Sarah's Education

by Madeline Moore

  She descended the stairs slowly, glancing around at each level to see if one of her housemates was still around. After years of not particularly paying attention to who they were she was belatedly ready to chat. But she was the last one out.

  No surprise that. She was probably the only one of the bunch who had nowhere to go. She’d shipped her stuff to St Paul but she had no intention of following it there. She was all grown up now. She’d go to the bus depot, pick a destination she could afford and climb aboard. Rumble off into her future. At least she had plenty to wear.

  Sarah tossed her garbage into the trash. Her luggage waited for her at the front door. She grabbed the handle and started rolling it out to the porch. The communal phone rang.

  For a moment she considered simply continuing on her way. Instead, she left her luggage halfway out the door and returned to pick up.

  ‘Sarah.’ The unmistakable sound of Veronica’s sultry voice purred in Sarah’s ear. ‘I’ve received a special request for you. Triple your usual fee. Interested?’

  29

  SARAH LOOKED RIGHT at home in the elevator of the posh Plaza Hotel. She was one of a few chic women with luggage, on their way up to their rooms. No one could guess that the room she was travelling to wasn’t hers. It was Jack’s.

  It had to be. Veronica had refused to divulge the name but she’d clearly been pleased for Sarah. It had to be him. Besides, at that kind of fee she’d expected the client would want her dressed as an alien or something, but Veronica had said to dress for the surroundings, not the scene. ‘Anything nice will do,’ she’d said. It had to be him.

  Had she conjured him up with that putrefied crab claw? She giggled but turned it into a cough. Giggling wasn’t sophisticated. But why had he come for her now, when it was too late? Still, if the thought of him didn’t make her heart sing the way it once had at least her pussy was purring. Jack was a lot of fun. Hopefully all he wanted was to exchange a wad of cash for a good fuck. Anything more than that would be difficult now. About as difficult as it was unlikely.

  In response to her knock the door opened; the man on the other side was not Jack. It was Jon.

  Sarah froze. He pulled her into the hotel room and shut the door.

  ‘I hate you,’ she whispered as he propelled her past the sumptuous living room and into the study.

  ‘I know,’ he said. He pushed her into the chair on one side of the desk and took the big chair behind it. ‘But I don’t know why. It doesn’t matter anyway because we’re here to discuss your paper.’

  ‘My paper?’ Sarah’s voice squeaked. ‘You’re kidding.’ She half-rose from her chair.

  ‘Sit.’ His voice was low but emphatic.

  She sat.

  ‘I shouldn’t have given you an A in Ethics when you failed to appear for our appointment. I’ll rectify that now.

  ‘I found your paper interesting and the presentation fresh. Your ideas were clear, although some seemed a bit unsubstantiated. Nonetheless the topic is fascinating and some of the questions you propose in the conclusion, particularly the ethical question of in utero brain surgery potentially ridding the world not only of its greatest thinkers but of its most enlightened beings – well, these are good issues that bear further study.’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘So, study them. Feel free to crib from my paper all you like.’

  His brows knit in a frown so fierce it was funny. ‘That’s not what I’m suggesting. I’m suggesting you continue your course of studies. Abroad.’

  ‘Why abroad?’

  ‘Because that’s where I’ll be. I’ve joined a think tank in Switzerland. The local university has an excellent philosophy department. Come with me.’

  ‘I thought … Didn’t you already leave?’

  ‘I came back for you.’

  Hate drained from her body so quickly her limbs felt weak. She couldn’t have left then if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t.

  ‘Come with me, Sarah.’

  ‘As your mistress?’

  ‘As my wife.’

  Jon was on the move now, coming around the desk to sit on it, close to her. Close enough to touch.

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘What if I’m autistic?’

  ‘So?’ He laughed. ‘That’s your biggest concern? I don’t think we should worry about it.’

  ‘I don’t relate well to people.’ Even as she said it she recalled her Classique clients. Not the regular guys, but George in his wheelchair, Peter and his mink glove, the smoking fetishist, the swinging couples and Bengie, the infantalist. She saw their faces, knew their names. She cared.

  ‘Not true. Anyway, you like me. Or you did.’ Jon held out his hand. In it was a ring: three big diamonds marching along a gold band. ‘I wanted to give you this when you came for our assigned meeting. Once you were no longer my student. But you didn’t come.’

  Sarah groaned. She plucked the ring from his hand.

  ‘I tried to convince myself you were better off with your young fiancé, but –’

  ‘David?’ It was Sarah’s turn to laugh. ‘He’s history.’

  Jon grinned with obvious relief. ‘I knew you didn’t love him. But, do you love me?’

  ‘What is love?’

  Jon groaned. ‘You’re not going to make this easy for me are you?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I have an answer.’

  ‘I expect you do. What is it?’

  ‘Plato talked about the three levels of pleasure, as I’m sure you know.’

  ‘Of course.’ Sarah spun the ring around the baby finger on her left hand, watching the diamonds sparkle. ‘Eros, philia and agape.’

  ‘I spent my youth looking for the one woman who embodied all three levels. The first, sensual, or physical pleasure.’

  ‘Sex.’ She cut him a glance from beneath lowered lids.

  ‘Right. The second, aesthetic pleasure.’

  ‘Beauty.’ She flashed him her sweetest smile.

  ‘And relationship. Marriage.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Sarah stopped playing with the ring. She tilted her head. ‘Level three?’

  ‘Surprisingly, this is actually the toughest level. Also the highest. Intellectual pleasure.’

  ‘Unsullied, if I’m not wrong, by physical interaction.’

  ‘According to Plato, but I don’t think it has to be the case.’ He grinned sheepishly.

  ‘What has this to do with me?’

  Jon growled. ‘I stopped hunting for her because I didn’t think she existed. I rested. You came and lay your head in my lap. I love you.’

  ‘How can you love me, knowing I’m a whore?’ Sarah whispered it, but she said it.

  He shrugged. ‘I find I don’t care. After all, I was your john. I’m as depraved as you. The question now is, do you love me?’

  ‘Equally depraved. Level one.’ She was spinning the ring on her baby finger again, watching the dazzling diamonds fly by.

  Jon nodded.

  ‘Equally attractive, level two.’

  ‘I think you’re being generous but yes, fine.’ He nodded again.

  ‘Equally intelligent?’

  ‘Well. Potentially. I mean I am older than you and I do have a PhD –’

  Sarah stopped spinning the ring. She frowned.

  ‘Yes, yes. Equally intelligent. Level three.’

  ‘Equals?’

  ‘Absolutely. Except when I give commands to which you respond with slavish obedience because you need debasement and pain.’

  She grinned. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes, Jon, I love you. Yes, I’ll marry you.’ She slid the ring off her pinkie and onto her ring finger. It fitted.

  He pointed at the floor. ‘On your knees, bitch.’

  She knelt.

  ‘Suck my cock. And do a good job, or I might be forced to beat you with my belt.’

  A pleasurable frisson of fear shivered through her body. It was starting. Her mind dumbed down as her h
ot spots ignited.

  Sarah unbuckled his belt with trembling hands. She glanced up once, just to reassure herself that the emotion she’d seen in his eyes was still there. It was. Love.

  Sarah’s lips made a round, red, obedient ‘O’. She set about delivering the last and the best blow job of her short, sweet career as a call girl.

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  Epub ISBN 9780753521267

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  This ebook is a work of fiction.

  In real life, make sure you practise safe, sane and consensual sex.

  First Published by Black Lace 2009

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  Copyright © Madeline Moore 2009

  Madeline Moore has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Black Lace

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  ISBN 9780352345394