My ex came looking for me and three students filmed everything

The truth is, I still don’t fully understand what happened. What do you mean, it was over? I never saw that coming. I never imagined you could want someone more than me, even if it was in a different way. Sometimes cheating isn’t about skin: it’s about time, about glances that no longer look for yours. And that’s how it was.

After that, you stopped talking to me. I didn’t want to push either, out of pride, but I missed you the way you miss a habit. I felt alone in that apartment that was far too big. Thank God my friends dragged me out, and work filled up the hours. I taught at the university three afternoons a week, and that kept me from thinking.

And then, once again, there you were.

You knew it was wrong. I suppose rumors had reached you. The thing is, on a Tuesday you picked me up when I left class, as if we had never broken up, as if your girlfriend didn’t exist. Since you’d been with her, I hadn’t expected anything from you. But that day was different from the very first second.

—Get in —you said, simply, with the car double-parked.

I didn’t ask where we were going. I rode with you in silence to an area of campus I didn’t even know: an interior courtyard behind the old Letters building, where classes were already over and only brick walls remained, plus an orange light slanting in from the side. You turned off the engine. You looked at me that way that always undid me.

You shoved me against the wall before I could say anything. And you kissed me. One of those kisses that have been stored up for months, with rage and desire packed into the same gesture. I felt your hands slide up my waist and I knew I was already lost, that I was going to let you do anything just so I wouldn’t feel alone that night.

Your phone rang. It was her; I knew it by the way you clenched your jaw. You silenced it without looking and came back to my mouth.

Let her wait.

That day I was wearing a dress, a short one, the kind you hated me wearing to teach in. You knelt in front of me. You lifted the fabric with both hands and came between my legs with that slowness you know by heart. I leaned my head back against the cold brick and closed my eyes.

***

When I opened them again, I saw them.

Three boys, students from the upper years, standing a few meters away under the porch. University students, all of them adults, people who in another context would have called me “professor” with their heads bowed. Now they were looking at me, mouths slightly open, not moving, as if they were afraid the spell would break if they breathed.

I was turned on and uncomfortable in equal measure. I whispered it to you, nervously, trying to pull my dress down.

—No —you said without lifting your head—. Shut up and enjoy it.

One of them took out his phone. I saw the red little light of the camera come on and something in my chest sped up in a new way. I should have covered myself, should have run. Instead I stayed still, let my shoulders fall against the wall, and started making the filthiest faces I knew how to make, the ones only you had seen up to that point.

You wouldn’t let me finish. You took me to the edge and stopped, over and over, until my head spun. I understood that this was the game, that you wanted the anger to build up inside my body. I decided it was my turn to take control.

And then she came over.

***

A girl from the group I hadn’t seen, with short hair and a determined look. She slid her jeans down without shame and leaned against the wall beside me, offering herself, looking at you the way someone asks permission from the one in charge.

—Eat her out —you ordered me.

How much of all that was okay? I didn’t even think about it. I was already too heated, too far from myself. I knelt in front of her while the other two kept filming, and you, suddenly generous, gestured for them to come closer.

They unbuttoned their pants. They started touching themselves while they watched me pleasure the girl, the two of them silent, focused. She writhed against my mouth until I felt her trembling. When she came, I lifted her by tugging on her short hair and shoved her toward them.

—Now you —I told her—. Them.

I put her on her knees in front of her classmates and kept her occupied. Because I wanted you for myself, only for myself, even if it was only for one stolen minute.

You traced my mouth with your fingers, slowly, and I took them the way you know I like. Wet, deep, without taking my eyes off yours. The whole situation was a bomb: the open courtyard, the danger of someone showing up, the two cameras moving around among us. Every distant noise tightened my stomach with pure adrenaline.

My students called for you. They wanted me, they made that clear in whispers. But you don’t hand over one of your best conquests at the first ask.

—First prove you deserve her —you said—. Spank your classmate. No mercy. One of you holds her, the other strikes.

***

The girl started protesting; that wasn’t the deal she had expected. And, I don’t know why, that made everything even more electric. One of the two surprised you: he took off his leather belt, weighed it in his hand, and told the other to do the same.

With one of the belts they tied the girl’s wrists behind her back. With the other came the dry sound of leather against skin. Once, twice, several times. She whimpered, and the boy, far from stopping, leaned toward her ear.

—If you keep crying —he told her—, I’m going to hit you harder.

I froze. We’ve got a sadist in class, I thought, and to my shame I discovered I liked the idea. You used my expression to make the decision: you handed me over to them. But not before you finished inside my mouth, filling it as you had so many other times. And, as always, I showed them my mouth before swallowing and after, empty, open, so they could see I hadn’t wasted a drop.

The girl was cornered, wrecked, her wrists still bound. You ordered her to watch and learn.

***

You put me on all fours on the concrete floor. One of the boys stood in front to take care of him with my mouth while the others handled the rest. This time you wanted to be the one to hurt me; it was always one of your favorite things. You asked to borrow one of the belts.

While my mouth was busy, I felt the first blow cross my skin. You knew it turned me on, that it was the best warning of what came next. And sure enough: a few minutes later you handed the belt to the boy who turned out to be the hardest, the one waiting his turn with a calm that was chilling.

—If she comes —you told him—, have no mercy.

And with one single movement you shoved it in from behind. As always, it burned at first and then slid in well, all the way to the hilt. You started moving with that brutality I knew, the one that begged to be begged for. When the first student finished in my mouth, the other took his place. Same instructions for everyone: if I came, belt.

I was at my limit. I didn’t know how to hold back, and on top of that I was forcing myself to wait, thinking only about you finishing first, about giving you that pleasure before surrendering.

***

You knew you wanted to see me suffer. You ordered the girl, still tied up, to come closer and pull on my nipples. She hesitated for an instant. Then she came to me and bit my breasts as best she could, clumsy and angry at the same time.

Obviously, I came.

The belt started in. I felt my skin burning with each blow, one line of fire after another.

—This is what happens when you come without permission —said the boy—. What a shameless bitch.

I couldn’t take any more. I drifted into a kind of limbo where I came once and then started again immediately, without pause, with the leather falling nonstop and the girl working my breasts like her life depended on it. I lost count of my own body.

At last you finished. And the moment you did, everything stopped dead, as if someone had turned off the music. You grabbed my hair and threw my head back.

—Kneel down and thank us for this session.

***

That seemed like too much humiliation, the last straw. I refused. And you crossed my face with two hard slaps that left my cheek burning.

—We’re not leaving here until you’re grateful.

In the end I gave in. I knelt on the concrete, trembling, and thanked you in a thin voice. My students, laughing, answered with a mocking “you’re welcome.” And then they did something I hadn’t expected: they showed me the screens of their phones, already empty, and told me they’d deleted everything.

Thank God, I thought, while I pulled my dress down with hands that were still clumsy.

Each to their own nest. The boys disappeared the way they had come, the girl dressed without looking at anyone, and you offered to take me home as if none of it had happened.

I didn’t say yes or no. I just got in the car, rested my head against the window, and for the first time in a week I didn’t think about the breakup, or her, or how alone I felt in that huge apartment.

Thank you for making me forget everything, even if only for a little while.