part 4 of my long, not yet finished, story. this is all fiction, not to be confused with much of my autobiographical writing in here. also, the first chapter of this has the header "i've been working on another story" in case you're having trouble finding it. thank you for reading, and comments are greatly appreciated!

 Beth Likes It

(chapter 4) 

The man wore a suit and held a briefcase, which he set on the kitchen table and opened. The two men were talking… I could hear them but I couldn’t understand them. It was as if they were adults and I actually was a little girl, a toddler incapable of understanding adult conversation. The two men were talking seriously, looking at papers. And then they were looking up at me. Ben must have made a joke, because the two men suddenly began laughing. I smiled too, even though I knew they were laughing at me. Then Ben motioned me over.

I slowly toddled over to them where they were sitting at the kitchen table, trying to hold in my pee as best I could. I was obviously squirming a bit, dancing from one foot to the other. I thought I understood Ben to say, “let’s see how long she can hold it,” but I wasn’t sure, it was as though I was in a dream, all I really knew was that they were laughing at me again, and that the weirdness of the situation, the humiliation and the infantile reaction of having my feelings hurt, my face involuntarily pouting behind my pacifier, made me desperately want to grind my pussy against something. I could not contain my sexual need, I could not still it. And at the same time, despite my best efforts to clutch and clench the gateway closed, perhaps just the first thimbleful of pee began to leak out. 

And as I stood there grinding my diapered pelvis up at the two, formally dressed men, Ben interrupted his own derisive chuckling to say “Beth, this is my attorney, Stanley Jarvis. He is here to take care of our divorce settlement, and any other papers we may wish to write up.” He looked me squarely in the eye, as if he was talking to a fellow adult. But he wasn’t.” I looked down at the table, where Mr. Jarvis was shoving a stack of papers towards me, indicating where I was supposed to sign. Suddenly, the reality hit me like a bomb going off in my stomach, and I burst into tears. The pacifier flew out of my mouth and I clutched at it with both hands but I missed, and it bounced down on the table, getting ruby-red lipstick right on the legal papers I was supposed to sign! The men just stood there staring at me… I was sobbing, and blushing from head to toe: I must have been red as a beet. And my nipples were hard as twin diamonds.

It was insane: The two men stared at me as I sobbed through a shit-eating grin that I could also not suppress, because the embarrassment was causing me to grin uncontrollably, even as the word “divorce” made me sob hysterically. I wished I were dead, but at the same time I was overloaded with pleasure: the shame of it all, the extreme shameful dirtiness of what I was irreversibly becoming, triggered a demonic lust in me that I had no control over. I stood there grinding my depraved, diapered cunt up at the lawyer while he sneered at me, his utter derision triggering even deeper feelings of insane sexual need… And it was not exactly a need for fucking, I suddenly realized: it was a need for punishment! 

I could recognize, in that instant, that what I desperately wanted was not sex… but injury! My pussy craved more than friction, it craved destruction! My whole body was tingling with insane, self-directed wrathful neediness! My nipples, my anus, even the bottoms of my feet were tingling, as if they were being tickled by electricity! 

And right there, in front of the two men, I peed on myself. I had my diaper-covered vulva thrust forward towards the disgusted lawyer, as I had been grinding my pelvis towards him, but I stopped mid-grind and my pee came out, uncontrollably, soaking through my diaper. The two men watched as the yellow spot grew from the size of a dime to a silver dollar to the whole sopping gusset, and then trickled down my legs onto the floor. 

I stopped crying. As the men watched, I picked up the pacifier and put it back in my mouth. Then I picked up the pen and signed the papers.

“You just signed every dime you had over to me,” said Ben. I sobbed. “Even my inheritance?” I asked.

“Yes, dumbshit. Every penny.” A flood of fresh tears trickled down my cheeks and soaked my teddy bear t-shirt. But I couldn’t stop grinning, and I again started grinding my needy twat at the two fully dressed men. My panting was shallow, like a dog in heat. I thought about the dunce cap that lay waiting for me in the other room, how appropriate it was that I should wear something like that.

“I think we need to get you changed,” said Ben. The lawyer moved the papers - I was now no longer Ben’s wife - and Big Ben picked my relatively tiny body up off the floor and set me onto my back on the kitchen table. “We’ll have to wash this later.”

“See why she can’t be my wife?” Said Ben to the lawyer as they spread my legs and removed my diaper. “I get it,” said Mr. Jarvis. “She’s a whore, not a wife. And she’s a depraved one at that. There was a girl like this in my high school in Minnesota. We called her Anal Annie because everyone used to fuck her up the ass. Then she’d clean the shit off our dicks with her tongue, and say “yummy yum.” But really she’d do anything. One night we hung her out of her brother’s bedroom window, by her ankles, just for a lark. And we only let her up when she agreed to sit on a cactus. I mean sit down on it, with it going up into her skanky hoo ha. That was a big fat cactus, with scary little clusters of spines. And we made her do it. And she was shivering and quaking and burbling, with snot running down her face… but she was smiling too, like this girl. We pushed her all the way down onto it. It must have hurt like hell, tearing up the insides of her vagina. But then she looked up at all us guys, and her two brothers Marty and Brian, and she got the glassy look in her eyes… HA! Same as your girl! Same exact look, I’ll be damned… And she stared up at us, and she started fucking it! 

