Beth Likes It Ch 11

Ben and Jarvis helped me up and walked me back into the living room. I could tell they were being extra nice to me, and I didn't know why. Frankly, I didn't even know why I was upset. All the same I snuggled back into my familiar spot on the couch and covered myself with the blanket. I tried to pull the blanket over my head so they wouldn't look at me, but Ben asked me if I needed more rest or if they could perhaps talk to me for a minute.

"Sure I guess so," I said. I propped my head up on some cushions which were propped against the arm of the couch. Ben was in his "papa chair" and Jarvis had pulled another chair in from the kitchen, so he could see my face. He was sitting between me and the fireplace.

"How are you feeling?" Asked my former husband.

"Terrible," I said truthfully. He looked at me, prompting me to elaborate.

"It's a lot," I said. Ben nodded, and Jarvis made a sound as if he was choking, but it seemed to be a sympathetic sort of choking.

"But you like this, right?" Asked Ben. He gestured so as to include everything that was happening around us, everything that was in our lives right now. "You like being treated like this...?"

That was a very difficult question for me to answer, and even though I knew he was being kind I still felt really put on the spot, and my heart started beating a mile a minute. I stammered a bit before I could respond.

"Y-yes. Yes Ben." I couldn't seem to catch my breath quite right, but I managed to whisper "yes I like it."

They both looked at me, grinning widely. And part of me was glad they were pleased, but something else caught me off guard, and with a huge, unexpected rush of emotion I burst into tears.

In a strange way I felt detached, as if I was watching this person Beth sobbing on the couch, but also it was me and I was really feeling these things, just as it had really been me being raped and tortured and humiliated from dawn until late into the night. I thought I was going to be asked why I was crying, but they just let me cry, nodding sympathetically. I cried for a long time. The sun was going down, and Ben finally stood up from his chair and shooed Jarvis to the side so he could build a fire. Jarvis stepped forward and handed me his handkerchief and then moved his chair. I blew my nose and wiped the tears out of my eyes before handing it back. It felt like none of us really knew what was going on.

Ben glanced at me over his shoulder. His hands were busy stacking the wood just so, so it would burn nicely. His voice was every bit as calm and authoritative as it ever had been. He was like a god to me, and he didn't even know it.

"I didn't think you would do it," he said. "I didn't think you would go through with it all."

I started crying again, but it didn't stop me from speaking. "I liked it," I said. "I really -- r e a l l y -- liked it." A tremor moved through me, a huge trembling wave of unfamiliar emotion.

"See I told you," said Jarvis quietly. "She's a one."

"Obviously," said Ben. "But that's not everything she is." He gave Jarvis a stern look. "You know I bet your 'Anal Annie' is dead by now," said Ben.

"Probably," agreed Jarvis.

"That's not what I have in mind for Beth."

The room was silent for awhile. The fireplace was against the west wall of our house, and on either side of it were large, west facing windows. I watched the sun set behind Jarvis. I had no idea what I could possibly say, or why they were talking to me as if I were a person right now, when it was obvious they didn't think of me as a person.

When the top arc of the sun finally disappeared beneath the lip of the horizon, I glanced over at Ben, and noticed that he was looking right at my eyes. Every time Ben looked me directly in the eyes I got nervous, even before all this happened, but especially now. His gaze was not cold, it was warm in its way, but it gave no ground. He was the foreman at work, and in fact he owned part of the company he worked for, and they made a lot of money because of him. He had no formal education, but he was strangely well-read, knew everything anybody did about the world and about politics, and knew absolutely everything there was to know about his craft, of which there was quite a lot you had to know and be in command of. HVAC guys make more than anyone else in the trades, barring elevator guys, and there is a lot more work for HVAC guys. Ben was heavy set, but strong as a bull: I had seen him lift an anvil onto the back of a truck by himself, and it wasn't one of those "travel anvils" either. Every time he looked right at my eyes I felt like I should look away, look down or something. I've never felt like I was worthy to meet his gaze straight on, and I've never minded deferring to him.

