new deal

He took her from behind while they were still lying down.

No big adjustments. Silke on her side, then her knee forward; the tutor’s stomach pressed against her back—warm, damp, too much skin. His cock found her pussy on the first try—bare, slippery from everything that was already inside her. He pushed himself in and paused for a heartbeat, as if even his body had lost the desire for drama.

He thrust shallowly. Not like the porn from earlier. Tight, close—his cock thick and too present in a pussy that was already sore. Every movement was spot-on. No playing around. Just friction. His hand rested on her breast, not firmly, just there; his mouth against her ear, his breath damp. The cell phone was somewhere on the sheet, screen down. For once, he wasn’t filming. That didn’t make it any better.

Silke moaned anyway.

Quietly. Into the pillow. The angle pressed her clitoris between her own thighs; his shaft rubbed inside exactly where it was already burning. Disgust. Overstimulated. And then that dirty tugging sensation she’d come to know by now.

She came first: no scream, just a hard spasm around his cock, her nails digging into the sheet, a sound she bit into the fabric to stifle. Her pussy kept working him, wet, involuntarily diligent.

“Yes. Like that. Stay like that.”

He thrust a few more times, irregularly, his stomach slapping against her ass, and then he came too. Warm. Deep. This time she felt the pulse and came again, shorter, more frustrating, as if the second orgasm only proved that nothing inside her belonged to him anymore. Semen, friction, her own spasms. They pressed against each other, heavy, sweaty, and for three seconds there was nothing but breathing.

Afterward, they lay there.

His cock slid out, slowly, and semen trickled out. Silke didn’t close her legs all the way. Too sensitive. The sheet was cold where it was wet.

“Break,” he said. Not as a question. As a statement. “Then I’m going to take your ass.”

Silke felt a chill, even though the room was warm.

“No.”

“Yes. I said so.”

“No. Seriously. No.” She turned her head, her voice immediately too high. “I can’t take any more. Not up front, and definitely not back there. I can’t do it.”

“You can. It’s just unfamiliar.”

“I don’t want this. Please. Not today. Not there.” She hated that it sounded like whining. It *was* whining. “I’m sore. If you fuck my ass now, I’ll scream so loud the whole dorm will hear me. Seriously.”

He sighed against her neck. He knew he wouldn’t get hard, Viagra or not. His cock lay limp against her thigh, wet, spent.

He played his hand. “And what’s in it for me if I don’t? We still have 30 minutes.” His voice was hoarse, not angry. Convenient. “I could just go for it now. You’re lying there anyway.”

“If not now,” Silke swallowed, doing some quick, dirty math. “Then you can sleep with me again some other time. Not here. Not now. I can’t take it anymore. Please.”

“Somewhere else, hmm, okay. Tomorrow during my office hours.”

From the very back of the closet came a sound that sounded like wood. Neither of them acknowledged it.

“What’s in it for me?” he repeated. “So should I fuck your ass tomorrow?”

“No. If you spare my ass, then...” she thought for a moment, “I’ll double the time you have left.” Silke turned halfway toward him, naked, her face damp, her pussy still open and full. “We’d still have some time left. Thirty minutes. Then you’ll get sixty minutes. Tomorrow, and my ass is off-limits.”

“Sixty minutes under my desk.”

“Yes.”

“And no drama.”

“No drama. Just… not my ass. Please.”

He looked at her as if she were an exam paper with a margin note. Then he nodded, briefly.

“Tomorrow morning. Nine. Office. On time.”

“Okay.”

“Just to be safe.” He felt around on the sheet, the chair, the pile of sports gear. Found a cell phone. *Her* cell phone. Not Mira’s. The screen flashed briefly; “Session” was somewhere on it—locked or not, it didn’t matter. He slipped it into his pocket.

Silke saw it too late.

Shit.

Her only line of communication to the outside world. Now in his pants pocket, next to the photos and videos he had on his phone.

“That’s mine.”

“I know.” He buttoned his shirt, awkwardly over his belly. “You’ll get it back tomorrow. Just a little insurance.”

She didn’t stand a chance. This wasn’t a negotiation anymore. This was the price for sparing that asshole.

He pulled on his pants—his underwear was sticky—and just slipped his shoes on. He paused in the doorway, still reeking of sex and old sweat.

“Nine. Not five past. And have a drink. You look like you might pass out.”

The door slammed shut.

Silke lay on the wet sheet, her legs drawn up, his thing still inside her, staring at the spot where the cell phone had been. Mira stirred in the closet. Not right away. Just a cautious breath.