The Afternoon I Took It All Off in the Empty Hallways

I was twenty-three and about to finish my degree when this happened. It wasn’t the first time I’d done something like it, or the second. I’d had that habit for a couple of years: stripping naked in places where I shouldn’t, always calculating the risks with a coolness that sometimes surprised even me. Always at night, always in places I knew well, always with a clear way out. But that afternoon was different, and I knew it from the moment I decided to stay when everyone else left.

Professor Romero, famous in the department for arriving late and leaving early, let us out half an hour ahead of schedule. He gave his usual excuse, something about an urgent meeting nobody believed, and while most of my classmates were already thinking about the bus or the café on the corner, I stayed seated until the classroom emptied out completely. I took my time gathering my notes, checked my phone for a couple of minutes, and then stood up calmly.

The upper floor of the main building had bathrooms almost nobody used. The ones on the first floor were always full at that hour; the second-floor ones, on the other hand, stayed quiet and a little forgotten. I knew them well. I went up slowly, without rushing. I could already feel my cunt swelling against the seam of my panties, that dense tingling that crept up the insides of my thighs every time one of these games began.

With the bathroom door open and the hallway completely empty behind me, I pulled down my underwear and stuffed it into my backpack. The advantage of that place was the acoustics: I could hear footsteps from the end of the corridor with enough time to react. I started touching myself, leaning against the back wall, skirt hiked up and eyes on the entrance.

I slid two fingers between the lips of my cunt and dragged them upward, soaking them with what was already dripping out of me. I was wet in an obscene way, with that thick dampness that clings to your fingers and makes a sound when it moves. I rubbed my clit in tight circles, biting my lip so I wouldn’t let out so much as a gasp. With my other hand I opened my blouse, took one breast out of my bra, and pinched the hard nipple. A low moan slipped out of me, swallowed in my throat, and I sped up on my clit. I could feel my cunt throbbing, begging for something inside, and I shoved two fingers into myself in one hard thrust, all the way to the hilt. I felt them slide in my own juices, hot, gripped by the walls clenching around them on their own.

It didn’t last long.

I heard footsteps and yanked my fingers out of my cunt, slapped my skirt back down. I stepped out into the hallway as if I’d just washed my hands, my fingers still shiny and sticky, which I wiped discreetly on the fabric of the uniform. A classmate crossed paths with me at the door and went into the bathroom without paying me any real attention. I stood there, panties stuffed into my backpack, my cunt throbbing and my heart beating at a pace that had nothing at all to do with the situation. The frustration was almost as intense as the thrill that had caused it. My thighs were left wet, and the smell of pussy clung to my fingertips.

That was when the ceiling lights went out.

Power cut. It didn’t go completely dark because the windows at the end still let in the afternoon light, but the hallway changed character. More intimate, somehow. It felt like a sign.

My classmate came out of the bathroom a couple of minutes later, gave me a vague little wave goodbye, and disappeared down the stairs. The corridor was left empty and silent.

I unfastened my skirt right there and let it drop.

The feeling of cold air against my wet thighs hit me at once. I stood still for a second, listening. Only the sound of the outside world filtering in through the glass. I walked toward the emergency stairwell, the one nobody used except during drills, and laid my skirt over the railing. I took off my blouse. The bra came off after that. Last, my shoes.

The marble floor was cold beneath the soles of my bare feet.

If someone sees me now, I don’t have a single excuse that will work.

That was exactly the thought I needed for my whole body to answer. My hands trembled a little, but it wasn’t fear. Or it was fear, but the kind you want to feel. My nipples hardened at once, and I felt a thread of wetness slide down the inner side of my right thigh, so clear that if I’d touched it there it would have stuck to my hand.

I was standing there, completely naked in the emergency stairwell of my faculty, in broad daylight, my clothes piled on the step. And I didn’t want to leave. I ran my hand over my stomach, down to my cunt, and parted my lips with two fingers. The palm of my other hand squeezed one breast until it went red. My nipples got so hard they hurt if anything brushed against them.

***

I heard voices. Not footsteps first, voices. Several, and close.

I snatched up my blouse and managed to put it on halfway, not buttoned, when the sound became clearer. Four or five classmates coming up, talking. I recognized two voices from Martina’s group. They were talking about a party on Friday, who should be invited, whether some girl was going to show up.

I pressed myself against the stairwell wall and didn’t breathe.

—I texted Tamara, but she already has a boyfriend —one of them said.