But this time it was like I couldn't look away. I wasn't allowed to look away. But also I didn't want to. Truth be told I cherished the connection I had with Ben, and I had never cared much that it wasn't a relationship between equals. I remembered hearing some Sunday morning preacher shouting "The husband is the head of the house!" in some atrocious sermon I overheard while channel surfing, and that phrase got caught in my head and I remember the preacher's exact inflection. I often repeated that phrase to myself, smiling secretly when Ben told me to do something as if I was a slave or an employee. He'd just bark orders at me and the fact is I liked it. "The husband is the head of the house," I'd say to myself. That's my secret truth, even though it's embarrassing to admit, even though it goes against everything I've ever heard about women's rights or feminism. Not only did I like it when Ben ordered me about, but it made me feel frisky.

I couldn't look away, and his eyes were just too much for me, it was a tremendously uncomfortable moment, but it meant something. Finally I burst into tears again, but this time I knew what I was crying about.

"Why did you DIVORCE ME!?" I shouted at the top of my lungs.

I then wrenched my eyes away and turned entirely over on the couch, staring instead at the back of the couch and bawling like a child. I was embarrassing myself, and there was nothing sexy about it. But surprisingly Ben had an answer for me.

In the calmest, most authoritative voice you could possibly imagine, he said, "So I could own you." I abruptly stopped crying, and turned back around, wiping my eyes.

"So I could own your sweet ass," he said, and smiled at me.

All my pain disappeared. It had all been an illusion, a human drama that was not really necessary. Only this was real, I could feel it in my heart and in my whole body.

"What?" I asked, looking back at him. I knew exactly what he meant, but I really wanted to hear him say it, I really wanted him to talk about it, what it meant to him to own me.

"Marriage is not enough," said Ben. "Not for a slut like you." I just wanted to hear more, so I played stupid, an act that I was actually quite good at. I silently prompted him to keep talking.

"You know you're a dirty slut, right?" He asked. It was a rhetorical question, but I was expected to answer.

"Yes," I said.

"That makes you unmarriageable," said Ben. I pouted, pursing my lips girlishly. "Sluts can't be wives, because they need to be fucked by everybody."

I was beginning to see his point. "I'm not a cuck," said Ben. "Do I look like a cuck to you?"

"No," I admitted. He turned towards Jarvis. "Jarvis, tell me I'm a cuck." Jarvis shook his head. "Jarvis, tell me I'm a fucking cuck!" Ben said, not shouting, but speaking loudly and clearly. He was terrifying when he wanted to be. I glanced at Jarvis, and he glanced back, worriedly. For a second I thought Jarvis wanted me to protect him, which was a hilarious notion, but actually we were both suddenly on high alert. Ben stood up, and took a step towards Jarvis. Jarvis looked at the floor, just like I had done a moment ago. His body sort of shriveled up, and as Ben inched closer he started lifting his arms to protect his face.

But instead of hitting him, Ben sat back down, as calmly as could be. "Sorry Jarvis. I was just making a point."

"No worries," said Jarvis, releasing a breath. He was red in the face, but it was clear the danger was over.

Ben looked me directly in the eyes again. "You are supposed to get fucked by everyone, Beth. Everyone. Am I right?" I nodded sheepishly.

"I couldn't help but see that in you, Beth. It was as plain as day, from the moment we started playing our little games. You like it, Beth. You are not just a slut. You want to be raped. By everyone. You like being raped."

Jarvis butted in, "See if a girl likes being raped..." he started to explain, but he shut his mouth quickly when Ben glanced at him.

Suddenly I laughed. I laughed because I realized that these guys were man-splaining my own sexuality to me. I'm not exactly a feminist, but I am female, and I don't know much but I do know something about my own sexual needs and desires. But then I realized that I wanted to hear everything Ben had to say about this, I really did. I knew I might learn something... not necessarily about myself, but about what all this meant to him. I had already learned something, and I knew there was more coming. So I stifled myself and nodded for him to go on.

"I have no idea what's wrong with you," said Ben. "But I like it." Hearing him say this made me feel very strange. Something was wrong with me. Something was seriously wrong with me! And neither of us have any idea what it is! Oh, I almost wanted to faint. It was such a weird feeling to know, to have it acknowledged out loud by someone smart, someone who is smart and who knows you, that there is indeed something wrong with you, that you are not right in the head! And of course something is wrong. None of this makes sense! I like to be raped? I like to be tortured? But on the other hand, I thought to myself, on the other hand... he likes it. He likes it that I feel these sick things. He wants me to have this particular mental illness. Ben likes it.