“No way” said Ben. 

“Yes she did!” Said the lawyer. “She started fucking it, right in front of us. Spines and all. And she was really grinding herself down on it, too… and she started moaning and groaning… she was having an orgasm, right there in front of us. Right there, fucking the cactus, blood everywhere. It was insane.” The lawyer looked right at me. “And she was in school the very next day, too. Nope, you really don’t have to be too gentle with these things,” and he gave my pussy a little swat. “Don’t have to be too gentle. No honey. We don’t need us to be too gentle with gals like you, do we, honey bunch?”

Ben looked at me and said “Do we?”

I really didn’t know what was happening to me. I was no longer Ben’s wife. I could not get my mind around that, and everything else was deeply confusing, I was too confused, I could not answer the question. So I said nothing. They laughed at me. Then I had a question for them: “What am I?”

They both burst out laughing. “You’re a whore, Beth!” The lawyer stuck two fingers up my piss-soaked twat, digging them up and pressing hard into my g-spot, which was literally about to burst with pent-up need. I moaned, deeply, in response. “You’re a fuck-pig” said my now ex-husband. Your a dirty, disgusting fuck-pig who loves to be raped!” He stepped up beside me and slapped me across the face, hard. “Now let me ask you something, Beth?” I looked up at him. “Does getting slapped in the face feel good?” I was shocked to admit it, even to myself, but the answer was yes. It felt totally appropriate, given my new social status as a sub-human fuck-pig whore, but it also felt physically good. It tingled in a deliciously sexy way. I felt very strange and queasy about that… the implications were dizzying… but it was true.

Ben slapped me again. “Doesn’t that feel good, Beth?” It was a hard blow to even realize this fact about myself, it was almost too much. But telling Ben, who didn’t love me anymore, at all, and was not bound to take care of me or anything by marital ties… This was all too much. But he slapped me again, harder, and on the other cheek, backhanded. “I just want to know Beth, how does it feel, physically? Does it feel good to you to be slapped?” Then he slapped me again, front handed, but REALLY HARD!

And it was a little hard on my jaw, but the stinging, flaming hot sensation on my left cheek felt incredibly good. It was breathtaking. I wanted more! 

“Yes, Daddy,” I managed to croak between gasps. “My face… really… likes it when you slap me. Especially when you slap me very hard,” I whispered. 

“AH HO HO HO!!” Laughed Mr. Jarvis, lurching back, nearly falling over with laughter. “SHE’S a ONE! She’s a one of them, one of the Whore Fuck-bags, one of the gals like ol’ Anal Annie! HA HA! You got a live one here, pard’ner!” Mr. Jarvis was beside himself with glee…

“Yeah, obviously, yes,” said Ben, not laughing. “Now maybe we should think about those other papers you were telling me about.”

Mr. Jarvis got a serious look on his face, and reopened his briefcase. “Yes, good idea. You are probably right about that. Let’s see.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers, setting them down on the table, right beside my leg. He was still standing between my spread legs, which were still wet with terrible smelling pee, not to mention my copious, pheromone-infused “natural lubricant”.

“Okay. Here we are. I would recommend you have her sign this. This makes her your ward. She will no longer have any legal power over her own decisions, she will be declared “Unfit by reason of mental deficiency,” which is pretty much the case, right? Basically, you both just have to sign this once, and then your little whore no longer has the right to make any decisions for herself, ever. She can’t enter into a contract, she can’t rent an apartment, she can’t get a driver’s license without your say-so. You’ll have to sign for any medical work she needs… and any medical work you want her to have, including plastic surgery, is up to you: you don’t need her consent for that. It’s a lot like the relationship between parent and child, except that since you were married up until now, it’s understood that you have a sexual relationship. In Beth’s case, you can think of her more like a “pet”, if you don’t prefer the word “Child”. I mean, I imagine she will be wearing a leash, at least sometimes… Am I right?! Jarvis chuckled.

“You bet she will” said Ben matter-of-factly.

“Hmm… But if I hurt her… I mean really hurt her… or if she gets damaged by others under my watch (or even while I am watching)…?”

“Oh, are you worried you might be charged with child abuse or some equivalent?” 

“Or animal cruelty,” said Ben, and they both sniggered.

