What My Teacher Taught Me When We Were Alone

That afternoon, I had the whole house to myself. My roommates had gone away for the weekend, there was no one in the other rooms, and the most desirable woman I had ever met in my twenty-two years was sitting on my sofa, ready to stay as long as necessary. For days, I had been telling myself that this was my chance, that for once the balance was tipping in my favor.

Because who wouldn’t want me? Young, barely out of adolescence, and still carrying that reputation for inexperience that people liked so much. I thought that was my power. I thought Renata, my private Literature tutor, would fall helplessly for that mixture of innocence and cheek I practiced in front of the mirror.

How naïve I was. To think I had any power over her. If Renata had asked me to throw myself into the open sea without knowing how to swim, I would have followed her in without hesitating for a second. All she had to do was look at me for the rest of the world to go dark. Why was it that, when she fixed her eyes on me, I felt as though she were the only woman who existed on earth?

We had been pretending to review for almost an hour. The notebook was still open to the same page, the notes half-finished, and between us floated that tension we already knew far too well. It wasn’t the first time. But it was the first time we were completely alone, without the risk of a key turning in the lock.

It had all started months earlier, almost by accident. My mother had hired her to prepare me for a subject I struggled with, and at first Renata had been all professionalism: punctual, proper, with a way of explaining things that made any text seem fascinating. I devoted myself to flirting for sport, certain it would never go anywhere. Until one afternoon she answered one of my provocations with a sentence that left me speechless, and I understood that the game was serious.

From then on, every lesson was a battlefield disguised as revision. A hand lingering too long while pointing out a line in the notebook. A loaded silence neither of us dared to break. I thought I was the one in charge of that push and pull, that I brought her right to the edge and left her there, wanting more. And yet I was the one counting the days until the following Tuesday.

—So, Professor —I said, drawing out the word deliberately—, some of the exam topics still aren’t clear to me. Can we continue with the lesson?

Renata looked up from the notebook. That slow smile she wore when she knew exactly what was happening.

—Of course —she replied, her voice coming out lower than usual—. I still have so many things to teach you, princess.

I didn’t wait another second. I threw myself at her mouth without mercy, as if I had been holding myself back for weeks, and the truth was that I had. It was a battle of tongues, a silent war I was determined to win. I shoved her back until her spine struck the hallway wall, held her wrists above her head, slid one knee between her legs, and began pressing it right against her pussy, feeling the heat seeping through her jeans.

I felt her wetness soaking into the seam, drenching the rough fabric against my knee. Those pants were in my way; I hated the barrier between my hand and her skin. I impatiently undid the button, yanked down the zipper, and slid my fingers beneath the elastic of her panties until I plunged them straight into her pussy.

She was soaked. Dripping. My fingers sank in without any resistance, two at first and then three, and I could feel her closing around me, the walls of her pussy squeezing my fingers with every thrust. I fucked her with my hand against the wall, moving up and down, my thumb seeking out her swollen clit and rubbing it in tight circles. Renata let her head fall back and hit the wall with a dull thud. All I could hear was the obscene sloshing of my fingers entering and leaving her, her ragged breathing, those muffled moans escaping against my neck, the trembling running through her legs every time I curled my fingers inward and sought out that rough spot that made her convulse.

—Ah… fuck… —she moaned in my ear, and the sound went through me completely—. You’re torturing me.

—And you’re enjoying it —I whispered, feeling powerful for the first time as I twisted my fingers inside her—. Aren’t you? You’re soaked; your juices are running down my wrist.

—Shut up and keep going —she panted, thrusting her hips against my hand, fucking herself on my fingers.

That was the mistake. The moment the words left my mouth, something changed in her. Her expression hardened, her brow furrowed, and her gaze became more intense, more penetrating, as if she had suddenly remembered who was really in charge of that house.

—Take them out —she ordered. I withdrew my fingers, shiny and sticky up to the knuckles—. Suck them.

I put both fingers in my mouth without taking my eyes off her, sucking all her taste from them, and Renata smiled crookedly.

—Kneel.

It wasn’t a question. It was an order, delivered with an authority that allowed no reply. Before my mind had time to process what was happening, her hand settled on my shoulder and pushed me down firmly.

I fell to my knees on the wooden floor. I looked up, and there she was, gazing down at me with that half-smile that was no longer sweet in the slightest. She gripped my forehead, finished pulling her jeans and panties down to her ankles with a kick, spread her legs, and yanked my face between her thighs.

—Stick out your tongue, princess. Show me what that little mouth is good for.

I stuck my tongue out all the way and ran it from bottom to top over her open pussy, from her entrance to her clitoris, gathering all her wetness in one long lick. She let out a deep moan and pressed my head against herself with both hands. I began sucking her hungrily: sucking on her lips, thrusting my tongue deep inside, pulling it out and licking her clitoris with quick strokes, making tight circles with the tip, and then taking it entirely into my mouth to suck it with my lips sealed around it.

I lost all sense of time and space. Nothing mattered anymore except her, her ripe-woman scent, her thick, salty taste on my palate, the way her fingers tangled in my hair to guide my rhythm. She fucked my face, literally, moving her hips against my mouth, rubbing her clitoris against my tongue. And God, how she liked it hard. There wasn’t a trace left of the patient teacher who explained metaphors to me on Tuesday afternoons.

—That’s it, very good, eat me —she murmured, her voice broken—. Put it deeper. I’d keep you on your knees all night, eating my pussy.

I pushed my tongue as deep as I could, fucking her with it, and raised one hand to put two fingers inside her while I sucked her clitoris. Renata convulsed. She clamped her hips against my face, holding me tightly by the hair, covering my nose with her pubis, and I let her do it, barely able to breathe. My knees hurt against the wood, my jaw hurt from being held open, my chin was covered in saliva and juices, and for a moment I felt used, reduced to a single function: sucking her pussy until she came. There wasn’t a trace of tenderness in the way she treated me. And yet I couldn’t imagine anywhere else I would rather be.