And the very thought of that, the thought of Ben liking his little dolly better if she is broken, triggered a deep warmth within me, the same deep warmth I had felt after my gang-rape, when Ben was spanking me. As his iron hand had come down harder and harder on my ballooning ass and pussy, I had begun to feel a sort of tickle, or a tingle, literally a physical sensation of love deep down in my heart. And I felt the same sensation now, as I realized my dear Ben, my brave and competent man-person, the man who is supposed to protect me, knew I was falling into a state of actual mental illness, and that he was consciously choosing NOT to protect me from it! Part of me knew this was a terrible betrayal. This was scandalous! But of course another part of me knew -- maddeningly -- that this is what I wanted too, this is what I deeply, desperately craved.

Especially if Ben wanted it too.

This is where the golden, glowing feelings were to be had. And I began to feel the glow right now, as the realization sunk in that I was not going to be taken to a therapist or to a psychiatrist and talked down from my insanity, or treated for it with antidepressants or Haldol or some other kind of psyche-med or alternative treatment. We were going to let it stew. There was something wrong with me, something that made me behave in dangerous and self-destructive ways, and that instead of helping me get these behaviors under control, Ben was going to facilitate them.

He was indeed the most selfish man in the world. And I belonged to him. Literally. He literally owned my ass. And he was going to use it!

My nipples hardened, and the deep tingling sensations billowed out like warm gusts that moved through my body in waves of pure, loving pleasure, even though I was not being touched. I wanted to touch myself and I looked pleadingly at Ben as I moved the blanket aside and reached tentatively towards my pussy.

There it was, the tattoo. Two little words, inscribed permanently right on the crest of my puffy little pubic mound, my mons Venus as they say. "Hurt Me". We all stared at it for a moment.

"Go ahead," Ben said, and took out his phone, aiming it at me. "Jarvis, this may be a good time to ask Beth a few of those questions."

"Oh yes!" Said Jarvis. They had clearly talked about this before, whatever it was, and honestly I didn't really care, just as long as Ben kept looking at me.

"Jarvis was just curious to know what makes a girl like you tick," said Ben. "He says he's known other women like you, and that there are obviously tons of them in porn." I nodded at the men, feeling agonizingly humiliated to be counted among these women, but I knew what they were talking about. I had seen porn!

Jarvis sat up in his chair. He was not a sexy man, in fact he was a dead ringer for Lindsey Graham, and had a similar southern drawl which might have been sexy except that he was not the more masculine type of southerner, but more of the type who deferred readily to other men. I kept thinking he was gay, except that he was decidedly interested in me, so maybe not. All the same, I looked at him and nodded my assent.

"Oh yes," he said, clearing his throat. He looked at me touching myself. I blushed a little, sort of wishing I could close my eyes and just bask in these wonderful golden feelings, but also wanting to please Ben, wanting to do anything and everything he asked of me.

Jarvis started again. "Excuse me, you're just a good lookin' gal," he chortled, straightening himself in his chair. "It's a surprise to see a gal like you going for stuff this... uh... I mean..." he looked at Ben.

"It's okay," said Ben. "Beth likes it."

"It's just a surprise for me to see a really pretty gal goin' for stuff this fuckin' sick," Jarvis said. I winced.

"I mean I think you even got ol' Anal Annie beat, and I saw her squat down and fuck a cactus!" Both men laughed, and I remembered his story about Anal Annie and the cactus too.

"I mean, what the fuck is wrong with you gals? I really want to know. Please elucidate me," requested Jarvis.

"But I don't know," I said. "I don't know at all." Tears started leaking out of my eyes, but it didn't bother me this time, I registered the tears as just a mere function of the situation.

"No seriously," whispered Ben. "Really tell him."

"Okay. Well. I'll try." I thought for a minute. The two men looked at me.

"Okay at first Ben was just interested in having other guys see my pussy. That's how we first started playing. He was making me go without panties, and you know, letting other guys see me." I looked up at Ben, and he nodded approvingly. "But you know, I'm the one with a pussy between my own legs," I said, clutching it for emphasis and looking at Jarvis. "I have one. So they're not so special to me. It's just part of my body."

