Participant agrees to full behavioral modification protocols as determined by the Institute...
Consent to physical restraint for periods not exceeding 72 hours...
Sexual conditioning and response therapy as deemed necessary by research staff...
Temporary identity restructuring through approved psychological methods...
Isolation protocols for enhanced susceptibility to behavioral cues...
Corporal punishment within established parameters for non-compliance...
Use of regression therapy tools including but not limited to: pacifiers, feeding implements, comfort objects...
The list went on. And on. And on.
"This can't be legal," I said finally, my voice hoarse.
"I assure you, our legal team is quite thorough. Everything in that contract is entirely within the bounds of consensual research participation." He leaned forward slightly, and for the first time, I caught something else in his expression. Not quite sympathy, but... understanding? "Miss West, I'm aware this seems extreme. The Institute's methods are unconventional. But our results speak for themselves."
"Results?"
"Participants leave our program with a greater understanding of themselves. Of their desires. Their boundaries." Hispen had stopped clicking. "And, of course, with their financial compensation."
I thought about my shitty apartment. My shitty job. My shitty prospects. Twenty-three years old and already drowning, watching everyone else my age post about vacations and engagements while I counted quarters for laundry.
"What's the catch?" I asked. "There's always a catch."
"No catch. Simply commitment. Once you enter the program, you see it through to completion. The contract is quite clear on that point."
I flipped to the back pages, past all the terrifying subclauses about 'submission protocols' and 'arousal conditioning.' There it was, in bold letters just above the signature line:
All rights of refusal revoked upon activation.
"What does this mean?" I tapped the sentence. "Activation?"
"The study begins when we determine you're ready. Could be tomorrow. Could be six months from now. The uncertainty is part of the initial psychological assessment."
"That's fucked up."
"That's science, Miss West."
I stared at him, this bland little man in his bland little cardigan, discussing mindfucks and sexual conditioning like he was explaining a cell phone contract. Part of me wanted to throw the coffee in his face. Part of me had already spent that hundred grand in my head.
The pragmatic part won. It always did.
"If I sign this," I said slowly, "and then nothing happens for months... I just keep the money?"
"Correct."
"And if I sign this and you actually expect me to show up for your weird-ass psychological sex study, I have to go through with it?"
"Also correct."
"For how long?"
"As stated, between six months and a year, depending on research requirements and your individual progress."
I laughed again, sharp and bitter. "My individual progress. Jesus Christ."
