Sarah's Education (21 page)

‘You have a cellphone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Doesn’t it take movies?’

‘Why yes, it does. Not good ones, but it would do. Hold on a minute.’

Sarah cringed inside from her need to touch herself but she managed to resist for the thirty seconds it took him to fetch his phone and prop it on a pillow between her thighs, aimed up at her pussy.

‘There,’ he said. ‘Shall we continue our little game?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘In my purse, I’ve got a BlackBerry that takes movies.’

‘But so does my phone.’

‘Record you, just your hand and cock, for my evenings alone.’

‘You really want to?’

‘Really.’

‘OK.’ He found her purse and her phone and propped it up against her left breast. ‘Right, it’s recording.’ He sat beside her, turned towards her, so that both she and her phone could see what he did.

Knowing she was being recorded added spice to Sarah’s self-fondling and made it even harder for her to restrain herself. She parted her pussy lips with two fingers and dabbled between them with a third while her thumb’s ball smoothed over her clit.

‘Beautiful,’ John sighed. ‘You personify pure lust, Sarah. You’re a remarkable young woman. Whoever gets you to keep will be a lucky man.’ His hips rocked backwards and forwards, counterpoint to his slow masturbation.

‘Come for me, John?’ she asked. Her thumb squished down on her clit and rubbed it.

‘You first.’

‘Do we have a bet on this?’

‘If you like. What stakes?’

‘A regular fuck? We haven’t done that yet.’

‘Missionary?’ His fingers tightened on his shaft, and accelerated their strokes.

‘Please.’

‘If who wins?’

‘Me.’

‘Very well. If you win, we’ll fuck missionary style. And if I win?’

‘Anything you like, John.’

‘No matter what?’

‘No matter what.’

He grinned. ‘You’re hoping it’ll be something really kinky, aren’t you?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘You’re so much fun, Sarah.’

‘Mmm.’ She made her thumb slow down. ‘You too.’

Still stroking himself, John picked the vibrator up again and turned its base one-handed, like he’d done it before.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘This.’ He reached over with the trembling toy and touched it to the left lip of her sex.

‘Cheat!’

‘No. Teasing you turns me on, so it’s fair.’

‘Fuck!’

‘We will, later.’ The smooth buzzing head slipped between her pussy lips and traced a line up from the bottom of her slit to push into her and press up behind her pubic bone.

‘I can’t stand that,’ she whined. ‘You’ll make me …’ Her hand became a fan that frotted across her clit furiously.

In turn, John stroked himself hard and fast. ‘Come for me, Sarah,’ he demanded.

‘Yip, yip, yip, yip …’ She convulsed inside. Her essences jetted from her pussy.

John stood, still stroking, then leant over Sarah and ejected a great foaming ivory spurt of jism across her chest. Two lesser jets followed, one aimed at each of her nipples.

‘You cheated!’ she accused.

‘True. I concede. Give me half an hour to recover, Sarah, and you shall have your missionary fuck.’

14

JOHN SHOWERED FIRST
, and alone. After her own leisurely shower, Sarah changed her hairstyle from twin bunches to a short ponytail. Bunches had been for the naughty schoolgirl’ look. She felt she’d graduated from that and deserved a more stylish look. The schoolgirl thing hadn’t been John’s idea, anyway, though it had amused him. She made her face up to be more sophisticated as well, heavy on the mascara, eye shadow and deep-pink lipstick. She hadn’t brought a change of clothes, unfortunately, so she settled for tying one of the hotel’s enormous bath towels around her like a sarong.

No, that wasn’t right. He liked her to be bold, outrageous, even. Sarah changed the big towel for a smaller one that she knotted very low around her hips. There! Lots of torso on show, pert breasts, narrow waist, sweetly curved belly, bare down well below her navel to within an inch of her mound, and one long leg exposed to her hip.

When she went into the other room John was in a hotel robe and holding two flutes of champagne. His eyebrows lifted when he saw her. ‘Nice!’

She sketched a little curtsey and almost lost her towel. John handed her a flute and sat in the room’s only armchair. He patted his thigh.

‘Another spanking?’ she asked.

‘Not right now. Come sit on my lap.’