“Right. Well, no. But we have to do that with a separate document, and we should actually do that part of it before she signs her rights away.” Ben nodded his head slowly. I was terrified by all of this, but it was turning me on so much I was hyperventilating. The thought of giving my life away, all my rights, so there was no turning back… OH MY GOD. I could not stop lifting my pussy off the table and humping the air, even though the thrusts were totally humiliating and unsatisfying. I was so on edge, so needful… I knew I would sign anything… I wanted to sign it, I wanted to put myself, permanently, in the hands of this man, this man whose only concern was whether he’d be held responsible if he damaged me, or if he willingly allowed others to damage me… Finally I burst out with a question… it actually came out like an embarrassed little squeak, but I asked “Can I please touch myself?”

“HAHAHA HA HA HA HA HO HO HO oh my god of course you would ask that, you ridiculous peice of filth!!!!” Jarvis was doubled over laughing. Ben just said “no you may not,” but Jarvis actually corrected him and said, “Well, just a minute. As it so happens, there is a good reason why it might be appropriate for her to touch herself in a couple of minutes. Ben, do you have a camcorder, or some sort of video recorder?”

“I have my phone,” said Ben.

“Oh right, of course… maybe we should move her over to the couch.”

“But you haven’t changed me yet,” I whined.

“That’s okay. Bring a towel.”

I grabbed a kitchen towel and they sat me down on the couch, on the towel. They wanted me to read the document out loud, on camera. They wanted me to keep my legs spread while I read the document. I was allowed to play with myself, but I had to wait to cum until they said so. They held the words up for me, which were printed large so I could see from a few feet away, but I had to wear my glasses. It felt so good to play with myself, but I wanted something to put inside me, so Ben grabbed a cob of corn from the fridge. What I really wanted was for someone to hurt me, but still, this was a very interesting situation, and as I read the document to the camera and realized all the implications, I got extremely excited and started bouncing up and down on the corn cob, over the towel of course so as not to mess up Ben’s beautiful couch.

The Document read as follows:

“I am Bethany Jane Cranston, former wife of Benjamin Bradley. I live with my former husband in his home at 327 Alvarez Way, San Carlos, CA 95807. Although I am no longer Ben’s wife, we are still sexual partners, and I am making this statement, and signing this document, for the purpose of making it clear to anyone who may at any point be concerned, that I am a consenting partner in all sexual and sex-adjacent acts that I may engage in with Ben, or engage in with others at Ben’s instruction. 

The two of us have a consensual Dominant/submissive relationship when it comes to sex, and I like to play the submissive role. At times, Ben may appear to be bossing me around or forcing me to do things that I am unwilling or reluctant to do, but I am just play-acting, my reluctance or unwillingness is feigned, and in truth I am very excited and eager to participate in any and all of the sexual and sexually adjacent activities Ben prescribes for me. I am happily committed to following Ben’s instructions to the letter.”

As I read the document to the camera, and thought about what the existence of such a document might mean to me, and to the way my life was likely to go from this point forward, I could not restrain myself but to lean back enough to get a good angle to shove that fat corn cob well up into my swollen, dripping red cunt-hole and give it a thorough pounding. The camera caught me shoving the cob deeply, in and out, in and out, fiercely and rigorously as I stumbled my way through the document.

“I further want it to be understood that Ben likes to cause me physical discomfort, as well as pain. I know that it is unusual, but I find the experience of pain and physical torture, in a sexual context, to be extremely exciting, and I should also be considered a willing and enthusiastic participant in any sort of physical punishments or tortures Ben inflicts upon me, or any sort of uncomfortable, or even agonizing situations Ben forces me to endure. So far as I am concerned, it is even better if I am tied up or otherwise bound during my torture sessions, and it is best of all if the pain is so intense that I cannot help but scream and cry and beg for the punishment to stop. Such begging should be taken to mean just the opposite of what I am actually saying: for instance, if I beg for my torturer to stop whipping me, it should be understood that what I really want is for my torturer to whip me much harder, or in a more sensitive place. If I beg for my torturer to stop burning me with candle wax, I am certainly hoping that I will be burned directly with the candle flames instead.”

Lawyer Jarvis held up a new page for me to read to the camera, and I took a moment to glance down at the next words I was expected to say, words that would erase forever any claim I might make that what Ben decided to do to me was non-consensual. I felt very dizzy, deep within. I felt an empty space inside my head where a cautious, intelligent, self-preservational brain should be. I was hyperventilating just enough to keep me dizzy and vacant, and I could not stop, and I could not turn back from this precarious ledge: instead I dove right into the abyss.

