How I Became a Voyeur at University

We met at university, when we both enrolled in the same evening course. I was already an adult woman, but I arrived in that classroom with a shyness that made me feel clumsy even saying hello. He—I’ll call him Darío—sat beside me during the second week, and from then on he began speaking to me in that deep voice that seemed to slip beneath my skin.

We shared assignments, badly made coffees in the cafeteria, and study nights that ended far too late for us to keep pretending we were only classmates. I looked at him without meaning to. I liked his big hands, his patience, the way he corrected an exercise without making me feel stupid, and that air of a man battered by life who still hadn’t surrendered.

In time, he told me he was coming out of a painful separation. He didn’t give me any details, and I didn’t ask for them. I only understood that he carried wounds, and that even so, with me he allowed himself a gentleness he showed no one else.

The night everything truly began, we stayed up studying until dawn at his apartment. The next day we had some random lunch, exhausted, and went out to walk a few blocks to clear our heads. I was talking about a presentation I still had to give when he stopped dead, looked straight at me, and brought his face close to mine.

He said nothing. He didn’t have to.

His mouth pressed against mine with restrained hunger, as if he’d been holding back that kiss for weeks. I went stiff for half a second, startled, and then melted. He kissed me hard, opening my mouth insistently, slipping his tongue in slowly at first and then without the slightest hesitation, and I felt an instant heat rise from my belly to my face.

It was my first real kiss. No one had ever kissed me like that before, with such confidence, such shamelessness, that mixture of tenderness and wanting to fuck my mouth. I confessed it to him the next day, mortified, and he stared at me as if he had just understood something important.

“Then I’ll take it slow,” he told me.

He was lying. Or rather, he was only going slowly compared with what he really wanted to do to me.

We started seeing each other every day. At first there were kisses in any corner we could find—in the empty university corridors, inside his car, at the entrance to my building. Then came the caresses. I let him touch me over my clothes, and felt my legs go weak every time his hand squeezed my waist or closed around one of my ass cheeks.

It aroused me and frightened me at the same time. I had grown up with far too many prohibitions lodged in my head, and every step felt enormous. Even so, whenever Darío caressed me, my body reacted much faster than my thoughts.

One night he took me dancing at a bar with dark private booths in the back. I was wearing a skirt, stockings, and a tight blouse he himself had told me looked far too good on me. We danced pressed together for hours, his hard cock rubbing against my thigh while I pretended not to notice.

When we finally sat down in one of those secluded corners, he kissed me until I was breathless. His hand slid slowly up my leg, first over the stocking, then slipping beneath my skirt. My whole body trembled.

“Relax,” he murmured in my ear. “I just want to touch you.”

I nodded, unable to speak. I felt his fingers on the inside of my thigh, moving higher and higher, and the heat between my legs became unbearable. When he rubbed me over the fabric of my panties, I let out a moan so unmistakable that I was embarrassed to hear it come out of my own mouth.

He smiled against my neck and kept rubbing. He didn’t put his fingers inside my underwear yet; he concentrated on pressing right there, where I was wettest, slowly at first and then more firmly. I grabbed his arm, clenched my teeth, and felt pleasure rising through me like a current I didn’t know how to control.

“Like that. Don’t stop,” I whispered for the first time without thinking.

That turned him on even more. He slipped one hand beneath my blouse and grabbed an entire breast, squeezing it through my bra while his other hand kept rubbing my pussy through the fabric. My legs began to open on their own. The stocking, the skirt, the heat of the place, the music pounding nearby—all of it made me feel dirty and happy.

When he finally slid a finger beneath the damp fabric of my panties, I arched my whole body. He touched my lips, opened them, found my clitoris, and stroked it slowly with his fingertip, never taking his eyes off my face. I was panting like an idiot, red to the tips of my ears, and he seemed to enjoy every sign of my embarrassment.

“Look at you,” he said quietly. “Soaking wet.”

