Sex for Good Grades

The tutor had a bad reputation. Silke had only heard stories about him, but didn’t know him personally.

It was an open secret: good grades in exchange for sex. Anyone who needed the scholarship, anyone who couldn’t put off an exam any longer, ended up at his door at some point. Mira needed the grade. Without it, she’d lose the scholarship. He took advantage of that, calmly, as if it were a regular office hour.

The deal was dangerous. If it came to light, they’d both be out. Him. Her. The university would have no choice. That was precisely what made it safe. No one in that room would go running to the administration afterward. Everyone had too much to lose.

Silke was wearing Mira’s workout clothes.

Too tight at the waist. The shirt too short as soon as she raised her arms. Nothing underneath. The dress was still by the fountain or with security—it didn’t matter. Mira had taken her cell phone and stuffed it into her own pocket as if it belonged there.

“When?” Silke asked. Her voice was hoarse. “And how?”

“Dorm. My room. We’re leaving now.” Mira was already closing the door behind them in her mind. “He’ll be here around eight. Then you’ll have the best sex possible. I’ll hide in the closet. You keep your mouth shut. And your pussy. And don’t you dare let me get a bad grade. Don’t you dare let this fall through. Then I’ll publish everything.”

Fence. Cunt. The pictures from the courtyard. The chat. The name, if Mira wanted it.

Silke wanted to text Anonymous. Max. Just one line: *got caught.* Damn it. She didn’t even know who he was. They’d messaged about a session. No number. No accounts. No third-party servers. Without her phone, there was nothing. Just the emptiness in her pocket where her phone should have been.

But that wasn’t her problem right now.

Mira took her along.

The dorm smelled of the dryer and leftover food. One floor, a long hallway, a door with a nameplate that Silke didn’t read. Inside, first the shower. Mira stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and watched. No comment. Just a look. Silke stepped under the water, washing away gravel, sweat, Mira’s fingers, the sap from the fence. Her nipples hard. Her pussy sensitive the moment a hand even came close. Mira simply said, “Clean. He shouldn’t think anyone’s had you before.”

Then the room.

Semi-dark—that’s how Mira wanted it. Curtains drawn, a small lamp, the bed already cleared. The closet door ajar, just enough for one person, enough to watch. Sports clothes on the chair. Condoms in the drawer—Mira hesitated, left them in, said nothing about it. The tutor would arrive at eight. He’d never spoken to her before. He didn’t know her voice. In the semi-darkness, with her mouth occupied, Silke didn’t have to sound like Mira. She just had to keep her mouth shut. And her legs spread.

Silke was already lying on the bed.

Naked. Between her legs, it throbbed, stupid and ready, as if her body had already accepted the appointment. Out in the hallway, voices, a microwave, someone laughing. Eight o’clock was near.

She stared at the ceiling and wondered why Mira was taking such a risk. Wasn’t it a sure thing that she’d sleep with the tutor? Why bring another witness into it? It was just sex, after all.

The question hung in the semi-darkness.