On the Mountain

“Sit on it.”

Silke wiped her mouth. The taste was still there. Down between her legs, it throbbed from his licking—wet, open, ready against her will. He was lying on his back, his stomach shifted to one side, his thick cock wet with her saliva, dark, the head glistening in the white light.

“Wait.” Her voice was hoarse. “Condom. We need condoms.”

He snorted.

“I don’t have one, and I don’t need one. It’s not my problem if your belly gets big.”

“Fuck, I don’t have one.”

“Then shut the hell up and sit bare on my cock like good friends do.”

There were some in the drawer. Mira had put them there. Mira was sitting in the closet, three meters away, and remained silent. Silke was sure Mira had some. She couldn’t do anything without jeopardizing the deal. So she hated Mira for the humiliation as she took the cock in her hand and knelt over it.

“You’re so beautifully wet,” he said, grabbing himself at the base and pointing it up. She positioned her pussy over the head.

Skin. Nothing else. The thick tip pushed her labia apart, slid through the wetness, and caught at the entrance. Silke clenched her teeth and let herself down. It pushed into her—wide, blunt, too much all at once. No condom. No barrier. Just that cock, which had tasted of sweat, now bare inside her pussy, warm, veiny, stretching her.

Her head was screaming.

“Deep,” he said. “All the way. I want to feel my balls against your pussy.”

She took him all the way in.

His belly came toward her, soft, enormous, and slammed against her lower abdomen before she sat down on his thighs. Still, he was inside her. All the way. Her pussy clamped down on the thick shaft, a wet ring, and down below, where the fat swallowed the base, her clit rubbed against it with every tiny movement.

“Shit,” she whispered.

“What’s shit?”

“This. Everything.”

He grinned and grabbed her hips.

“Pull yourself together. You’re sitting on my cock and dripping. Ride.”

She rode.

Up. Down. The shaft pulled out of her, glistening with her juices, and pushed back in, bare, showing no mercy for her thoughts. Each time she felt the head inside her, thick, blunt—a foreign object that didn’t belong there. Every time, it smacked. Flesh against flesh. Her bare ass on his thighs, his belly jiggling, sweat making them stick together.

“Slower. I want to see that.” The cell phone was back. “Lift your tits. Like that. And don’t look away.”

She kept riding. The camera between them, the angle cruel: her face, her breasts, the spot where his thick cock disappeared inside her. Silke moaned because the sound would otherwise have sounded like sobbing. The voice in her head kept screaming. *Mira. You should have let yourself get fucked.*

“You’re doing great,” he said, thrusting up from below—briefly, lazily, effectively. His cock rammed deeper. “The others are never this wet. Only a few come. But you’re different. It almost seems like you’re enjoying it. Maybe you’ll get not just a B but an A.”

Silke stayed perched on top for a moment, only the head of his cock still inside her.

“What.”

“Cheap sluts.” He laughed, his belly jiggling. “They offer up their pussies for a grade. Think they’re something special. They’re whores. Just without a price tag on the door. I love my job. I’ve had so many here on campus.”

She lowered herself. Hard. So he’d shut his mouth. He didn’t.

“You too. Look at yourself. Naked. On top of me. The camera’s rolling. And tomorrow you’ll be sitting in a lecture somewhere, as if your pussy wasn’t just wrapped around my dick.”

Silke rode him, and the sentence sank in.

What was she, then?

Mira got the grade. Mira got the scholarship. Mira sat in the closet and saved up. Silke got nothing. No B. No money. No protection. She went along with it because she got caught. No quid pro quo. No deal that was hers. A hooker without pay. A girlfriend without a boyfriend. A hole in her belly.

“Say something,” he demanded. His hands on her ass, spreading it for the camera.

“Fuck you.”

“Almost. Say: ‘I’m a cheap slut.’”

“No.”

He rubbed his thumb over her clitoris, roughly, precisely, while she sat on him, his cock still deep inside her. Her body twitched immediately.

“Say it. Then I’ll stop talking.”

“I’m…” She hated her own voice. “…a cheap slut.”

“For grades.”

“For grades.”

That wasn’t even true. She was doing it without a grade. Her mind was screaming it too. Her mouth said what her fingers on her clitoris demanded.

She rode him faster.

The thick cock worked inside her, bare, every vein palpable, the head thrusting against a spot she didn’t want to ask about. Wetness ran down it, pooling in the crease of his belly, warm, embarrassing. The smell grew stronger. Her hands sank into the grease, searching for grip and finding only soft flesh. The bed creaked. The cell phone buzzed almost inaudibly in the recording.

“Tight,” he moaned. “For someone who supposedly doesn’t want this, you’re sucking my cock really hard.”

“I don’t want this.”

“Your pussy does.”

Yes. Her body was betraying her obscenely. Her labia clamped tightly around him, wet, swollen; her clitoris rubbed against the fatty rim of his cock with every thrust, a dirty, perfect pressure. Inside, it throbbed around the foreign, unprotected shaft. His cock was everywhere inside her.

She clenched her teeth, rode him hard, her tits bouncing in the light, sweat between her breasts, and swore to Mira everything she could still muster. The orgasm built up anyway. Mean. Loyal to the wrong thing.

“You’re trembling,” he said. “Come. On this thing. Bareback. I want to see it on my face.”

“Hold the—”

She came.

Hard. Embarrassing. Her pussy clenched around his thick, bare cock, thrust after thrust, wet, audible, a sound that fell out of her, raw, as if someone had pulled the plug. Juice on his shaft, on his balls, right where there was no condom. Her knees gave out. She sat on top of him, filled with him, and twitched as the cell phone remained still.

“There.” He breathed heavily, satisfied. “Cheap slut comes without me even having to try. Good.”

Silke stayed seated, his cock still inside her, his stomach beneath her, and felt it pulsing inside her—bare, unprotected—a stranger in a body that had just ejaculated for nothing. No check. No money.

“Keep going,” he said, tapping her hip. “Two hours. You’re not done yet. Ride. And this time, look into the camera when you come.”

She lifted her head.

His grin. The smell. The cock moving inside her as soon as she lifted her hips again.