What I Saw in the Teachers’ Lounge That Day

I was twenty-two and in my third semester of Engineering when this happened. It was a Thursday in mid-October, one of those days when the wind sweeps across campus and people walk with their books clutched to their bodies. I had already been in Calculus II class for two hours, which was another way of saying I’d spent two hours staring at the clock and thinking about anything other than the blackboard.

It was Professor Héctor who sent me. He needed someone to take the attendance sheet to the teachers’ lounge, at the end of the north hallway, third floor. He pointed at me without looking at me, the way someone points at an object and not a person.

I took the sheet and stepped out into the corridor. The teachers’ lounge was a long room with windows overlooking the inner courtyard: two rows of metal desks at the back, an old coffee maker on the side cabinet, and, opposite the entrance, a pair of gray fabric sofas where the professors sat during breaks. At that time, four in the afternoon, the hallway was silent. All the professors were in class.

I pushed the door open without knocking. It was an errand, a thirty-second errand.

I didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t empty.

At the back, on the sofa farthest from the entrance, was Professor Renata Vidal. Renata taught Contemporary Literature in first year, and I had only ever seen her in passing in the hallways, though I admit I had looked at her more closely than was probably advisable. She was a big woman, with generous curves that her work clothes couldn’t quite hide: wide hips, full breasts, a waist that became visible when she turned in the halls. Her brown hair was gathered in a loose bun that had partly come undone that day. Her skin was very white.

That afternoon she also had her blouse undone to the last button and her skirt hiked up to her waist. Her eyes were closed and two fingers were buried in her cunt to the knuckle, moving with calculated slowness. Her third finger rested on her clit, making short circles, while a thread of moisture glistened along the inside of her thigh. Her black panties hung from one ankle, forgotten.

I backed up until I was in the doorway. The door shut behind me with a soft click, and I stood in the hallway, not knowing what to do with the sheet I was still holding. My hands were shaking slightly. My heart was beating harder than usual. My cock was rock-hard against the zipper, so hard it hurt, and I hadn’t even noticed until then.

I went back upstairs. I left the sheet on Professor Héctor’s desk without saying anything and returned to my seat.

For the next twenty minutes I didn’t hear a single word of class. The image was burned into the back of my eyes with a clarity I hadn’t asked for: her posture, the movement of her fingers going in and out of her cunt, the sound I had just managed to hear before I closed the door. A wet, rhythmic slapping, the unmistakable noise of a woman fucking herself without haste, which my mind now completed in lavish detail. I shifted in my seat to make room for the cock that was still hard. I forced myself to look at the blackboard. I shifted again.

—Can I go to the bathroom? —I asked.

Professor Héctor lifted his eyes from his notes and looked at me for a second.

—Ten minutes —he said.

***

This time I knocked. A soft tap, just one, hoping not to get an answer.

Silence.

I nudged the door open a few inches and looked through the crack before going in. Renata was still on the sofa. She had changed position: both legs were bent, knees turned outward, feet braced on the edge of the cushion, her cunt completely open and exposed. Her skirt was lifted above her waist, bunched into a tight roll. Her blouse was wide open and her bra had disappeared somewhere on the sofa. Her tits were enormous, white, with pink erect nipples, hardened until they looked like little stones. With her right hand she was fucking herself with three fingers, driving them in to the knuckles, and with her left she was squeezing one breast, giving herself little slaps that left a pink mark on her white skin. The contrast between that pink and all the whiteness was the first thing one noticed.

I came in slowly. I closed the door behind me with the greatest care and stood beside the metal filing cabinet at the back, in the angle made by the wall. From there I could see everything: the pink, shiny cunt, the swollen lips stretching around her fingers every time she pushed inward, the clit peeking out between the trimmed brown hair, the puckered asshole just below. She couldn’t see me, not with her eyes closed and her head tilted slightly back.

