Mira

The muffled sound coming from the closet was laughter.

Not a giggle. A real, mean laugh that already set Mira off as she pushed the door open and stepped out. Silke was still lying on the sheet, naked, her legs half-spread, and something was running down between her thighs. Warm. Sticky. The cum from that fat, chubby guy, finding its way down, over her labia, down the inside, onto the already wet sheet.

Mira stopped and laughed again.

“Crazy. You look like you just got off a shift on the street.”

Silke tried to pull on her shirt. Mira stepped on the fabric.

“No. Wait. I want to see you like this.” And she took pictures with her cell phone.

“Mira—”

“What, Mira? You just let the grossest guy at college fuck you bareback. He’s had sex with at least 200 girls, and you let him come inside you without protection. You’re such a slut.” She pulled open the drawer so hard the packs clattered, “There were condoms in here the whole time. Just like everyone else’s drawer. But I guess you’d rather get fucked bareback. Congratulations.”

Silke turned her head away. Mira didn’t.

“An hour and a half. In bed with that fat guy. With his belly. With that smell.” She crouched down at the edge of the bed, too close. “And four to five orgasms. He only had two, you had at least four. Two more than that fatso. How do you do that? How do you enjoy that?”

“I didn’t enjoy it.”

“Yes, you did.” Mira tapped Silke lightly on the knee until her legs were slightly apart again and the strip remained visible. “Your head didn’t. Your pussy did. Otherwise you wouldn’t be lying there like that. You’re not even cleaning yourself up. Apparently you want to keep the juice inside.”

She walked over to the desk. She touched the mouse. The monitor turned on. The computer was running. It had been running the whole time. On the screen was a camera view of the bed, shot slightly from above, in sharp focus—the sheet, the pillows, the empty spot where Silke had just been fucked. Mira clicked. Stop. The recording ended. 1:32:18.

“You thought it was just his cell phone.” Mira rewound it. All the way. Back to the beginning. “Cute.”

The image jumped.

Bright light. Silke naked, legs spread, pussy wet. The first shot from his cell phone was in the frame, and on top of that, this second camera—4K—every hair, every glint.

Mira pulled up the chair and turned on the sound.

First, the belly. She paused, zoomed in, and laughed softly through her nose.

“Look at that fold. There. The one in the middle. That’s where your cheek was. And there.” Another shot. The side where the flesh hung over her hip. “That’s where you were kissing around. Crazy.”

“Turn it off.”

“No.”

She let it play.

You could see him turning Silke around. 69. The mountain of belly. Silke’s face searching for his cock, thwarted by the fat. Below, his mouth on her pussy. Mira turned up the volume.

The first orgasm was unmistakable. Silke convulsed, her hips on his face, her mouth full of cock, a stifled moan. In 4K, her entire lower body twitched. Mira tapped the screen with her pen, right on Silke’s butt.

“There. That’s one. Too bad you can’t see your face. But you can see the pussy. Super close-up. You can even see your little precious asshole twitching.”

Change of position. Riding. Silke on top of him, the thick shaft disappearing inside her, his stomach slamming against her. Mira fast-forwarded, pausing whenever Silke let her head fall back.

“Here’s your second orgasm.” During the orgasm, Mira zoomed in so close that you could see the asshole twitching again—small, embarrassing, in time with her pussy. A little later, you could also see him exploding inside her and the cum being squeezed out the sides as they fucked.

From behind. Silke on her knees, tits pointing down, she pushed her hips back herself, again and again, onto his cock, while he held the phone.

Then the aftermath. He slid out. Semen, juices—a visible streak from Silke onto the sheet. Mira really laughed.

“That’s cinema. Bareback. A drawer full of condoms. And it’s dripping out of you like from a cheap bottle.”

One more scene. Highlights that Mira already seemed to know, as if she’d been eavesdropping and just wanted the images to go with it. Silke, the smeared cock in her mouth, after the first cumshot. Her face close to his belly. She had to push the fat aside with her hand; otherwise, she couldn’t reach the base. In 4K, you could see the film on the glans, her tongue, the disgust at the corner of her mouth.

“Nice. Cleaning lady.”

The end of the file: again from behind, lying flat, her tits swaying with every thrust, Silke pushing herself back until she came, and him coming inside her shortly after. Mira paused on the still image where his stomach was pressing against Silke’s back.

Then the sound from the end. A pause. His line about the ass. Silke’s “No.” The office. Nine o’clock. Sixty minutes. The cell phone.

Mira turned in her chair toward her.

“You’re going back there tomorrow.”

Silke said nothing.

“But he was done. He couldn’t have gone on any longer. Twenty minutes of cuddling at most. He was soft. Done. And yet you still say sixty minutes.” Mira grinned. “You just want him again.”

“I don’t want that asshole.”

“Yeah. And for that, you’re going to suck him off in his office tomorrow morning, as if that’s a fair trade.” She shook her head. “No one in the world would put up with that. An hour and a half with that fat slob. Coming four times. Swallowing, cleaning up, riding him, even getting on top of him. Anyone else would have said no. At some point. After the photo. After the first kiss. After the smell.”

Silke sat on the edge of the bed, the cum now cold on her legs.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did.” Mira nodded toward the screen. “He says ‘girlfriend,’ you’re kissing his fat folds. You want condoms, he doesn’t, so you didn’t use one. He says ‘asshole,’ and you offer him sixty extra minutes. And afterward, you’re dripping and acting surprised. You said yes to everything. You’re a real little slut.”

She pulled a shirt over Silke’s head—hers. Way too short. The hem ended below her butt. When Silke moved her arms, her red pussy was visible. No panties. No shower.

“There. Get out.”

“I have to wash up.”

“At home. Not here. I don’t want that smell in my bathroom.” Mira opened the door to the hallway a crack. Voices somewhere. “Don’t mess this up tomorrow. Otherwise, the video goes online. 4K. And with your face on it. To go with your little nude tour today. Then everyone will know who was under that dress.”

“Nine o’clock. On time. I want to see that grade. And if you lose it—” she tapped the monitor, “—this isn’t a private video anymore. Then it’s a movie for everyone.”

The hallway was too bright.

Silke left. Quickly. Her thighs pressed together, the strip of skin between them, her shirt too short for any encounter. No one came out of any door. Luckily, it wasn’t one.

Jonas wasn’t there.

The apartment sounded empty as she locked the door. She got in the shower—too hot—and stayed in too long. Once. Rinsed off. Again. Her pussy burned. A third time, because the smell in her head wouldn’t leave the shower stall. The short shirt lay on the floor like evidence.

She put on something of her own, just to have something of her own against her skin, and went to bed, even though it didn’t seem late enough yet. University tomorrow. Nine tomorrow.

Her cell phone was missing from the nightstand.

She asked herself how all this could have happened. Then she remembered her walk across campus. She grabbed her laptop and scrolled through the chat—all the comments about her body. One hand was on her clit. That’s how she fell asleep. But not before she came again. That’s why she’d done it all in the first place.

She fell asleep early, not because she was calm. Because her body had nothing left to give. And because at nine someone was expecting her to say “yes” again—this time on the floor, under the wood, without it being her mark this time.