He put one finger inside me, then another. They slipped in easily because I was already dripping. He started fucking me with his hand between my legs, pulling his fingers out and pushing them back in while his thumb searched for me above. The pleasure hit me in a way I had never known. My thighs went loose, my mouth fell open, and I came against his hand with a moan I had to smother against his shoulder so the whole bar wouldn’t hear it.

It was my first orgasm. Violent, wet, confusing. I was left trembling with my eyes closed, feeling him still caressing me slowly to prolong the spasms.

“That’s what you’d been keeping inside,” he told me, kissing my forehead.

I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or hide. The only thing I knew was that I wanted to feel it again.

***

After that night there was no going back. I still refused certain things, still guarded my virginity as if it were a sacred frontier, but everything else began to give way. Darío quickly learned what made me moan, when to squeeze me, when to talk dirty to me, when to touch me over my stockings until he drove me crazy.

He began filling my head with ideas that scandalized and aroused me at the same time. He talked to me about sex without shame, about trying things, watching, letting oneself be seen. I listened while pretending to be offended, although inside I was already imagining many of those things as I masturbated alone, remembering his hands.

The first time he licked my pussy was at his apartment, one rainy afternoon. We had spent hours studying, but neither of us was concentrating. I was wearing a dark skirt and white panties, which he had been staring at ever since I arrived.

He sat me on the edge of the sofa and knelt in front of me. That image alone left me wet. He opened my legs calmly, lifted my skirt, and remained there, looking at my crotch covered by the damp fabric.

“I want to taste you,” he said.

“Darío...”

“I want to eat your pussy until you can’t close your legs.”

I felt a lash of sensation between my legs. I didn’t know what to say, so I simply let myself fall back against the cushions. He pulled my panties’ fabric to one side, and the cool air struck my wet skin. Then he brought his face close and smelled me without touching, as if savoring the anticipation.

When he ran his tongue over my lips, I almost jumped in surprise. It was a slow stroke from bottom to top, firm and wet. Then he repeated it, opening wider, slipping the tip of his tongue between my folds, and I moaned with a force that surprised me. I clutched the sofa while he spread my legs farther apart and licked me without delicacy, as if he were hungry.

His mouth did whatever it wanted with me. He licked my clitoris in circles, sucked it, lowered himself to the entrance of my pussy, and pushed his tongue in as far as he could before returning to the top. When he saw me writhing, he added two fingers inside and began moving them in rhythm with his mouth. The wet sound of his tongue and my own panting filled the room.

“That’s how I like it,” he murmured without pulling away. “Getting all slutty for me.”

I shouldn’t have liked hearing that. I loved it. I came all over his face with a brutal shudder, wetting his mouth and chin. He kept licking even while I trembled and tried to pull away, until I ended up begging him to stop because I couldn’t take any more.

He stood up with his mouth shining and kissed me so I could taste myself. I felt my own flavor mixed with his saliva, and it aroused me more than I would have dared admit then.

***

The night of my first time came weeks later. I had postponed it so many times that he stopped insisting. Maybe that was why, when I finally told him yes, he believed me immediately. It was at a discreet motel we went to after class, still wearing our university clothes, with folders on the back seat.

I remember my hands trembling as I closed the door. I also remember the way Darío looked at me, as if he truly wanted that moment to be mine and not only his. He kissed me slowly, without rushing, and undressed me with a patience that both touched and aroused me.

He took off my blouse, bra, skirt, and stockings, leaving my panties for last. He stepped back for a second to look at me naked and ran his tongue over his lower lip. I crossed my arms over my breasts by pure reflex, and he lowered them at once.

“Don’t hide,” he told me. “I want to see all of you.”

He undressed too, without any drama, and that was the first time I saw his cock completely hard for me. It was thick and heavy, with a gleaming tip. It intimidated me. It also made me want to touch it. I did so clumsily, and he let out a deep moan that gave me confidence.

He laid me on the bed, spread my legs, and ate my pussy again until I was dripping. He did it to arouse me, yes, but also to prepare me. When he felt that I was relaxed enough, he positioned himself between my thighs and looked into my eyes.

“If you want to stop, we stop.”

I shook my head. I wanted him. I had desired him for far too long.

