Sarah's Education

by Madeline Moore

  Christopher muttered, ‘Gay, like I said.’

  ‘The bad news is,’ Jonathon went on, ‘that I expect my students to think, to use their intelligence. Bear with me while I explain what I mean by “intelligence”.’

  At the end of his first lecture, most of which failed to penetrate Sarah’s funk, Jonathon drew their attention back to the words he’d written on the board. ‘I’d like you to consider these statements,’ he said. ‘How do they relate to each other? Do they have a relationship? Does either contradict the other? Think about those questions and write your thoughts down for me, perhaps two thousand words? By Friday at noon?’

  The students saluted him with the traditional groan, applauded and filed out. Sarah scurried to the door, bent over as if in pain which, in a way, she was.

  * * *

  That night in her bed, in the misty zone between fantasising and dreaming, Sarah imagined that she’d been summoned to Jonathon’s study. She wasn’t the least surprised to find that he’d had two whipping posts set up. He did have a reputation as something of a disciplinarian, after all. Without any transition, she was tied, spreadeagled, between the posts. The dress she was wearing was gauzy, white, flowing and virtually transparent. Beneath it, she was nude.

  Jonathon took an old-fashioned crook-handled schoolmaster’s cane from a rack. He circled Sarah, describing her many shortcomings in humiliating detail. He paused behind her but she could still see him clearly from some out-of-body viewpoint. He slashed the cane down, ripping the fabric of her dress from just below her bottom to its hem. She flinched even though the cane hadn’t touched her skin. He resumed pacing, then slashed again. The tip of his cane tore her dress from side to side, just below the swell of her breasts. She pushed her chest out in an effort to seduce him away from punishing her further, but in vain. The cane whipped again and again, reducing her dress to shreds and then slicing the tatters away to leave her totally naked but completely unmarked.

  Dream-Jon tossed his cane aside and was instantly nude, or perhaps he’d been naked all along and she just hadn’t noticed. He embraced Sarah. She had just enough time to be aware of his burning shaft, pressed against her cool belly, before she experienced a hard little climax and woke up with her fists clenched between her thighs.

  The next morning there was a note for Sarah, asking her to drop by Jonathon’s study at four-thirty, if it wasn’t inconvenient. Was her dream about to come true?

  She didn’t have the chance to get home and change but she did touch up her make-up before reporting as ‘invited’. She knocked.

  He called, ‘Come in.’

  Jonathon was seated behind his desk so she didn’t have to decide whether or not to run into his arms. He said, ‘Take a seat, please, Sarah.’

  She sat, hands in her lap, twiddling her thumbs.

  He smiled. ‘We have a slightly uncomfortable situation here.’

  ‘Yes, Jon.’

  ‘Best call me “sir” or “Professor Trelawney”, like the other students do.’

  ‘Yes, Professor Trelawney.’

  ‘Our past relationship, brief as it was – it’d be unfortunate for both of us if it became public knowledge.’

  ‘But the proctors already know. I was a gift to you from Seneca, wasn’t I?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then who –’

  ‘It’s none of your business, Sarah.’

  ‘Of course.’ She flushed. ‘I’d never tell a soul.’

  ‘Nor would I. We are agreed then? It never happened? You’re a student; I’m your professor. We met for the first time, yesterday, in the auditorium.’

  ‘I can keep secrets.’ She gave him a conspiratorial grin. ‘In my “other life” I have to.’

  ‘I understand. So, no secret looks, no innuendos between us, just our professional relationship from now on? I give you my word that my assessment of your work will not be affected one little bit, neither positively nor negatively.’

  She looked up at him through her lashes and purred, ‘I was hoping …’

  He shook his head. ‘Delightful as our encounter was, Sarah, and even if things were different, on a professor’s salary, I couldn’t possibly afford you.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘Explain then.’

  ‘We – I know I was paid, but I felt, um, there was a connection, wasn’t there? You and me? A fit? Something more?’

  ‘I won’t deny that I felt more emotional involvement with you than the circumstances of our meeting warranted. Had we met some other way – but no – that wouldn’t have worked, either. You’re my student, so off-limits.’

  ‘I’m twenty-one, an adult, and you know I’m no little innocent.’

