Two weeks earlier, Valerie had simply been a thirty-something professor of philosophy, not an owned slut. Actually, she’d been the one doing the owning, after a fashion. Her long-distance relationship with Rob, who taught at MIT, had crumbled months earlier. He’d shown himself to be a bit of a priss, and Valerie wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that, so they amicably agreed to split up and see other people.

Valerie had gone on dates, but they’d been lackluster. One was a talker, never letting her get a word in edgewise. Another kept staring at her feet, until she regretted wearing strappy sandals. And the third? When he bent...