—And what does that have to do with anything? —another answered, laughing.

I listened to them for what felt like a long time, though it didn’t take more than ten minutes. They talked about where to get the alcohol, what music to play, whether Martina was going to wear something tight because she always drew attention. Two slaps that sounded like a smack on the ass. A burst of laughter from her that didn’t sound annoyed at all.

Then one of them went into the bathroom. The others waited, leaning against the wall two meters from where I was hiding, with my blouse badly buttoned and the rest of my clothes on the step below. If any of them had looked toward the stairwell opening, they would have seen me at once: my shaved cunt, glistening wet, my tits barely covered by the open blouse. The thrill of knowing that one turn of the neck would expose me like that made me leak even more. I slid my hand under my blouse and rubbed my clit very slowly, in total silence, imagining what each of them would do if they stuck their head around the corner and saw me. If Bautista grabbed my tits and pinned me to the wall. If the other one shoved his cock into my mouth right there to make me shut up.

They didn’t look.

When they all left together, I let out my breath in one rush. My fingers were soaked again, and a sticky trail hung from my thigh down to my knee.

I took my blouse off again. Naked again. Alone again.

***

Across from the stairwell there was an office that had been without any assigned use for months. The lock had been broken since the previous term and the door gave way with a simple push. I knew because I’d gone in there once with a friend to study when every classroom was occupied.

I went in.

What made that room special was the upper half of the walls: all glass. From the hallway, you could see the entire interior. There was nowhere to hide. If someone passed by and looked in, they’d see me. That was part of the appeal, the part that made it hard to put my clothes back on.

There was an office chair beside the desk. I sat down. The cold leather lashed my bare ass and tore a gasp out of me. I lifted my legs onto the edge of the desk, spread my knees wide, and took out my phone. I propped it against the base of the old monitor nobody had removed and hit record.

I sucked the middle finger of my right hand until it was slick with spit and brought it to my cunt. I pushed it in with one thrust, to the knuckle. My cunt swallowed it with a wet sound that filled the empty office. I started pumping slowly, looking at the phone camera, opening my lips with my other hand so everything would show, my swollen clit throbbing like a second heart. I slipped in a second finger, then a third. The three fingers went in and out making an obscene sound, sloshing in the wetness that ran down my slit and stained the office chair.

With my thumb I rubbed my clit in quick circles while the other three fingers fucked my cunt all the way to the bottom. I curved my fingers inside, searching for that rough spot on the front wall, and when I found it a short moan escaped me and bounced off the glass. I covered my mouth with my other hand and kept going, out of rhythm now, almost not breathing, my backpack fallen at my feet and the hallway on the other side of the glass less than a meter away.

It took a long while. The cold from the marble was still creeping up my legs and helping me focus better than anything else. When I felt the orgasm coming, I stopped dead. I wanted to draw it out. I wanted it to hurt from holding it back so long.

At one point I changed the angle. I stretched my legs toward the camera and aimed it at my feet. I had an anonymous account where I posted photos in unusual places, and the contrast between the dusty soles of my feet and the institutional floor of that office was exactly the sort of thing that worked well with my followers. I took six photos from different angles: the soles facing up, the fingers against the edge of the desk, the sole with the hallway in the background through the glass. Then I turned the phone and took one of my open cunt with my fingers in it, with nobody’s imaginary semen dripping down my perineum; it was just my own slick, but it looked like something else.

I put the phone away and finished what I’d started. I pushed my three fingers back into myself, my thumb buried on my clit, and I fucked my own hand with my ass lifted off the chair and my tits bouncing against my chest with each thrust. I felt the orgasm climb up from inside me, a hot tug that ran up my legs and made me clamp my thighs around the chair’s arms. I came with my mouth open but silent, all the air trapped in my throat, dripping onto the leather while my cunt clenched in spasms around my fingers.

When my body had relaxed completely, I lay there staring at the ceiling for a few seconds, my legs still open on the desk and the empty hallway on the other side of the glass. My fingers, still sunk halfway in, throbbed with my cunt’s pulse. That was the moment I liked most. The calm after, in a place where I shouldn’t be.

Then I heard a door.

At the far end of the corridor, my own classroom door opened. Professor Vargas came out with his briefcase in one hand and his keys in the other. He didn’t know I was still inside. I’d never seen him stay after class. He was walking slowly, looking at his phone.

I threw myself to the floor.

