The Teacher I Went to Silence Kissed Me

She had been born in Ambato, but had lived in Quito since before she met Andrés, her husband, a devoted father to their two young children, Tomás and Renata. Despite two pregnancies in barely three years, Carolina had kept a figure her friends envied and strangers on the street looked at for longer than decency allowed. She was sweet, sometimes almost childlike, but flirtatious in just the right measure, and reserved for her husband and special occasions the only amount of sensuality she allowed herself to show.

Andrés had never felt even the shadow of jealousy. They were practicing Catholics, and his Caro was a committed member of small traditionalist associations, handing out pamphlets against abortion and giving talks on the value of the heterosexual family. Besides, things worked in bed. They had been together for nearly ten years and still laughed when they undressed. The idea of her being unfaithful seemed simply absurd to her husband.

They had booked a hotel room for the night of September twenty-second, their anniversary. They would spend the afternoon with the children, then Carolina would stop by the school for an unavoidable meeting, and at night they would meet in the room to extinguish in each other’s bodies the desire accumulated over the week. That, at least, was what Andrés had planned. The night, however, did not unfold as he would have wanted.

Carolina dressed carefully. A fitted yellow dress that ended a finger-width above her knee and revealed the firm muscles of her thighs. The neckline, generous without becoming vulgar, showed just the upper curve of her breasts. Standing before the mirror, she turned, and her silhouette drew the guitar shape her husband liked so much: a short waist, wide hips, a straight back. It was impossible to look at her and not want her.

The four of them had lunch at a restaurant downtown. Afterward, she kissed the children goodbye, winked at Andrés, and got into the car heading for the school. She was not going out of sincere interest, but out of ideological obligation: the administration had proposed including talks on gender and diversity in the year’s curriculum, and Carolina intended to make it clear, alongside other mothers on the committee, that such things had no place in her children’s school.

She entered the classroom and sat in front, demure, with a thin scarf covering her cleavage. The room smelled of old chalk and reheated coffee. She waited for the person responsible for the proposal to appear, and when she finally entered, Carolina felt a blow to her stomach. She was a tall woman with delicate features and hair dyed an electric blue that fell to her shoulders. She wore wide-legged trousers, a shirt buttoned all the way up, and worn leather boots.

She knew the woman was a feminist within five seconds. She fixed her with a cold, hateful stare and did not look away for a whole hour. While the other woman spoke—about respect, identities, and preventing harassment—Carolina examined her from head to toe. Without fully thinking about it, at some point she slowly crossed her right leg over her left, and a little later let her scarf fall onto the table, as if by accident. The two women stared at each other. The teacher spoke without stopping looking at her. In the end, Carolina exploded.

The argument was bitter. The other mothers nodded, stayed silent, or looked at their phones. When it became clear that no agreement was possible, the teacher dismissed the group and asked Carolina to stay; she preferred to finish the conversation in private. Carolina accepted with her jaw clenched and remained seated, red-faced, waiting for the room to empty.

When no one was left, the teacher—her name was Valeria—resumed the conversation in a low, almost patient voice. Carolina answered in monosyllables. The tension remained, but some of the anger had cooled. They reached no concrete conclusion. Carolina stood, put on her jacket, and left without saying goodbye.

***

There was no anniversary that night. At the hotel, Andrés waited with a bottle of wine that he ended up drinking alone. Carolina arrived late, said she had a headache, went to bed fully dressed, and fell asleep with her back to him. Or pretended to fall asleep. In reality, she spent hours going over the argument, Valeria’s words, the way she had looked at her while dismissing the group, the violent blue of her hair. Under the sheets, with Andrés snoring beside her, she slipped a hand between her legs and discovered that she was soaked. She touched her clitoris with her fingertips, barely brushing it, biting her lip so she would not moan. She came silently, thinking of that woman’s mouth, and afterward cried with rage and shame until she fell asleep, her fingers still sticky.

The following days grew worse. She could not get that woman out of her head. She hated her, she repeated to herself; she hated her with all her strength. One morning, without thinking too much about it, she called the school secretary and asked for the teacher’s private contact information. They told her they did not give out personal details, but they would leave her a message. That same afternoon, she had the number.

They began writing to each other. Valeria, in a tone Carolina could not quite decipher, suggested that they meet after classes, in an empty classroom, to review the program materials together. A sort of private seminar, she offered, so the two of them could talk “without an audience.” Carolina agreed.

Strangely enough, for that first meeting she put on a dress similar to the yellow one, but somewhat looser and a finger shorter, this time in dark red. She looked at herself in the mirror longer than necessary. She painted her lips and unbuttoned the second button. She did not want to ask herself why.