He really was a remarkable man. They’d had debauched, depraved, illegal-in-some-states sex, and now he was being romantic. She perched on his knee. He pulled her deeper into his lap and wrapped her in his strong arms. Champagne
slopped
from her flute onto the outer curve of her left breast. John lapped it off but didn’t lick any further, though her nipple would have welcomed his tongue. He seemed content to simply cuddle for now. Sarah was sure that would change but meanwhile, she would enjoy the sweetness of the moment.

‘John,’ she said, ‘you’re obviously very bright. What sort of work do you do? I’m sure it’s fascinating.’

‘I’m contemplating a career change,’ he told her. ‘In fact, I committed myself to that, this very afternoon.’

‘Doing?’

‘Sarah, I’m not going to discuss it. How about you? Do you have a life outside of being an escort?’

Hmm! She couldn’t very well tell him she was a student, could she? He’d be able to guess which university she was at, and that’d never do. Would it? She said, ‘I’m a student of life. Let’s talk about something else.’

‘Good idea. Such as?’

The only topics she knew really well were her major and minor courses, so she said, ‘Philosophy?’

He chuckled. ‘Of the boudoir?’

‘Is there such a thing?’

‘A man wrote extensively on the topic. You might have heard of him – the Marquis de Sade?’

She shivered. ‘Yes, I’ve heard of him. He’s the man that “sadism” is named for. From what I’ve heard, he went far too far and he liked some pretty icky stuff.’

‘Agreed. Carefully and lovingly administered pain is one thing, whipping someone’s flesh to bloody shreds is quite another.’

‘We think alike,’ Sarah ventured.

‘On that topic, from opposite sides of the fence, but yes, our tastes seem to match beautifully.’

Sarah snuggled closer. ‘He hurt women for his own pleasure, with no consideration of theirs. You give pain-sluts what, um, what we want and no more, right?’

‘Not even that much sometimes.’

‘I get excited by being spanked and so on, but I wouldn’t want a lover to actually harm me.’

‘In the BDSM world, the rule is “Safe, Sane and Consensual”.’

‘That sounds like a good rule.’

‘It’s the one I follow, assiduously.’

‘You’re an expert, aren’t you, when it comes to giving loving pain but doing no damage?’

‘I try to be.’

‘Show me?’ she challenged.

‘I thought we’d agreed we’d try some good old-fashioned missionary sex next.’

‘But until then?’

‘What did you have in mind? Remember, I told you no more spanking until tomorrow.’

Sarah turned her face up towards his. ‘Kiss me, please, John, and torment my nipples as we kiss. I think that’d get me very, very hot.’

‘You’ve never experienced nipple torture?’

‘You’re my first … my first … master … is it? The first man to spank me or to really understand what I need. Or to care, come to that. I didn’t really understand it myself, before today. I suspected I’d enjoy pain and submission but I think I denied it because it seemed perverse, unnatural.’

‘It’s perfectly natural, if what animals do is your standard of natural behaviour. A bitch wolf won’t give herself to a dog wolf until he’s shown his mastery, usually by holding her throat between his jaws. A vixen won’t lift her tail for a dog fox until he grips the scruff of her neck between his teeth.’

Sarah snuggled closer. The way the conversation was heading was giving her that ghost of a tingle. ‘Which am I, John?’ she asked. ‘A bitch or a vixen?’

‘Let’s see, shall we?’ He took hold of her ponytail and pulled her head back to expose her throat. His jaws descended until he had her larynx gripped lightly between them.

Sarah purred, knowing that his lips would feel her words vibrate in her throat. ‘You can mount me, anytime, Mr Wolf.’

John released her, bent her head forwards and nipped her nape somewhat harder than he had her throat. It was the first time Sarah had been bitten there, and she liked it. She
shivered
. No wonder geishas showed the backs of their necks off as erogenous zones. ‘Oh, Mr Fox, I’d be honoured to lift my bushy little tail for you. Your choice of which entrance you decide to use.’

‘Vixen wins, by a shiver,’ John declared.

‘And this vixen made a request. Please?’

‘Of course.’ He moved her head by her hair, which was something else she was discovering she liked.

With her face tilted up towards his, at the exact angle and position that suited him, he lowered his lips to hers. At first they brushed, gently, just lip on lip, though hers were soft and parted in invitation. He mumbled on her lower lip. Sarah was very aware that his big warm palm was resting on her ribcage, an inch below her left breast. John pulled her hair slightly, tipping her head back further. His tongue ran across her lower lip. She was so glad she’d changed her lipstick from the candy-flavoured one. She didn’t want to be the schoolgirl he was debauching any more. She needed to feel like a sophisticated but submissive real woman – one who knew exactly what she was doing, not one who was innocent and being seduced into depravity.

