

—Do you feel that? —she whispered—. It’s not an earthquake. It’s a fire.

And then her other hand started moving too.

It slid down my back, under my skirt. I expected her to grab my ass, to squeeze hard, to mark her territory. But no. Her fingers went down, cold and precise, and found the base of my plug. The pink crystal heart that had been with me all morning.

I froze.

—Two fronts, Marina —she whispered—. Total rebellion.

And while her thumb rubbed my clit at a maddening speed, and her two fingers kept moving inside my sex, her other hand began to turn the plug. Slowly. The cold crystal rotating inside me.

The pleasure was so intense, so confusing, so total, that I screamed. It wasn’t a moan. It was a raw scream. My body arched against the tiles.

The pleasure was no longer an earthquake or a fire. It was a fucking supernova.

The rotating plug sent deep, seismic pulses that made every nerve in my pelvis vibrate. And her thumb… her thumb was an electric drill, hammering my clit without mercy. It was an orgasm with two heads. A pleasure monster devouring me alive.

—Carolina… Carolina… I’m going to…

—Do it —she ordered—. Come for me, Marina.

And the world turned white.

My back slammed against the tiles. The cry that tore out of my throat was animal, guttural, a sound I didn’t recognize as my own. My sex clenched violently around her fingers. And at the same time, the muscles of my ass tightened, embracing the plug in long, deep, overwhelming spasms I couldn’t control.

The first wave hit me electrically, sharply, a thousand-volt shriek straight to the brain courtesy of my clit. But underneath it there was a second wave. A deep, heavy vibration, rumbling from within and shaking the foundations of my body. It was a double orgasm. Front and back. At once. In the same instant.

It was too much. It was overwhelming. It was fucking perfect.

—Fuck! —I screamed, as my legs gave out completely.

I slid down the wall, a trembling mess, and I would have ended up on the floor if she hadn’t caught me in time. I stayed there, on the bathroom floor, gasping, shaking, with hot tears streaming down my cheeks. Tears of pure pleasure.

Carolina knelt beside me, holding me up, her breathing ragged, the lenses of her glasses fogged from the heat. She looked at me, eyes shining behind the glare.

—A cock is not a plug —she said, smiling—. And precision isn’t brute force.

She pulled her fingers away, now coated with me. She looked at them without disgust. Almost with pride.

—He would have left you sore —she added—. I’ve left you undone.

She stood, adjusted her gray skirt, and held out her hand. I took it. My legs could barely hold me up.

—The game has only just really begun, Marina —she said, as she opened the latch on the door—. And now we’re both playing.

She left, leaving me alone in the bathroom, shaking, soaked, and with a new lesson seared into some part of me no book had ever touched.

The most dangerous law wasn’t in the civil code. It was behind a pair of round glasses, in the quiet girl in the front row.