They met. Valeria spread papers across the desk, spoke calmly, cited authors, and offered reading materials. Carolina took notes and pretended to concentrate, feeling her heart in her throat. Before saying goodbye, the teacher remarked, almost apropos of nothing, that the dress looked beautiful on her. Just that. A compliment. Carolina felt her face burning all the way to her ears.

A few days later, she wrote asking for another class. She did not quite understand some of the concepts, she lied. Valeria agreed: same time, same classroom. It was Thursday, and she had plans with Andrés. She canceled them without explanation. This time she wore blue, a tight dress that showed everything. Valeria did not hold back that afternoon: she told her she had legs that were distracting, and that it was a shame she hid them beneath those matronly skirts.

The weeks passed. The classes multiplied. They saw each other two or three times a week. They talked about theory, politics, each woman’s childhood, Valeria’s failed marriages, Carolina’s dull boredom. Sometimes, without either of them pointing it out, their hands brushed on the table and neither pulled away.

***

One Sunday afternoon, Carolina wrote first. She was alone at home—the children were with their grandparents, Andrés at a work meeting—and asked Valeria if they could see each other that very day. The teacher replied a minute later with the address of her apartment.

Carolina put on the red dress from the first time. But this time, underneath it, she chose a very thin thong, almost nonexistent. She covered everything with a long coat, looked at herself in the mirror, refused to think about what she was doing, and left before she could change her mind.

Valeria’s apartment was in an old building downtown, full of plants, books, and records. It smelled of sandalwood and coffee. They talked on the sofa for a long hour, in low voices, almost whispers. Valeria, bolder than ever, stroked her hand, then her forearm, then her knee. Whenever she said something, her eyes dropped for a second to Carolina’s mouth before rising again.

At last, Carolina stood and suggested they rest for a while. Valeria settled onto the sofa. Carolina went to the bathroom, stared at herself in the mirror for a long time, and wet the back of her neck with cold water. When she came out, she found the other woman stretched out, waiting for her. She held her gaze, loosened her coat, let it fall to the floor, and hitched her dress a little higher over her hips.

Valeria understood. She stood and approached with a sudden movement, held Carolina’s chin in her hand, and kissed her. She kissed her as if she had been thinking about it for weeks. Perhaps she had. She thrust her tongue deep inside without asking, and Carolina sucked it as if it were the only mouth she had ever kissed in her life.

“Catholic slut,” Valeria whispered against her lips, biting them. “You come to my house with your pussy already wet, don’t you?”

Carolina nodded, trembling. Valeria pulled her dress up to her waist in a single tug, squeezed her bare buttocks with both hands, and thrust her tongue into her mouth again. With her fingers, she moved the thong aside and touched her from behind, sliding between her buttocks until she reached the soaked pussy. She gave a small laugh against her mouth.

“Did you put this on for me? You’re dripping, Caro. Really dripping.”

Carolina nodded without speaking. She opened her legs wider right there, standing, and Valeria drove two fingers into her. The entrance yielded without resistance. Carolina hung from her shoulders and released a long, animal moan she had never before let out with Andrés. Valeria fucked her pussy with her fingers while her thumb pressed her clitoris in slow circles, and Carolina felt her knees give way.

“Look at me,” Valeria ordered. “Look at me while I put it inside you.”

Carolina looked at her. Her eyes were wet, her mouth open, her lips swollen. Valeria pulled out her glistening fingers, brought them to her mouth, and sucked them slowly without taking her eyes off her.

“You taste like a female in heat. That’s what you taste like, Caro.”

She tore the dress over her head. Her breasts were exposed at once, two firm tits with dark, erect nipples trembling with her breathing. Valeria crouched down and kissed them slowly, bit them gently, and licked them until she was trembling. She tugged at Carolina’s nipples with her teeth and sucked them whole, noisily, as if they contained milk. Carolina barely recognized herself. She was a new woman, frightened and happy, hearing herself moan from far away.

“Kneel,” Valeria said in a voice that allowed no answer.

Carolina let herself drop to her knees on the rug. Valeria opened her trousers, pulled them down along with her underwear, and stood before her with her legs apart. Her pubis was shaved, her lips thick and glistening, her entire pussy open and pulsing at Carolina’s face.

“Suck me,” she ordered, grabbing her by the hair. “Show me what a family woman knows how to do.”

Carolina, who had never kissed another woman before that day, stuck out her tongue and buried it between those lips. The first lick was timid, the second less so, and the third was not timid at all. The taste drove her crazy. She began sucking Valeria’s clitoris with genuine hunger, taking it fully into her mouth, licking her from the entrance to the top in long strokes. Valeria threw her head back and moaned, never releasing her hair, setting the rhythm.

“That’s it, slut, that’s it… take it all… put it inside…”

Carolina plunged her tongue into the entrance as deeply as she could. She felt moisture run down her chin and neck. Valeria began moving her head against her pubis, riding her face, and Carolina let her do it. When the older woman came, it was with a long spasm that pressed her knees against Carolina’s ears and filled her mouth with warm, salty liquid, which she swallowed whole without asking.

