Page 4 of His to Correct

But Sharon paid no heed to my protests. She continued to lift my skirt until it was bunched around my waist, leaving my lower half completely exposed. A collective gasp rippled through the room as my underwear came into view.

“Well, well,” Sharon’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “What do we have here?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my face burning with shame as I remembered choosing those panties this morning. The lacy red thong had seemed like such a good idea at the time—a secret rebellion against Selecta’s conservative dress code, a way to feel powerful and in control.

“My, my, Miss Mitropoulos,” Sharon continued, her finger tracing the edge of the lace. “It seems you’ve dressed for the job you want, not the job you have. Tell me, did you think these sexy little panties would help you seduce your way to the top?”

Tears of humiliation pricked at my eyes. How could I explain that it wasn’t like that at all? That I had chosen them as a private act of defiance, a way to maintain my sense of self in the face ofSelecta’s oppressive culture? But even as I thought it, I realized how naive and foolish I had been.

“I… I didn’t…” I stammered, unable to form a coherent response.

“Oh, I think you did.” Sharon’s voice was laden with false sympathy. “You thought you could use your sexuality as a weapon, didn’t you? Thought you could manipulate your way through our ranks?”

I wanted to deny it, to explain myself, but the words wouldn’t come. All I could do was lie there, trembling with shame and fear, as Sharon continued to expose my most private self to the entire room.

Worst of all, I couldn’t truly deny it. I remembered looking at the sexy thong in my lingerie drawer, thinking about the effect it might have on my new bosses if they knew I had it on, under my prim skirt—and only then deciding that wearing it would really represent self-actualization, rather than any kind of attempt at seduction.

Sharon’s fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties. I tensed, holding my breath as I felt the delicate lace slide down over the curve of my bottom. Inch by excruciating inch, she lowered them, exposing my most intimate places to the room full of strangers.

“No, please,” I whimpered, my voice barely above a whisper. But my plea fell on deaf ears.

With a final tug, Sharon pulled the thong down to my knees, leaving me completely bare from the waist down. Trembling took hold of my whole body. I could feel the weight of every gaze in the room on my naked flesh.

“Well, Miss Mitropoulos,” Sharon’s voice cut through the silence, “I think it’s clear you’ve earned yourself a very serious punishment. I recommend you resign yourself to it. I intend to make absolutely certain you won’t be sitting or walking comfortably for your first few days at Selecta.”

I swallowed hard, fighting back tears of humiliation. I tried to deny the reality of it: it couldn’t actually be happening, could it? I couldn’t, in real life, be bent over the back of a chair with my panties down and my uncovered bottom on display, could I?

“Now,” Sharon continued, her tone hard with authority, “you will count each stroke aloud. After each one, you will say ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ and you will ask for the next swat. Is that understood?”

Part of me tried to stop my head from nodding, but something from the depths of my mind acquiesced, and I felt my chin move against the seat of the chair.

“I said, is that understood?” Sharon’s voice demanded.

“Y-yes,” I managed to choke out.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes… ma’am,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

“Good girl,” Sharon said, and I flinched at the patronizing praise. Her voice rose in volume as she addressed the rest of the room, making my face burn again with mortification. “I’m going to give this naughty girl twelve swats. If she loses count or forgets to thank me, we’ll start over from the beginning. I’m hoping you’ll all take away from this orientation the news that discipline atSelecta is a very serious matter—as I know Miss Mitropoulos definitely will.”

I lay there, trembling, as the full weight of my situation settled over me. My mind raced, desperately seeking an escape from this nightmare. As the seconds ticked by, though, a terrible realization dawned on me: there really was no way out. The Corporate Laws Sharon had mentioned loomed like an impenetrable wall, blocking any hope of legal recourse. Even if I quit, I was still bound to Selecta for thirty days. Thirty days of this.

A wave of resignation washed over me, bringing with it an unexpected and unwelcome feeling. As I accepted my fate, I felt a strange warmth bloom down below my belly, a flutter of involuntary anticipation. The realization horrified me.

I don’t want this. I don’t have a choice, so I will endure it. But I do. Not. Want. It. Do I?

I thrust the traitorous question away, burying it deep beneath layers of outrage and fear. This was wrong, I reminded myself fiercely. No matter what my body might tell me, my new employer was violating my rights and my human dignity.

Sharon’s voice cut through my internal struggle. “Twelve swats,” she announced again to the room, her tone matter-of-fact, as if she were discussing a routine business matter rather than my impending punishment. “That should definitely be sufficient to drive the lesson home.”

She turned to Johnson and Ramirez, who still stood on either side of me. “Gentlemen, you may step back now. But please stay close, in case Miss Mitropoulos needs to be restrained during her paddling.”

I heard their footsteps as they moved away, leaving me feeling paradoxically even more revealed without their hands holding me down. The knowledge that they still lurked nearby, ready to force me back into position if I resisted, sent a shiver down my spine.

“Now then,” Sharon said, her voice low and close to my ear. “Miss Mitropoulos, I would like you to ask me for your paddling. Politely.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my cheeks burning with humiliation. How could she expect that of me? Toaskfor my own punishment, as if I wanted it?

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