  ‘Sarah, I’m incredibly flattered. Our encounter was great, but we can’t possibly resume our relationship.’

  ‘Why not? You want me, don’t you? I want you.’ She pressed on. ‘Jesus, Jon, you made me come to the count of ten! Don’t tell me we weren’t connected then.’

  He smiled. ‘That was a matter of pain and Play-O and, more than anything, luck.’

  ‘I see.’ Her voice wavered. ‘Strange. This is the first time you’ve truly humiliated me.’ Tears welled in her eyes.

  ‘Sarah. Please. It’s a matter of ethics. We “fit” as you say, because of our natures: me dominant, you submissive. No ethical dominant will take advantage of a dependent relationship. That means no doctor and patient; boss and employee.’ He smiled.’ No Scout master and Boy Scout, priest and parishioner, and especially, no tutor and pupil. Can you understand that?’

  ‘It would be against your morals?’

  ‘I have no morals, just ethics, which are much more binding.’

  Sarah blinked back a tear. ‘But I think, I lo –’

  ‘Don’t say it. In any case, at the most, what you feel is infatuation.’

  ‘Is not!’

  ‘Don’t sulk.’

  ‘Or you’ll spank me?’

  Jonathon sighed. ‘Sarah, is this the way it is going to be? Are you going to be coming on to me every time I lecture? If so, you’re going to make my life very difficult.’

  Sarah dropped her eyes. ‘Sorry. No, I won’t come on to you, I promise, not overtly. I can’t make the same promise about covertly.’ She raised her eyes again and gazed directly into his. ‘Just remember, Professor Trelawney, every minute I spend in your class I’ll be wanting you. Any time you change your mind about your ethics, all you have to do is crook your finger and I’ll be yours, any way you want me.’

  His face was stone. ‘Then, the situation is this, we keep our past secret, but you intend to torment me in any unobtrusive way that you can. I’ll treat you as just another student and will be impervious to your subtle seductions.’ He sighed. ‘The unfortunate thing is, this conflict that you insist on will inevitably sour us against each other. We’re going to end up detesting each other, and that’s sad. It’ll sully some very happy memories, on my part, if not on yours.’

  Sarah made fists. ‘You … You … You man you!’ She got up and ran from the room before she broke down in tears.

  20

  ‘SARAH. NANCY. COME in.’ Veronica’s voice was carefully neutral.

  The two girls, who had been left in the waiting room for what seemed like an eternity, rose as one. They shuffled into Veronica’s office. Craig was already inside, seated on an armless chair. He was holding a crop. Veronica closed the door behind them.

  ‘I think you know why I’ve asked you both to come in. I’ve just been informed that your behaviour on New Year’s Eve was a shockingly poor representation of Classique.’ Veronica slowly circled the girls as she spoke.

  ‘That bastard said he wasn’t gonna tell,’ griped Nancy. ‘What a jerk.’

  ‘I thought Mrs Pettifer was a satisfied customer, too.’ Sarah flushed as she remembered the brief but intense make-out session she’d spent with Caroline.

  ‘The Pettifers did not complain, happily. Nonetheless your dreadful behaviour has
been drawn to my attention. Comments?’

  ‘Who was it, then? Mimi? Andrea? Those bitches.’ Nancy’s voice rose. ‘Or was it Naomi – I saw her there and she’s a vicious gossip –’

  ‘Not gossip. Fact. My girls, rolling on the floor, clawing and scratching at each other. Classique girls.’ Veronica shuddered. The image is seared into my brain.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Sarah. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘No, it won’t,’ said Veronica. ‘Have you any guesses about the identity of my informant, Sarah?’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘Not really. Does it matter?’

  ‘You have no guesses because you don’t know any of my girls. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘Um, well, I’m an independent worker –’ Sarah faltered.

  ‘Not a team player,’ stated Veronica. ‘That may be fine in your other life, but here at Classique I expect my girls to back each other up. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Sarah hung her head. ‘I shouldn’t have made Nancy look stupid. But how do you think I felt, showing up dressed as Dorothy?’

  ‘Nancy? Any ideas on how Sarah ended up with such an inappropriate costume?’