They moved to the bedroom. Carolina’s phone vibrated a couple of times on the nightstand—probably Andrés—and she threw it onto the floor without looking. Valeria laid her down carefully and kissed her neck, her belly, her hipbone, the insides of her thighs. She shoved her legs open and settled between them.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” she said, breathing over the soaked pussy. “About eating you until you cry.”

When she lowered her head between Carolina’s legs and her tongue sank into the place where no one had ever sought her like that, Carolina covered her mouth with both hands to keep from screaming. Valeria ate her patiently and viciously. She circled her clitoris with the tip of her tongue, sucked it between her lips, slid two fingers inside her, and curled them inward, searching for the spot Andrés had never found. Carolina raised her hips against that mouth without being able to control herself, squeezed her legs around Valeria’s head, and tugged at her own nipples. She came screaming, the first time for real in her life, and kept coming a second and a third time while Valeria did not let her go.

“I’ve been dreaming about this for months,” she said when she could speak, her voice broken and her cheeks damp.

Valeria smiled and stood. She opened a low drawer in the dresser and took out a harness with a thick, black dildo marked with veins. She fastened it with the natural ease of someone who had done it many times. Carolina stared at the artificial cock hanging between her legs, and her mouth watered. Without being asked, she settled facedown, her ass raised, her face buried in the pillow.

“Good girl,” Valeria said behind her. “Look at that ass raised like a bitch. Your husband doesn’t do this, does he?”

“No,” Carolina murmured against the pillow.

“No what?”

“He doesn’t fuck me like this.”

“Say it properly.”

“Andrés doesn’t fuck me like this. Nobody fucks me like this.”

Valeria ran the head of the cock over the lips of her pussy, back and forth, wetting her. Then she placed it at the entrance and pushed in slowly. Carolina felt herself stretching and moaned long, biting the sheet. She penetrated her slowly at first, all the way to the end, and stayed there for a moment, letting her feel every inch. Then she began to move. Slowly at first, then hard. Again and again. She gripped Carolina’s hips with both hands and pulled her backward with every thrust, driving it into her up to the invisible balls of the harness.

Their hips collided with a dull, wet sound, the sheets wrinkled, and the headboard struck the wall twice. Valeria smacked her ass sharply, then again, and Carolina let out a howl that startled even her.

“More,” she begged. “Harder, please.”

“Harder, Catholic committee lady? Like this, slut? Is this how you like having it put inside you?”

“Like that… like that… don’t stop…”

Valeria leaned over her back, gripped one breast with one hand, brought the other to her clitoris, and, without stopping her thrusts, whispered in her ear all the things she had kept silent about for weeks: that she was going to make her hers, that she was going to leave her without a husband, that this pussy now belonged to her. Carolina heard her own voice asking for more, saying yes to everything, promising anything as long as Valeria did not stop. She came with the cock inside her, squeezing it with spasms that could be felt even through the harness. Andrés had never taken her like that. Not even close.

Then it was her turn to roll onto her back, spread her legs, and pull Valeria on top of her. She wanted to look into her eyes. Valeria put it inside her again face-to-face, slowly, and kept fucking her that way, watching her while kissing her mouth. Carolina wrapped her legs around Valeria’s waist, dug her heels into her ass, and kissed her desperately whenever she managed to catch her mouth.

“Tell me you’re mine,” Valeria panted against her lips, moving inside her.

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours…”

They came almost at the same time, Valeria from the rubbing of the harness base against her own clitoris, Carolina shattered by pleasure for the fourth or fifth time. They finished soaked, embracing, laughing softly like teenagers. Valeria took off the harness and let it fall to the floor, and Carolina curled up against her breast, still trembling, her pussy pulsing and dripping down her thigh. They fell asleep like that, one on top of the other, until the chill of dawn woke them and they began sucking each other again, this time calmly, face against pussy, until the sun came up.

***

During the following weeks, Carolina was barely ever home. Her “friendship” with Valeria—as she called it in front of Andrés—occupied every afternoon and many nights. They fucked with an urgency Carolina had never allowed herself. Her way of dressing changed. So did her opinions. She stopped attending committee meetings and began wearing wide-legged trousers, shirts left partly unbuttoned, and canvas sneakers.

Andrés took longer than was reasonable to suspect anything. When he did, it was too late. One ordinary night, without a scene, Carolina left two packed suitcases by the door, explained what was necessary, kissed the sleeping children, and went to live with Valeria. She never set foot in a Catholic meeting again. Months later, the children visited her on weekends in the apartment full of plants, books, and records, and learned to call Vale the blue-haired woman who lived with their mother.