“In fact, this document which I am about to sign, and this video which I am having our lawyer make to reinforce and prove my enthusiastic willingness to enter into this arrangement with my ex husband, should now and forever be considered the last word in the matter. I am hereby relinquishing any future right to modify this arrangement in any way, ever, and anything I say or write to the contrary at any future date should be considered play-acting on my part, and count for absolutely nothing, legally. In fact, If I do not continuously cry, beg, rage and plead for Ben and/or his authorized proxies to stop torturing and humiliating me, then they are probably not punishing me with the level of severity that I both need and truly desire, and they should certainly be encouraged to ramp up the viciousness of their treatment of me.”

I was forcing the end of the corncob as deep as it would go, and pounding my cervix with every fierce thrust as I grunted each line of the contract around my irrepressible little squeals. I was about to cum, but there was one more paragraph, and as I glanced down at it a wave of terror swept through me, making me sweat from every pore. But somehow, this only amplified my lust-fueled, masochistic frenzy, and even as a strange, electric, and weirdly painful orgasm began to make me shudder deeply,  I was still able to croak the words clearly enough that they would be understandable in the video:

“To be clear, it is my deepest wish that Ben, along with anyone he authorizes at any time, feel absolutely free to do anything at all to me that they choose. This would of course include bodily injury, both accidental and purposeful, and I will be disappointed if some of Ben and his cohorts’ tortures and punishments do not occasionally put me in the hospital. Furthermore, if Ben (or proxy) chooses to inject me with drugs to modify my behaviors and/or increase the intensity of my experiences, I should be considered a willing subject for such experiments. And if Ben, or anyone acting upon his permission, wishes to modify my body in any way medically possible, either through the various standard enhancements available through plastic surgery or by any other means, either medically approved, experimental, or DIY, it should be understood that despite any objections I may articulate at any future date, that I should nevertheless be considered an enthusiastic participant, a willing victim, and that this document should be considered the final word on the matter, as it should be for anything and everything Ben ever wants or needs to put me through. Forever.” 

My brain was exploding, and I began openly sobbing as I read these words, but now I was fucking my gushing twat up towards the thick, buttery corn-cob, as I slammed it repeatedly into myself, trying to jam it up into the swollen doughnut of my cervix. I didn’t know what to make of any of it, but I could absolutely not stop myself.

“And if Ben should someday grow tired of me and chose to transfer possession of my disgusting and needy female body to anyone, or to any group of individuals he may deem sadistic enough to make proper use of me, or to simply sell me randomly to the highest bidder, I hereby declare that I will happily abide by Ben’s wishes, and thenceforth regard my new Dominant partner or partners as permanent, authorized stand-ins for Ben. And I will therefore, with my full and enthusiastic consent, and despite anything I may say or write to the contrary, comply wholly with everything and anything my new Dominants wish to do to me or demand of me. Forever, or until this arrangement is once again transferred to another party or group, or until the day that I die.”

The phone-camera continued pointing at me, and I looked directly into it as the slow, shuddering orgasm begin to take over my abdomen, as if the low smoldering was finally bursting into flame. With no words left to try and utter, I began to emit a quavering moan, which rose into a series of grunts which sounded like a pig being roasted alive. And the grunts became sobs, and the sobs became screams which echoed off the walls, but still I did not break my gaze into the eye of the camera. I was shoving that cob of corn into my poor twat as hard and as fast as I could, pounding the pointy edge of it into the swollen doughnut-hole of my cervix as my whole body quaked and spasmed around it. And as I masturbated violently in front of these two disgusted, angry, and wickedly delighted men, my head exploded with a million horrible and detailed images of what my new life would become. And I realized that this strange series of events, along with my desperately needy cunt and my clearly psychologically sick, insane responsiveness to sexual abuse, had led me into a trap. And I would never be able to escape from this trap. I was doomed. And as this realization hit me, that I had somehow stumbled or been lured into this irreversible, inescapable situation, and that I was to be permanently stripped of all humanity and turned into some craven cartoon-version of the worst elements of mens’ sickest and most misogynistic sexual fantasies, and that my own craven responsiveness to it, my undeniable physical responsiveness to it, was to be documented and made public for all to see, struck me with a profound clarity that took my breath away. And for a moment, I actually stopped breathing, but I never took my eyes away from the camera lens on the back of Ben’s phone. I could see all the men who would witness me, witness my willing commitment to utter subjugation and debasement, witness my enthusiastic embrace of limitless physical torture. I could see them seeing me. And in my breathless moment of clarity, I realized that it was indeed the real me they were seeing. It was the “me” that I had been forced to suppress all my life, and that my own self-hatred was more than a little distraction that I had picked up along the way, it was my true nature. I hated myself, I hated myself with a fury and wrath that knew no bounds, and that my insane masochism was actually a gleeful sadism, the perfect satisfaction of which could only be realized by directing this pulverizing, rapacious fire towards myself, to make of my own female body the ultimate, dehumanized victim. I smiled at the camera as my orgasm bloomed from within, my whole body shivering as if I were freezing cold. And as I fucked myself mercilessly with the cob of corn, I wished it were a cactus.