  ‘I was rushing around and I guess I grabbed the wrong one.’ Nancy jutted out her jaw. ‘I was just trying to do you a favour, Veronica, and –’

  The swish of the crop slicing air cut short her explanation. Nancy glanced at Craig, flushing furiously.

  ‘I’m sorely tempted to let you both go, but I’ll give you one more chance. No more back-stabbing. No more idiocy. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, Veronica,’ whispered Nancy. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the crop, which was once again settled across Craig’s knees.

  ‘Yes, Veronica. Understood.’ Sarah was also mesmerised by the lethal-looking instrument.

  Craig grinned at the girls. ‘Right then, who’s first?’

  ‘Not the crop, please, I can’t stand it –’

  ‘Stop snivelling, Nancy. It’s the only way I know to get through to you,’ said Veronica. ‘You’ve only yourself to blame.’

  ‘I’ll go first,’ said Sarah.

  Craig lifted his hands from his knees and gestured, inviting her to lie in his lap. Sarah complied. Her limbs felt heavy, as if she were moving through water. Her mind was fogging up. Probably a good thing. Did she have nice panties on? Yes. Always flimsy bikinis or thongs, now that she was a call girl. Pretty, but no protection from the crop.

  Craig lifted her skirt and tucked the hem into the waistband. He placed his palm on her bum. She flinched instinctively. He laughed. Sarah chuckled too but the sound caught in her throat as he delivered half a dozen firm slaps to her ass.

  It hurt! She wriggled in a pointless attempt to escape his hand. Craig slung one leg over her thighs, trapping her with her bum up and helplessly exposed. He raised the crop and brought it down across the fullness of her cheeks.

  God! It stung! It stung horribly. Wriggle as she might, there was nothing she could do to escape it. Again, and it stung just as bad, worse even. She had to protect herself somehow.

  Sarah tried to cover her bum with her hands but Craig simply grabbed both of her wrists with his free hand. Helpless, totally helpless, she willed herself to relax and receive. Impossible! The terrible crop sang its terrible song repeatedly, whistling through the air to a staccato stop, one bar, one beat at a time.

  She’d been clenching her teeth but as the punishment continued Sarah’s mouth fell open. Inarticulate pleas for mercy mixed with groans and sobs. Tears coursed down her cheeks. Would it never, ever end? What would happen if she shouted ‘red’, or at least, God help her, ‘yellow’? But she did not. This was punishment, real punishment. It frightened her, though whether that was because of the pain or because of the deep yearning that pain sparked within her, she didn’t know.

  Suddenly she was riding the pain, with it and then above it, like a surfer struggling for position on a board in a storm-tossed sea. Up, up, and yes! Free! And then the inevitable tumble, submerged in an ocean of agony.

  ‘Stop!’ Sarah screamed. ‘Stop! I’ll be good!’

  Craig ignored her. The crop bit into her for what seemed the hundredth time.

  ‘Enough,’ said Veronica.

  Craig stood. Sarah tumbled to the floor. Next,’ Craig said cheerfully.

  Nancy burst into tears.

  That night, Sarah was trying to study in bed, an icepack to her bum, when her intercom buzzed. In response to her hello, Christopher’s cheery voice greeted her. Ah, Chris, her balm for all things weird and scary. She let him into the building and a moment later, into her room.

  ‘Your study partner’s here!’ Christopher spoke loudly in case Donna was listening at her door. Sarah had told her sister that she tutored him on Wednesdays, which he’d found hilarious, as his marks were every bit as high as hers. He dumped his knapsack by the door and jumped onto her bed. ‘What’s tonight’s topic?’

  ‘Donna’s not home,’ said Sarah. She closed the door and locked it.

  ‘She get a job?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Christopher picked up each text on the bed, considered its title with a mock-quizzical frown, and dropped it on the floor. ‘Autism? Socrates? Zen? What? You think old Socs was autistic? Or the Buddha?’

  ‘Maybe both,’ she replied enigmatically. Sarah stretched out on the bed beside him and rucked up her nightie. ‘Eat me, baby, I want to feel those cold cheeks between my burning thighs.’