Jarvis leaned forward in his chair. I could tell he was genuinely interested in what I was saying. "I mean, what they are looking at is not terribly interesting to me. It's just normal. But the thing is, you're really not supposed to show it. You're really, never supposed to show anyone your pussy, except in a very private situation, and only to someone very special." Even thinking about this made me start panting a little, and I rubbed my clit a little faster, still lightly but with a little more intention. I was still just toying with myself, focussing mostly on the golden feelings shimmering through me, but I hoped this conversation was helping Ben to feel them too. I wanted us both to feel them.

So I continued. "If you show men your pussy in public, especially if you do it on purpose, like I was, you know, sitting up on that high bar-stool in that short, slutty excuse for a skirt, and you know, facing out from the bar towards these awful drunks who are just begging to get an eyeful..." I noticed Jarvis getting an erection, although he wasn't sitting in a position such that I was supposed to notice, but I noticed.

"I mean these guys are strangers. And they are, you know, kinda gross. I mean not to put them down or anything, but they are drunk and disheveled and really I don't think they are very nice people to begin with, you know what I mean?" Jarvis nodded. "They're just lecherously staring at me, especially at me in my short skirt, especially one that is really way too short and might flip up, like the ones Ben has me wear... these guys are dying to see a glimpse of something they shouldn't. But all they expect is an accidental glimpse of my panties or something."

"Mmmm" hummed Jarvis.

"So I'm already blushing, because I know exactly what Ben wants me to do. And they are already staring at me."

"Yes," said Jarvis.

"But when you open your legs in a situation like that, and they see your bare vagina, you know, shaved and fully exposed like that..." I was starting to breathe hard. "Fully exposed to all of those dirty drunks..." I spread my legs wider as if to demonstrate. "Especially if you're, you know, sopping wet. Sopping wet like I am. Like I always am. If you're sopping wet and with your legs wide open in a place like that, letting men see your wet pussy on purpose like that, even if it makes you blush like crazy. See, that isn't just showing them your body."

Jarvis looked at me quizzically. But I knew Ben understood exactly what I was talking about. And I was so glad to share this with him. "You can see it in their eyes. You can see their opinions about you change. You are not just a woman in a bar anymore, you are not just someone's flirty girlfriend. A flirty girlfriend might want to dress sexy in a short skirt, you know, for a night on the town. They were all hoping for a glimpse of panty. But this is not that. And you are not the 'flirty girlfriend"anymore. You are something else. Something not... something there isn't really a category for. I mean, they know you're not a whore, so..."

"So you're a slut," said Jarvis. "Right?"

"Well that's what you say of course, but really... I mean I was a slut in high school. I was one of the sluts. But you know, you've told us about Anal Annie, right? She wasn't just a 'slut', right? All of the girls in that bar are sluts, just for being in there, and if they're not in there with a guy, they are there to get picked up and go home with someone they barely know, to fuck them. And that's what they want, and everybody knows it. Those are the sluts. But they are not literally holding their legs open so every man in the bar can see their bare naked pussy, you know, and tipping it upwards in the stool so the men can really see it, see the pink, and see how wet it is." I was gyrating now, very happy that both Ben and Jarvis were enjoying me.

But what was hard to explain, or even to understand, was that this -- even just this -- was extremely gratifying for me. It wasn't just sex, I mean it was, but it was more that I was really being seen. This was the real me, and Ben liked it. Golden feelings swelled within me, and my eyelashes fluttered a little, as if the warm billowing wind was gently blowing through them, causing me to be prettier.

"I'm not sure what it means, to show them your pussy like this. This is not in the rules. When you open your legs in a dirty bar, and let dirty men look at you, you aren't just a slut anymore. I don't know what you are," I looked at Jarvis, and glanced at Ben quickly, just to make sure he approved of me talking like this.

"I don't know what they see me as, when I do something like that. I don't even think there's a word for it. But I can feel myself becoming it. When they look at me, I can feel myself yielding to it. I am giving them some kind of permission that I don't even understand. I don't even know what will happen to me when I give a group of dirty, drunken strangers that kind of permission. They all might interpret it differently. But whatever they see me as, that's what I become."