When you started dating your girlfriend she had warned there would be “complications”. You were obsessed and madly in I love so you agreed to do “whatever it takes” to be with her. 

That’s when she sheepishly brought out The Contact. It said someone named Lucas Tipton owned your girlfriend’s body and was entitled to “ravage her whenever he so pleases.” What the hell?! He was her ex, she explained. She’d been into his kinks and so signing away her bodily autonomy had just seemed really hot at the time. Nothing in the contract had forbidden her from dumping the asshole when she grew wise to his womanizing. Unfortunately, according to the rules, only he could release her from her obligations. 

Surely this wasn’t legal? “No,” she replied, looking away, “but my Papa brought me up to respect men and always honor my agreements and promises. I hate it, I do, but I just can’t dishonor myself and my Papa by turning back on my word. He may not keep his promises, but I do. I can’t sink to his level. I know this is weird, but…can you still love me?” Of course you could. You had no choice but to love her. 

That’s how you ended up with a girlfriend who fucks her ex more than she does you. Oh, at first she tried to keep parity, but more and more these days she’s just too tired and sore. You hate it, but you love each other. And you respect her sense of duty and trust. Sure, sometimes you wish it was a little less… Like when she earnestly thanks every cat-caller for their compliments and complies with their demands that she “twirl for me, show me what you got.” Or how she abandons you at the drop of a hat when her ex texts her a booty call. Or worse, the appointment she has to get a clit piercing and tramp stamp tattoo reading ‘Luke’s Bitch’. But what can you do? “I’m so sorry babe, but he owns my body; I take that seriously. And it’s not like I’m not his bitch. But I’m your love, honey.”