  ‘Say no more, mistress.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Sarah moaned with delight. Christopher’s mouth on her mound was a godsend. Just what she needed. She wriggled and moaned again. She was already on the cusp of a climax that’d been hovering since she’d been cropped hours ago. ‘Ouch.’ He’d cupped her ass in his hands and although his cool touch was welcome on the hot cheeks, pressure was not. ‘Careful.’

  ‘Holy shit. Who did this to you?’

  ‘Behave. No questions. Just be careful.’

  ‘Are you kidding? Is this – did you – are you?’

  ‘It’s OK, I did, I am. C’mon, Christopher, I need to come.’

  ‘You’re a strange one, Sarah.’

  ‘I know, baby,’ she whispered. She pushed his head down between her legs. ‘I know.’

  21

  VERONICA ASKED, ‘CAN you smoke, Sarah?’

  ‘Smoke? No, I don’t smoke.’ Sarah crossed her ankles and tucked her knees to one side. As Sarah watched Veronica’s appraising eye follow the line she’d created – from the top of her straight-cut highlighted chestnut hair down past her wide blue eyes and scarlet lips to the tip of her jaw to a hint of cleavage to her tightly belted waist to her curvy hip and down her legs to the slender, crossed ankles and so off the tips of her black stilettos, she congratulated herself. She’d gone for sexy and sophisticated with a clear but understated hint of kink. Gorgeous and depraved. Eager. Open. Fun. Experienced but unsullied. Unique.

  It was the first time she’d talked to Veronica since their meeting with Nancy and Craig. Happily, neither were present and Veronica made no mention of the New Year’s fiasco. If the cropping from Craig had truly been her punishment, it seemed to have released everyone, including her, from dwelling on the past. In which case it had been well worth it.

  ‘That wasn’t what I asked. I asked, “Can you smoke?” Have you ever tried it? If you did, did you choke or throw up?’

  ‘I tried it once, Veronica, back when I was a kid. My sister and I swiped half a pack a visitor had left at our folks’. We snuck out behind the house and lit up.’

  ‘And? How was it?’

  ‘As I remember, she smoked three and I smoked two. We threw the pack away after that.’ Sarah peered at her boss. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘It didn’t make you sick or anything?’

  ‘No.’

  Veronica pulled her desk drawer open and took out a plain cedar box. ‘Our client has these custom made in Vietnam.’ She lifted the lid to show that it was full of incredib
ly long, perhaps ten-inch, ivory cigarettes with golden filter tips. ‘He’s a smoking fetishist.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Women smoking turns him on.’

  ‘That’s weird.’

  Veronica’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps, but we don’t judge, do we, Sarah?’

  ‘No, of course not, sorry.’

  ‘He pays double.’

  ‘Oh? That’s interesting.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’

  ‘He’ll pay double just to watch a girl smoke?’

  ‘Not “just”. He wants sex as well, but with cigarettes as important accessories.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow. Does he want the girl to masturbate with a cigarette?’

  ‘Very likely. Sarah, the smoking fetish, like most fetishes, is very structured. There are looks, styles and so on that go with it. There are smoking fetishists who prefer the woman to smoke cigars, for instance.’

  ‘You mean there are lots of these – “gentlemen”?’

  ‘Thousands. Tens of thousands. There are websites devoted to their kink, and magazines. There are even smoking porno flicks with the girls fully clothed, just puffing away, nothing else.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  Veronica shook her head. ‘No I’m not. This is about money, and I never joke about money.’

  Sarah took one of the cigarettes from its box and sniffed it. ‘Just tobacco? These don’t contain any illegal substances, do they? I’d hate to wake up in a Vietnamese brothel.’

  ‘They’re safe, as safe as cigarettes can be. I’m not suggesting you take up the habit. This’d be for the date, nothing more.’

  ‘Tell me more, please.’

  ‘When it comes to fetishes, a girl has to understand the nuances. With smoking fetish, the fetishists are very particular. It’s not just the smoking that they want, but the style of smoking, what they smoke, what they wear, how they act and so on.’

  ‘Poor devils.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘If a guy wants someone who smokes, and smokes a particular brand, and she has to dress and look and act … What’re his chances of bumping into the right, and willing, girl?’