His tongue accepted her open mouth’s invitation. As it passed between her lips, his hand slid upwards to hold her entire breast in its grasp. Sarah sucked a deep breath, lifting her breast, reminding him of her need for pain.

A finger and a thumb closed on her nipple. It was rolled, too gently, as his tongue explored the sweet wetness of her mouth. Sarah wriggled. Yes, he had an erection. It lay along his leg, under her thigh. She shifted her weight, rolling his shaft beneath her.

His tongue thrust into her mouth, pulled back, then thrust again. His fingers tightened on her nipple. Tiny pangs radiated from her breast’s nub. Sarah pushed a hand down her belly, dislodging her towel. She need skin on skin, more than she had. Her hand beneath her parted John’s robe. She hitched towards his knees, allowing his shaft to slap up against his flat belly. A hitch back again trapped it between him and her naked hip.

John kept kissing her, at the same time twisting and pinching her nipple. The pangs became white-hot streaks of pleasure/pain that bordered on the unbearable. Her fingers worked between her own thighs, found her button and pinch-pulled its sheath back.

She was panting, panting into his mouth. Somehow, she managed a mangled, ‘Other nipple, please?’

John released her tongue, and her hair. One big hand clamped over her mouth and pushed her back, and back, until she was bent straining over the broad arm of the chair, her hair dangling almost to the floor. She could breathe. Her nose was uncovered. Even so, it felt like she could only suck in as much air as he allowed.

His free hand gave her left nipple one last vicious twist before darting to her right breast, to crush it between his fingers, squeezing so hard that her nipple extruded between his knuckles, which clamped on it. Sarah wanted to beg, though she didn’t know what for. The way he was abusing her was exactly what she craved but somehow it seemed right that she should plead with him, either for mercy or for more intense torment. It was the act of pleading that she needed. Perhaps, later, he’d make her crawl to him on her hands and knees, make her grovel.

She had a vision of his foot on the back of her neck that made her moan. She adored him and desperately needed to tell him so. He was the primal male, elemental, controlling. She was the essential female, totally under his control and loving it.

What could she do to show the depth of her surrender when he’d already overpowered her? Sarah threw her thighs wide apart and lifted her hips, presenting her sex, her womanhood, her sacred profanity, offering it to him to use or abuse, or just to amuse himself with. The way he was mauling her breast was agonising; the pain intoxicating. Sarah forgot to breathe. Doubled backwards and splayed across his lap, she was open to his every whim. Her arms were free but they couldn’t defend her. She could have been beyond his reach and she’d
still
have been defenceless. His will bound her more surely than the power of his arms and hands.

Then he was lifting her up and carrying her to the bed. She was tossed onto it, on her back. Instinctively, she raised her arms above her head and spread her legs wide.

He knelt between her thighs and leant over her on one elbow. She looked up into his eyes, pleading for it. He sheathed his cock with latex and directed it with his hand until its bulbous head nudged the slick lips of her sex.

Right. He’d promised he’d fuck her missionary style, and John was a man of his word. That hot hard plum slithered upwards between her pussy lips until it found the tiny engorged nub of her clit. He rubbed it there, round and round, up and down, as if trying to insert her tiny pink pearl into the eye of his cock.

‘Fuck me,’ she begged. ‘I need it, John.’

He grinned down at her, the teasing bastard. No, she shouldn’t think that. If he wanted to tease her, that was his right.

He moved his cock lower. It parted her outer lips, then her inner ones, and paused in the quivering softness of her vestibule. John smiled and asked, ‘Now?’

She wanted to lift herself up to him, to take his cock, but he was in charge. Sarah nodded, biting her lip.

He eased an inch deeper, then thrust. His magnificence dilated her, filling her, forcing her inner convolutions to straighten and conform to its shape. John paused once more, buried deep inside her. He hitched forwards as if trying to bend his shaft but only succeeded in pressing it hard against her clit. There, watching her eyes with amusement, he rocked slowly, then fast, then slowly. His hips swivelled, aiming his column into her at a different angle, then rocked again. He changed angles a dozen times, always slowing his thrusts as she felt herself rising towards a climax.