There was no hurry in her at all. She moved with a sure cadence, the cadence of someone who knows exactly what she needs and also knows how much time she has to get it. Her fingers went in slowly and came out even more slowly, and each time they withdrew they were coated in a thick, clear slick that dripped down her wrist. The wet smack coming from between her legs was the only thing that existed in the silence of the room. Her lips parted. Her breathing steady. She pulled her fingers out, brought them to her mouth, sucked them one by one until they were clean, and slid them back into her cunt with a muffled moan.

I fumbled with my fingers to unfasten my pants, terrified of making noise, and pulled out my cock, already rock-hard and leaking. I started jerking off standing up, leaning against the cold filing cabinet, gripping the base hard to hold on. The fear of being caught worked like an accelerator: there was no way to control it. I jerked off fast, watching Renata open her cunt with two fingers of one hand while she fucked herself with the other, and came in less than two minutes, my neck tight and my teeth clenched so I wouldn’t make a sound. I shot against the metal side of the cabinet in spurts, one spasm after another, until I was empty and shaking.

Renata didn’t hear it. She didn’t even blink.

I fastened my pants again, with my cock still half hard and crushed tight inside them, and kept watching her.

***

Once the initial urgency had passed, what remained was something different: the calm of someone who has nothing left to lose. I could watch her carefully. Renata had large hands with long fingers, and she used them with a precision that was not aggressive but methodical. Every now and then she varied the rhythm or the angle, trying something, adjusting. She would pull her soaked fingers out, lift them to her clit, and draw tight circles that made her clamp her thighs around her own hand. Then she’d lower them again and slide them back in, deeper each time, twisting them as if searching for an exact point on the inner wall of her cunt. When she found it, her jaw would loosen and her breathing would break for a few seconds.

At one point she brought her left hand to her mouth, wet two fingers with saliva until they were dripping, and slid them downward, tracing the edge of her cunt until they reached her asshole. She pressed slowly and one finger went in to the first knuckle. She pushed it all the way in. Then she slid in the second. With her right hand she kept fucking her cunt with three fingers while her ass opened around the other two. Both hands occupied, both holes full, and her hips started moving on their own, pumping against her own hands in an increasingly quick rhythm.

Then she shoved four fingers together into her cunt and stayed still for a few seconds, her hand buried to the knuckles and her whole body tense. Her left leg trembled slightly. She started pulling them in and out in short, fast thrusts, almost violent, while her thumb pressed hard on her clit. The slapping sound of her wet cunt was now loud, obscene, impossible to mistake for anything else. She let out a long breath, a guttural moan that she swallowed halfway through, biting her lower lip until it went white. The skin on her tits and belly had turned an uneven pink. Her toes were curled inward, hooked over the edge of the cushion.

Without even realizing it, I had taken my cock out again and was jerking off, reflexively. This time I did it slowly, following her rhythm, gripping the foreskin and circling my hand over the head every time she writhed on the sofa. When Renata pulled her fingers out of her ass and brought them back to her mouth, sucking them with half-lidded eyes, a gasp slipped from me that almost gave me away. She didn’t hear it. She slipped all five fingers back into her cunt, now cupped, and began fucking herself with her whole hand in a deep, noisy thrusting motion.

I came a second time just as Renata arched her back slightly, crushed her clit with her palm, and stayed still for a few eternal seconds, her leg still shaking involuntarily. A gush of clear fluid burst from her cunt, soaking her hand, her thigh, the gray cushion. She came, wetting the sofa, in a long spasm that ran through her from head to toe. I finished coming against the filing cabinet, the second load weaker but just as long as the first, biting the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t make a sound.

After that she let the air out and relaxed on the sofa, her hand still between her legs, her fingers moving only barely against the swollen cunt, like someone saying goodbye to a body that had just given her everything.

I almost went over. The distance between the filing cabinet and the sofa was maybe six meters. The idea came to me with a clarity that surprised me: go over, kneel between her open legs, put my mouth where her hand was. Lick her soaked cunt until she came again on my face. See what happened.

