Then, with the camera still following me, I signed the papers. With the first signature, I signed my freedom over to my ex-husband, so from now on I would have no more rights than a child or a pet. And with the second signature, I signed away any chance of claiming, ever, that I was not a fully willing participant in any sexual abuse, rape, torture, or injury he may ever, for the rest of my natural life, want to put me through. Even changing my body surgically was entirely his choice, or injecting me with strange drugs to increase my libidinal drive or my sensitivity to the pain or sexual stimulation. Or even giving me to someone else, or to a group of perverted men! Or just selling me!
I could not breathe, but I lifted my pen, and as I did it I knew I was falling into a trap. I was stepping deliberately into a trap! And I knew I would suffer, continuously, forever. But I signed it, and I smiled viciously as I did it, as I raised my pen and did that horrible thing to myself. I wanted my disgusting, needy, leaky vagina and the rest of my insane, sex-addicted body, along with my stupid, idiotic, depraved mind, to suffer as much as humanly possible. Even more than humanly possible, I wanted my humanity stripped away from me, to be reduced to nothing, lower than an animal, lower than a whore. I would be nothing more than Ben's ultimate fantasy pussy-slave, his willing victim, his rape-slut, his torture-slut, his sickening, perverted fuck-doll that he could brutalize and destroy every night, just to patch me up and start all over the next morning. And at the end, he could pass me along to the next guy, or group of guys.
"Oh my god," I thought and I gulped air and squeezed my eyes shut. "Am I really doing this?" But the answer came with an excruciating, crazy tingle, like electricity shooting down my spine. My nipples and my dirty, still pissy twat were on fire, and the shit-eating grin returned to my face, an evil grin, a sadistic grin. I was thrilled to sign this, to lock myself, irrevocably, into the ultimate horror story. I lowered my pen to the page, and although a tiny voice in the back of my mind was still pleading with me not to do it, I signed my full name to the document, my full name, which as Lawyer Jarvis pointed out had recently changed. Ben didn't want me to continue to use his surname now that we were divorced, so I lifted Jarvis's fancy fountain pen once again to sign "Bethany Jane Cranston." Then I handed the pen, gingerly, back to the strange lawyer with the southern drawl.
Both men were wearing evil grins similar to my own. "How do you feel?" Asked Mr. Jarvis. Ben was still pointing his phone cameral at me. I felt a strange bond with both of them: we were all demonically pleased that we had a slut to punish. Even though I was the slut, I was just as anxious to get started as they were. I had to think for a moment what to say, how to answer the question.
It was my little girl's voice that came out. "I feel like a very naughty, nasty little girl, who is finally going to get what she deserves." I was pleased that it was so easy for me to be honest, because even though I was more articulate and sophisticated on the inside, when the little girl voice came out, she always told the truth, and told it in a very direct way. I realized I wanted to speak like that always, from now on, but I knew I didn't really have any control over it.
"Well Bethany, what do you suppose it is that you deserve?" Asked the lawyer.
"I am going to be punithed," I said, lisping a bit on the word "punished." Ben just stared at me, grinning. I grinned back.
"Why do you need to be punished?"
"For... touching myself." I admitted.
"With the corncob?"
"Yeth," I lisped.
"Hmm," said Mr. Jarvis, rubbing his chin. "You are not supposed to shove vegetables inside your vagina, are you, Bethany?"
"No. No Mister, I am not."
"Then why did you do it?"
