Page 7 of His to Correct

I took a deep, shuddering breath and started back toward the conference room.

CHAPTER 4

Stuart

I had greatly enjoyed watching Melissa Mitropoulos masturbate in the bathroom, but I had to admit to looking forward even more to what awaited her back in the conference room. I followed the beautiful black-haired young woman, almost criminally stunning in her prim work clothes, as she walked back down the corridor, wincing visibly at each step.

The surveillance systems in Selecta Headquarters gave total coverage, of course. During Melissa’s paddling, to whose imminence Sharon had alerted me as soon as the willful junior executive-in-training had begun making her scene, I had been able to view both the miscreant’s face and her gorgeous, provocative posterior in vivid close-up.

I had watched the girl’s backside, despite its Mediterranean coloring, redden swiftly under Sharon’s expert use of the paddle. I had caught a thrilling glimpse of Melissa’s pussy lips, adorned with dark curls that I intended to remove, as her bottom had clenched and unclenched with the agony of her first old-fashioned lesson. Those sights had certainly stiffened my cock in my trousers, as I sat at my desk in my corner office.

The look on Melissa’s face, though, when I had changed cameras, had moved me much more. I saw outrage and angry resignation. As the paddle rose and fell at Sharon’s customary slow cadence, though, I had also seen the beginnings of a very different understanding of traditional discipline—and of Selecta’s business model.

I had flagged Melissa for my team a week ago, as soon as her file had crossed my desk. The girl’s outburst and its consequences—which hadn’t yet reached their conclusion, to be sure—had only demonstrated the accuracy of what the file, as annotated by the psycho-biometric assessment team in Human Resources, had already told me.

Miss Mitropoulos, the summarizing note read,would very much like to change the corporate world. Her grades and test scores suggest she has the intellect and the drive to make a medium to large impact in an executive setting. Analysis of Miss Mitropoulos’ psycho-biometric data, from her behavior on social media to her recruitment questionnaire, with the invaluable help of the perineal sensor installed by nanodrone during her interview, suggests an alpha-grade repressed submissive with the intriguing nuance of subdominant tendencies that could qualify her for upper management at Selecta.

In other words, if brought along properly, Melissa would develop into an excellent leader in the very special environment of Selecta’s upper ranks, where a woman—as demonstrated just now by the estimable Sharon Fagan—could with some frequencybe called upon to apply the official paddle to other women’s bare bottoms. In fact, based on the assessment team’s analysis, the highly entertaining act of self-pleasure I had just watched had probably progressed Melissa in that direction.

If I had to guess, I would have said with a good deal of certainty that as Melissa had climaxed in the bathroom stall, she had been thinking not only about receiving punishment, but also of meting it out. Something about the crease in her forehead, the way she had bitten down so hard on her lower lip…

I wasn’t an assessor, to be sure. That fierce expression, though, could be combined with the feed from the sensor that now resided invisibly between the girl’s vagina and her anus. The numbers at the bottom of my screen had shown just how aroused Melissa Mitropoulos had gotten when she had touched her cringing, wrinkled bottom hole. All my dominant instincts told me my new junior executive had fantasized about giving discipline as well as submitting to it.

Melissa

I tried to slip back into the conference room, but Sharon had no intention of letting me escape an iota of the shame I had earned by disrupting the orientation.

“Ah, Miss Mitropoulos,” she said, addressing the rest of the room, as far as I could tell, rather than me. “I’m glad you’re back. I’ve saved this part of the introduction to New Modesty Blue until now, so I could be certain you see it.”

I thought she would push play on a video, or at least do something that took the attention of every other person in the room off me. Instead, she doubled down so hard that I suddenly felt completely relieved of any guilt I might have felt at having fantasized about turning the tables on her.

“We’ll wait,” Sharon said, “until you’re back in your seat, Miss Mitropoulos.”

I felt every pair of eyes on me as I made my way back to my seat. My cheeks burned with humiliation, and I kept my gaze fixed firmly on the floor, unable even to steal a glance at my fellow new employees. Each step sent fresh waves of pain radiating from my punished ass, and I had to fight to keep my pace steady and—above all—not to limp.

The walk to my chair felt like an eternity. To my utter distress, so intense that I had to swallow tears, I could hear hushed whispers and barely stifled giggles from some of my fellow recruits. Thankfully most of them maintained a tense silence, as if afraid to draw attention to themselves.

As I neared my seat, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in one of the room’s large windows. I swallowed hard as I realized that despite my best efforts in the bathroom mirror I still looked every bit like someone who had just been thoroughly paddled: red eyes, disheveled hair, cheeks dark with embarrassment. The realization made me want to curl up and disappear.

I reached the chair at last. I hesitated for a moment, dreading the pain I knew was coming. Taking a deep breath, I gingerly lowered myself onto the hard plastic seat with its scant covering of lightly padded cloth. I wondered, wildly, whether Selecta put these specific chairs in this specific room in order to extendthe punishment of young women who dared to question their business model.

As my tender flesh made contact and I settled my weight on the seat, I had to bite my lip hard to keep from crying out. The pain was excruciating, far worse than I had anticipated. It seemed as though I had sat on hot coals, the sting of the paddle reignited tenfold.

My brow furrowed deeply as I struggled to maintain my composure. I gripped the edges of the chair seat, my knuckles turning white with the effort of not squirming or jumping back up. A small whimper escaped my lips before I could push it down, and I saw Sharon’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk.

“Are you comfortable, Miss Mitropoulos?” Sharon asked, her voice dripping with false concern.

I took a shaky breath, willing my voice not to betray the agony and rage I felt. “I’m just fine,” I managed to say, though the words came out strained and slightly higher pitched than normal.

I wanted nothing more than for the earth to open up and swallow me whole. Never in my life had I felt so utterly mortified. The weight of my fellow recruits’ stares, the throbbing pain in my bottom, and the lingering shame of my actions in the bathroom all combined to create a perfect storm of embarrassment. I sat ramrod straight in my chair, afraid that even the slightest movement would betray my discomfort or, worse, reignite the unwelcome arousal I had experienced earlier.

As Sharon turned back to the screen, preparing to continue the presentation, I closed my eyes briefly, wishing desperately that I could wake up and find this had all been a terrible nightmare.But the persistent sting of my well-paddled bottom served as an all-too-present reminder of just how badly this day had started.

Sharon turned back to the screen, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. “Now, to return to what I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted,” she said, her eyes flicking briefly to me, “New Modesty Blue isn’t just about providing entertainment. It’s about spreading the news of how Selecta’s programs have begun to shape a new generation of young women who understand the value of discipline and traditional gender roles.”

She pressed a button on the remote, and the screen flickered to life. To my horror, I saw Grace’s face fill the frame. Her honey-blonde hair was slightly mussed, and her cheeks were flushed. She looked directly into the camera, her blue eyes wide and earnest.

“I know some people might not understand,” Grace began, her voice soft but clear. “They might think the way Jacob courts me is degrading or anti-feminist. But the truth is I’ve never felt more empowered in my life.”

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