I didn’t understand where she got so much endurance, standing there, controlling everything, fucking my mouth as if it were a toy. I, on the other hand, was completely at her mercy, my own pussy dripping along the inside of my thigh without anyone having even touched me. But I wasn’t going to give up. Anything was better than giving her the satisfaction of asking for a truce.

I drove my fingers deeper, curled them inward in search of the exact spot, and trapped her clitoris between my lips, sucking it mercilessly. Renata let out a hoarse, almost animal sound, and I felt her legs lose their balance for an instant. Her entire body shook. A wave swept through her from head to toe; she came in my mouth with a long spasm, and I felt her pussy contract around my fingers as a hot gush ran down my chin. I swallowed as much as I could and knew I had won at least that small battle.

***

Buoyed by that small victory, I rose. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and made me feel capable of anything. Between clumsy kisses and impatient hands—she licked her own taste from my mouth, moaning against my tongue—I finished undressing her completely and took off what little I had left on. That was when everything began to spin.

I swallowed. It was the first time we had seen each other completely naked, without shadows, without half-removed clothing, without the rush to hide. And she was perfect. A drop of sweat ran down her abdomen to her pubis, still glistening, the muscles in her arms tense, her small, firm breasts, her nipples erect and dark as if they were calling to me, her thighs stained with her own release. It was heaven; I can’t think of any other way to describe it.

She watched me curiously, studying my reaction, measuring the effect she had on me. Her gaze dropped to my crotch, and she licked her lips.

—Are you all right, Camila? —she asked, and for a second she was herself again.

—I couldn’t be better —I replied, taking her hand to guide her toward the living-room sofa.

I laid her back on the cushions and climbed on top of her. I began exploring every inch of that glorious body: her neck, the curve of her shoulders, her arms, her breasts, her waist, the insides of her thighs. I kissed, sucked, and bit, and nothing seemed enough. I caught one nipple between my teeth and tugged gently until I heard her moan, then ran my tongue around the areola and took it fully into my mouth, sucking it eagerly. I went down her belly in licks, plunged my tongue into her navel, and when I reached her pubis she pushed me away by the hair.

—Not now —she panted—. Now I want to feel you against me. Come here, get on top.

I straddled her, adjusted my hips until our pussies brushed, and the sensation stole my breath. We were both soaked, and every touch made a wet, obscene sound that filled the living room. I began moving against her, slowly at first, sliding my clitoris against hers, feeling both of them swell at the same time. Then I lost patience and began rubbing myself against her without mercy, grinding my pussy against hers, searching for that exact point where pleasure became unbearable.

Renata lifted her hips to follow my rhythm, scissoring with me, and our thighs intertwined more and more tightly. At the same time, I caressed her breasts, twisted her nipples between my fingers, and put three fingers in her mouth; she sucked them without hesitation, licking them as if they were a cock, moaning around each one. When I pulled them out, I lowered them to her pussy and pushed two of them all the way inside while we kept rubbing against each other, fucking her inside at the same rhythm I fucked myself against her.

—Harder, Camila, just like that —she moaned, arching her entire body beneath my weight—. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.

We were both on the edge. The sofa creaked beneath us, the room smelled of sweat and pussy, and our moans mingled in our throats. I felt myself slipping away, as if there were nothing left that could stop me, as if the climax were rising from somewhere deep in my belly and was about to split me in two. I threw my head back, surrendering, letting the wave build.

—Look at me —Renata said then.

She sat up slightly, gripped my hips tightly, and forced me to stay still on top of her, never stopping her short, precise movements as she rubbed my clitoris against hers. Her eyes sought mine in the dimness of the living room.

—Look me in the eyes while you come, princess. I want to see your face when you come all over me.

Nothing more was needed. The orgasm struck all at once, brutal, emptying me from the inside in long spasms while I kept my gaze locked on hers, unable to look away, my mouth open and releasing moans I didn’t recognize as my own. I felt my pussy contract against hers, felt myself gush all over her pubis and thighs, and she came a second later, squeezing my hips until it hurt, coming again with a hoarse cry that rose from her chest. Both of us at the same time, soaking each other, and for an instant the world shrank to that corner of the sofa and two trembling bodies stuck together by our releases.

I collapsed, exhausted, onto her chest. I could hear her heart pounding out of control, just like mine, gradually calming at the same pace. We stayed like that, holding each other, without needing to say anything, our thighs sticky and the smell of sex hanging in the air, until sleep overcame us both.

***

I woke a while later with her arm around my waist and her head resting on my shoulder. The afternoon light slanted in through the window, painting her skin a warm color. I watched her sleep for a long while, memorizing every detail, aware that those stolen minutes were the closest I had ever felt to happiness.

Because that was the complicated part of it all. Our encounters were growing more intense, increasingly difficult to space out. What had begun as a power game, an absurd struggle to see who would dominate whom, had transformed into something I no longer knew how to name.

I had entered the game convinced that I had the advantage, that I was the one who had my teacher eating out of my hand. And there I was, naked on my sofa, finally understanding the truth: I had never been in control of anything. Every atom of my body had belonged to her since long before that afternoon.

The only detail keeping me awake was how the hell I was going to keep it secret. Not the lessons, not the exams we never actually reviewed. My feelings. How was I going to pretend, in front of everyone, that I hadn’t fallen hopelessly in love with the woman who taught me Literature on Tuesday afternoons?

Let the lesson continue, I thought as I nestled against her. Let it never end.