I ended up crouched under the desk, knees against my chest and my heart hammering. The phone was in my hand, screen lit. I turned it off with a slap. My thighs were sticking together, slick, and the smell of freshly fucked pussy filled the cubicle under the desk.

If he opens this door, there isn’t a single story that gets me out of this.

His footsteps came closer. Then stopped. There was the sound of a lock farther down the corridor. I breathed as slowly as I could, with my back against the desk’s lower drawer and my cold feet on the linoleum. And even there, crammed in and trembling, I felt my cunt throb again. The mere thought of Vargas crossing the glass and finding me naked, soaked, my tits out and the chair stained with my cum, made me clamp my thighs shut with a mix of panic and desire all over again.

Vargas opened the classroom at the end of the side hallway, stuck his head in, looked around, and closed it again. He passed less than three meters from where I was. Only a glass wall separated us, but his eyes were on his phone and he didn’t look into the office.

His footsteps faded away. I heard the elevator open and close.

I didn’t move until the sound had disappeared completely.

***

It was almost two in the afternoon. I didn’t get dressed.

I grabbed my clothes in a bundle and ran down the hallway just as I was. Feet striking marble, tits bouncing with every stride, loose hair, phone in hand. I went into the classroom Vargas had just checked and dropped my clothes on the first chair.

I turned on the light.

I sat on the professor’s desk, facing the empty rows. Legs open, my cunt shining again against the cold wood, phone propped on the seat of the front-row chair. There was something about that classroom that made me want to stay: the blackboard behind me, the chairs lined up, the projector hanging from the ceiling. The idea that two hours earlier that same room had been full of people who now had no idea what was happening there.

I leaned back on the professor’s desk, propped on my elbows, and spread my knees as far as they would go. I spat into my hand and took the saliva to my clit. I started again, slower, with the certainty that nobody was on top of me anymore and I could take all the time I wanted. I slid in two fingers and curved them, moaning softly, because the empty classroom allowed it. With my free hand I squeezed one breast, pulled on the nipple, stretched it until it hurt. The mental image was clear: Vargas coming back, finding me sprawled like that on his desk, saying nothing, grabbing my ankles and driving his cock deep into me against the wood.

I came a second time, this one shorter, drier, clenching my teeth and muffling the moan into my elbow. I left a wet stain on Professor Vargas’s desk. I stared at it for a few seconds before getting down.

I stood in front of the blackboard and took a few more photos. My back against the board, arms crossed over my chest, one leg slightly forward. I turned around and took one of my ass pressed against the chalk, my hands spreading my cheeks. I put the phone away and stood there for a moment in the middle of the classroom, looking at the empty chairs in silence.

It was two ten. Voices and footsteps were starting to be heard downstairs.

I walked out the same way.

I went naked down the hallway to the corner and peeked around it. From there I could see the top of the main stairway. A group of students was passing by. None of them looked up.

I stayed at the edge of the corridor for about twenty seconds, completely exposed if anyone had lifted their eyes. They didn’t. I went back the way I’d come.

I was just about to go into the original classroom to get my things when I saw him.

Inside, next to the window at the back, a classmate was sitting. It was Bautista, always the last to leave. He had headphones on and his gaze fixed on his laptop screen. If he had looked up for even a second toward the hallway window, he would have seen me in full: tits bare, cunt still shining with spit and cum, thighs streaked.

He didn’t look up.

I walked away in the opposite direction, silently, backing up until I turned the corner.

***

I went back to the emergency stairwell to get the rest of my clothes. While I was dressing, I silently asked nobody in particular to let the power cut stay in place. My panties stuck to my cunt the moment I pulled them up, soaking through at once.

When I crossed the main hallway one last time, I looked up.

The security camera was there, pointed straight at where I was standing. My blood ran cold for a second.

Then I remembered.

The cameras in that building didn’t have backup batteries. Someone had mentioned it in class once, as an anecdote, as criticism of the department’s budget. No electricity, no recording.

The camera didn’t blink. It was off.

I went down the stairs with my backpack over my shoulder, passed two professors chatting at the entrance, and crossed the courtyard to the bus stop. The afternoon had that special quality afternoons get when something turned out better than it had any right to. I could still feel my wet panties sticking to my cunt lips with every step.

I got home. Took a long shower. Slid two fingers under the hot water and came a third time thinking about Vargas’s desk, about the stain I’d left, about whether he’d see it the next day without knowing what it was from. I didn’t tell anyone anything.

That night, going through the videos on my phone, I knew with complete certainty that I was going to do it again.