Page 15 of His to Correct

And I knew I could click on Georgette’s name, too, if I wanted, and I would see an anonymized version of the assessment team’s dossier on her. From time to time I had heard one of my new colleagues talking about a marketing campaign based on a particular couple, or a particular young woman. They always talked vaguely about ‘the numbers on her arousal,’ but I had grown increasingly sure those numbers had to be obtained at some barely imaginable biometric level where Selecta had somehow managed to measure a woman’s sexual response with great precision.

I had read six or seven of these reports by now. I had always resisted clicking on the names of the ‘heroes’ or ‘heroines’ as my coworkers always called the men and women on the NMB streams. Something about this stream, though—about the wordtoileting… it made me furl my brow as my eyes returned to that word over and over.

I couldn’t help myself. My curiosity about the ‘toileting punishment’ overwhelmed my reservations. I told myself it wasjust research, that I needed to understand all aspects of NMB to do my job effectively. Deep down, I knew there was more to it than that—but I told myself I had to steel my will against precisely this problem, exactly this treason on my body’s part.

With trembling fingers, I navigated to the video feed for Georgette and Michael’s stream. A message popped up asking if I wanted to view in a private room. I hesitated only a moment before clicking ‘Yes.’

The walk to the viewing room felt like it took an eternity. My heart raced, and I could feel a flush creeping up my neck. I kept my eyes down, terrified someone would see my face and somehow know what I was about to do.

When I reached the door, I paused. A sign hung at eye level:

This room is under constant AI surveillance. Self-stimulation will result in loss of incentives.

My cheeks burned as I read the words. Of course they would monitor these rooms. I told myself again that this was just research, that I had no intention of… of doing anything inappropriate. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room was small but comfortable, with a plush armchair facing a large screen. I settled into the chair, my body tense as I navigated to the correct stream.

The video began playing, showing a quaint, old-fashioned bathroom. That seemed incongruous with the idea of a new two-million-dollar town bathing facility, but I knew Selecta liked to keep things traditional. Georgette, a pretty blonde in her earlytwenties, stood facing a stern-looking young man I assumed was Michael. She wore a simple pink dress that emphasized her curves despite its modesty.

“I’m sorry, Michael,” Georgette was saying, her voice soft and contrite. “I didn’t mean to be so mean to Sarah. It just slipped out.”

Michael shook his head. “That’s not good enough, Georgette. You know better than to speak to others that way. I’m afraid you’ve earned yourself a punishment.”

I watched, transfixed, as Michael led Georgette to a wooden bench. He bent her over it, then lifted her skirt to reveal lacy white panties. My breath caught as he slowly lowered them, exposing her bare bottom.

“Since you insist on acting like a naughty little girl,” Michael said, his voice firm, “that’s exactly how I’m going to treat you.”

He began to spank her, his hand landing with sharp cracks that made Georgette yelp and squirm. I found myself leaning forward in my chair, unable to look away. The pink handprints blooming on Georgette’s pale skin were mesmerizing.

After thoroughly reddening her bottom, Michael helped Georgette stand. To my shock, he then produced what looked like an adult-sized diaper.

“Step in,” he commanded.

Georgette’s face flamed as she obeyed, lifting first one foot, then the other. Michael pulled the diaper up, securing it snugly around her waist. He rolled her skirt up and tucked it above her hips so that it would stay put.

“Now,” Michael said, his voice stern but not unkind, “you’re going to stand in the corner for fifteen minutes this way, and think about what you’ve done. And Georgette? I know you had a big glass of water with lunch. You are not to use the toilet. If you need to relieve yourself, you’ll do it in your diaper like the naughty little girl you are.”

Georgette’s eyes widened in horror. “But Michael, you… I… I can’t…”

Suddenly it was two weeks earlier, in my head, and I was saying the same thing to Stuart.I can’t.

But it’strue. I… I…

But I had. I had bent over, and Stuart had ‘inspected’ me, and I had gotten more turned on than I had ever been in my life.

“You can and you will,” Michael said firmly. “Unless you’d prefer another spanking?”

Georgette shook her head quickly. “No, sir,” she whispered.

I watched, transfixed, as Georgette shuffled to the corner, the bulky diaper visible making her waddle a little. She stood there, shifting from foot to foot, her discomfort evident.

As the minutes ticked by, Georgette’s fidgeting increased. She pressed her thighs together, bouncing slightly on her toes. The camera moved from her slightly bulging backside to a side view of her pink face. She worried her lower lip between her teeth. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. I found myself leaning forward, my own thighs clenched tight, hands balled into fists atop them.

For the first time—so distracted had I gotten by the unfolding action on the screen—I noticed a number in the upper right ofthe screen. As I looked, it went from 7 to 8. With a shudder I realized it must represent Georgette’s arousal.

“Michael,” Georgette whimpered after what seemed an eternity, “please… I really need to go.”

“Then go,” Michael replied calmly. “That’s what your diaper is for.”

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