I felt the tip of his cock pressing against my wet entrance. The pressure was intense and strange, and I gripped his shoulders as soon as he began to enter. He opened me slowly, inch by inch, and it still hurt. I moaned, closed my eyes, and instinctively squeezed my legs together.

“Look at me,” he asked.

I did. He was sweating, restraining himself for my sake. He kept moving forward very slowly, with small thrusts, until at last he filled me completely. The sensation of having him inside me was too much to process all at once: burning, tension, fullness, pleasure being born beneath the pain.

We stayed still for a few seconds. He kissed my mouth, my neck, my eyelids. Then he began to move carefully, withdrawing a little and entering again. Each thrust hurt less and aroused me more. My body gradually relaxed around his cock until it stopped feeling like an invasion and began to feel exactly like what I had been wanting for weeks.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled near my ear.

That made me moan. I grabbed his back and lifted my hips to take him better. Then he understood that he could increase the pace. He began fucking me for real, deeper and harder, making the bed squeak with every thrust of his hips. I panted his name, caring about nothing else, astonished at how quickly the pain had mingled with ever-growing pleasure.

He put one hand between my legs and began rubbing my clitoris while he penetrated me. The combination undid me. I felt his cock sliding in and out, wet and thick, colliding inside me, while at the same time his fingers rubbed exactly where I needed them most. The orgasm rose through me like a brutal wave.

I came with him still inside me, squeezing him uncontrollably. Darío uttered a hoarse curse, drove his hips into me to the hilt, and kept thrusting a few more times before coming too, trembling over me, moaning with his face buried in my neck.

We remained pressed together, sweaty and speechless. My body was sensitive, open, satisfied in a way that left me almost dazed.

“Now we’re really beginning,” he said at last.

And he was right.

***

After we moved in together, our sex stopped being purely intimate. It began to have another layer: watching and being watched. Darío soon discovered that he was aroused by showing me off. Not completely naked, not all at once, but playing at the edge of what could be seen.

He bought me shorter skirts, tight dresses, tiny thongs. At first I only wore all that at home, for him. He made me walk in front of him, bend over, sit with my legs barely parted while he watched me as if I were a private show.

One afternoon he made me put on a black miniskirt and a thong so small it barely covered me. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I understood why he liked it: the slightest movement was enough to show half my ass.

“We’re going out like that,” he said.

“No way.”

“Yes. And you’re going to walk in front of me.”

I ended up giving in. Seeing him aroused turned me on too much. We went out into the street, and I felt the air on my thighs as if everyone could notice my partial nudity. Darío walked behind me, staring openly. Every few blocks he would bring me to a wall or shop window, hug me from behind, and slip his hand beneath my skirt to squeeze my ass.

“Keep walking,” he whispered. “I want to see your skirt ride up.”

I obeyed, my heart racing. Sometimes I ran a few steps, just for him, and felt the fabric rise a little farther. The mixture of embarrassment and heat soaked me.

When we returned to the apartment, we almost never made it to the bed. That first night he pushed me against the door as soon as we came in, yanked my skirt up, and pulled my thong to one side. I was so wet that his finger went straight in.

“Look at you coming home,” he said, sliding two fingers inside me. “All hot because people might see you.”

“I don’t know if anyone saw me.”

“You like thinking they did.”

I couldn’t deny it. He turned me around so I could brace my hands against the wall, lowered my thong only as much as necessary, and spread my legs with a gentle kick to my ankle. Then I felt his hard cock pushing against my entrance, and he penetrated me in a single thrust. The impact drew an obscene moan from me.

He fucked me right there, standing up, my skirt raised to my waist and one hand gripping my hair. His other hand kneaded one of my breasts beneath my blouse while his hips slammed hard against my ass. I pushed backward to take him better, feeling every deep entry, every wet withdrawal, every collision that made me shudder.

“This is how I wanted you,” he growled. “All on display, and then opened up for me.”