I didn’t do it. Not because I had common sense, but because at that moment the phone rang.

***

An alarm. Brief, metallic, insistent. The sound shattered the atmosphere in the room like a sharp blow. Renata opened her eyes, sat up at once, and started buttoning her blouse. Her movements were quick and sure, the movements of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing even when she has just been interrupted.

I left before she was fully on her feet. I closed the hallway door almost without touching it and walked toward the bathroom. I went in, washed my hands, looked at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes were wider than usual. I could still feel the sticky cock inside my pants.

I waited exactly two minutes. Then I went out into the hallway. Empty.

***

I should have gone back to class. I still had about five minutes of my excuse left, and I could have used them going down the stairs without running and taking my seat without anyone noticing anything strange.

I went back to the lounge.

I pushed the door open. The room was silent and smelled different: like something that wasn’t the cold coffee in the thermoses or the paper of the notes. It smelled like cunt, like sweat, like recent sex. I approached the sofa. The center cushion had a dark, irregular stain with blurred edges, almost the size of a plate. The fabric was soaked when I touched it with my fingertip, and I brought it to my nose. The smell was thick, intimate, unmistakable.

I knelt down. I smelled it first, my nose a few centimeters from the fabric, breathing deeply until my lungs were full. Then I licked it. The taste was clean and salty, with a slightly acidic undertone that filled my mouth with saliva. I ran my tongue broad and flat over the whole stain, pressing the fabric against my palate to squeeze it dry, sucking Renata’s slick as if it were the only thing I had eaten in days. I licked it until the fabric was left without a trace of moisture, with my cock hard again inside my pants.

On the coffee table there were three or four small drops, and an elongated stain where she had probably rested her hand after coming. I cleaned those with my tongue too, one by one, sucking the wood until the taste was gone.

I stayed there for a moment, kneeling beside the sofa, looking at what was left. I thought about what it was, about what I was doing, about how strange and inevitable it all seemed at the same time. I didn’t feel guilty exactly. What I felt, rather, was the specific clarity of someone who has just crossed a boundary and understands, with a certain serenity, that there is no way back.

***

The bell for the class change rang.

I stood up the same instant the door opened.

Renata came in carrying a small tray: an empty cup and a kitchen towel folded in four. She stopped when she saw me. There was a silence of two or three seconds in which neither of us spoke or moved. Her bun was still half undone and one cheek was redder than the other.

—I left something here earlier —I said. The words came out before I could think of anything better.

She looked at me. Then her eyes swept the room and paused for a moment on the sofa cushion, now without a stain. She frowned slightly.

—I spilled my coffee —Renata said, lifting the tray halfway, as if she needed to explain why she was there—. I came to clean the little table.

—Of course —I said.

She passed me on her way to the sofa. As she crossed in front of me, in the narrow space between the filing cabinet and the little table, she looked straight at me for the first time. Her eyes dropped for a second to my fly, where the outline of my cock was pressing against the fabric again, and then came back up to my face. She said nothing. She only parted her lips and slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, just a brush, like someone tasting something she recognized.

I left with my hands in my pockets and my steps more controlled than they naturally wanted to be. I turned the corner of the hallway and stood against the wall for a moment, eyes closed and pulse still racing. Neither of us had said anything that couldn’t be said out loud anywhere. Neither of us had told the truth.

I didn’t go back to class that day.

I went down to the courtyard and sat on one of the stone benches until the sun disappeared behind the Science building. Without thinking about anything in particular. Or thinking only about that: the gray sofa, the wet slap of the cunt that had filled the empty room, Renata’s face with her eyes closed and that expression of someone who isn’t in any place that can be marked on a map. The salty taste that was still left on my tongue.

I don’t know if she ever did it again. I never found the chance to find out.

But I never stopped trying.