He reached between my legs and found my clitoris. He began rubbing it quickly, without care, while continuing to fuck me hard. The combination swept me away. I came standing up, braced against the wall, my legs trembling and my skirt still raised, moaning like an out-of-control slut. He came seconds later, thrusting to the hilt and releasing a hoarse moan near the nape of my neck.

***

The game kept growing. One day he asked me to go to a shopping mall without panties. I was wearing a loose skirt, and he was fascinated by the possibility that a gust of air or a badly climbed staircase might reveal more than it should. I was nervous, wet from the moment we left the car.

He made me go up and down stairs while he stayed below or a few steps behind, watching. Every time I passed someone, I felt my pussy completely exposed beneath the fabric, and it aroused me in a way I could no longer deny.

In the women’s bathroom, he sent me a message: “I want a picture to see that you’re obeying.” I locked myself in a stall, lifted my skirt, and sent him a picture of my shaved pussy, bare, with a thread of moisture glistening between my lips. He took seconds to reply: “Now come out, and don’t keep your legs so tightly closed when you walk.”

When we met again, he took me to the underground parking garage. He used an almost empty section to corner me between two pillars. He kissed me violently and slipped his hand between my legs. Since I wasn’t wearing panties, his fingers went straight to my wet pussy.

“Shit, you’re dripping.”

“It’s your fault.”

“No, it’s yours. Because you like it now.”

He masturbated me there, one hand partially shielding my hip and the other working between my legs. I kept looking around in terror that someone might appear, but I didn’t want him to stop. When he inserted two fingers and began moving them quickly, I had to bite my fist to keep from screaming.

He made me spread my legs farther apart. He wanted to see me. He wanted to find out how much my pussy opened and closed around his fingers while I came in a public parking garage. And I let him do it, trembling with excitement and shame.

That night, once we were home, one orgasm wasn’t enough. Darío laid me facedown on the bed, spread my buttocks, and licked my pussy from behind with delicious obscenity. Then he made me get on all fours and fucked me slowly at first, enjoying the sight of me wetting his cock, and later quickly and hard, gripping my waist.

He leaned over my back and spoke into my ear as he thrust into me.

“I want you to tell me the truth. Did you get wet thinking they might see you?”

“Yes.”

“And did you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Say it properly.”

“I liked being watched... even though I didn’t know whether they really were.”

He bit my shoulder and increased the pace. His balls slapped against my skin with every thrust. I buried my face in the pillow while the orgasm climbed through me again. This time I came feeling him drive deep into me over and over, and the sensation of being taken after exposing myself outside seemed addictive.

Darío pulled out only to turn me over. He put my legs over his shoulders and plunged back into me. The new position made me feel him even deeper. I couldn’t stop moaning. He watched me while fucking me with almost ferocious concentration, as if he wanted to engrave every reaction in his memory.

“I want to see you come again,” he said.

He masturbated me with his thumb while continuing to penetrate me without pause. The sound of the bed, his breathing, and my wet pussy taking him filled the room. It didn’t take long for me to explode again. My second orgasm made me clamp my legs around his waist, and he let himself go too, with a long ejaculation and a growl that made me smile even half-broken.

***

Over the years I understood that ours had begun with a kiss, yes, but it hadn’t stayed there. He didn’t just teach me how to fuck. He taught me to recognize the kink I had been hiding inside myself and enjoy it without lying to myself.

I, who had entered that relationship full of fears, ended up discovering that I liked being watched, provoking people, going out without panties, feeling the tension of a staircase, a short skirt, a hand on my ass in the middle of the street. And then going home or to a motel or the car so Darío could fuck me with all that accumulated excitement.

We kept inventing games for a long time: dark bars, nearly empty cinemas, corners where a caress might be seen or guessed at. But if someone asks me when it all truly began, I always return to that first kiss and the way my knees trembled.

Because before the motels, the miniskirts, and the thrill of feeling watched, there was that simple, brutal moment when his mouth pressed against mine and opened an entire world for me. I didn’t know it then, but at that moment I was already beginning to become the woman who would later ask him, without shame, to pull my skirt higher and fuck me when we got home.

And he, of course, was always willing to do it.