Page 8 of His to Correct

I felt my stomach churn as she continued. “Before I was accepted into the New Modesty, I was lost. I didn’t know my place in the world. But now, I understand that I need discipline. I crave it. And knowing that there are powerful men out there, watching me submit to my suitor… to Jacob… well, it kind of, I don’t know, gives me a sense of… of, you know,purpose.I mean, it’s kind of something I never knew I was missing, but it just feels right.”

The camera panned out, revealing that Grace was sitting on a plush sofa, her hands folded demurely in her lap. She wore a modest blue dress, but I couldn’t help noticing the way it clung to her curves.

“When Jacob spanks me,” Grace went on, a dreamy look in her eyes, “I feel like I’m…”

She let out a little giggle, and the smile that curved her lips made me swallow hard as I tried to fight against the sense in her words.

“I know it sounds weird,” she continued, “but I feel like I’m fulfilling my… my true destiny. And when Jacob… you know…usesme… Even when he…”

Grace’s cheeks had gone pink, but the look in her eyes seemed to say she had made up her mind to brave the bashfulness.

“Even when he uses my…” Her mouth twisted to the side as the moment of courage seemed to fly away in a moment of maidenly embarrassment. “You know, my…” Grace’s voice fell to a whisper, but she managed to say it. “Mybottom… when I think about how we’re on New Modesty Blue, with, I don’t know,billionaireswatching us do it, appreciating my submission to my suitor… it’s, well, the most incredible feeling in the world.”

I felt my cheeks grow hot as Grace, apparently emboldened, went on to describe, in vivid detail, the sensations she experienced during her ‘training sessions’ with Jacob. The way the paddle stung at first, but then left a warm, tingling sensation. How she felt so beautifully vulnerable when he bent her over and exposed her most intimate parts to the camera.

To my utter dismay, I felt the treasonous warmth building between my thighs again. I clenched my fists tightly, my nails digging into my palms as I tried to focus on the pain rather than the unwelcome arousal. But it wasn’t enough. I found myself chewing on the inside of my cheek, desperate for any distraction from the helpless response of my body.

Grace’s voice continued, describing how she loved the feeling of Jacob’s fingers preparing her for anal penetration, how the initial discomfort gave way to intense pleasure. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the vivid descriptions painted pictures in my mind that I couldn’t shake.

“And, like I said… when I think about other men—powerfulmen—out there, men who could buy and sell entire countries, watching me submit… it makes me feel kind of special,” Grace said, her voice breathy with excitement. “I love imagining them getting hard while they watch—even, you know, stroking their penises until they come the same way Jacob likes to come inside me.”

Sharon paused the video on a close-up of Grace’s smiling face.

“As I said earlier, New Modesty Blue represents an essential part of Selecta Entertainment’s portfolio. As you settle into your on-the-job training, whether you’re working directly on NMB or you’re in a different part of the business—whether that’s dramas or documentaries or international purchasing—where traditional discipline and sex roles don’t play an obvious part of your day-to-day, you’ll need to keep that in mind. If you’re somewhere else, for example, you’re probably going to be asked from time to time to accommodate a request from NMB’s brand management team to insert a subtle reference to the New Modesty.”

To my distress, Sharon fixed her attention on me as she went on.

“I’m asking you to resolve right now,” she said, lowering her chin a little to emphasize her words, “that you’re going to honor such requests, without any reference to, say,egalitarian ethicsormodern values.”

Please don’t,my mind pleaded with her. But she did. Of course.

“Is that understood, Miss Mitropoulos?” Sharon asked.

I swallowed hard.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, trying to put steel in my voice and settling for something south of tin.

CHAPTER 5

Melissa

That night, in my new Selecta-subsidized apartment, I lay on my belly in bed trying to figure out what to do. I had tried to distract myself with nice Italian takeout, but it had just reminded me of how if I quit my new, high-paying, terribly disturbing job, I wouldn’t be able to afford nice Italian takeout anymore. Nor would I have this very well-furnished and astonishingly well-located—if small—apartment.

Square one.That was where I’d return if I quit and served out the thirty days as per my contract, doing everything in my power not to attract attention. Maybe they wouldn’t make me keep coming into the office, but that seemed like a faint consolation. Square one, with all my dreams of a brilliant, iconoclastic career shattered.

I shifted restlessly, unable to find a comfortable position. My mind raced, replaying the day’s events in an endless loop of humiliation and confusion. When I tried to think about my cute new kitchen, gleaming with high-end appliances I had onlydreamed of owning, I saw Sharon’s stern face. I had taken a long, long shower under the amazing rainfall showerhead and padded across the bathroom’s heated floors, but it hadn’t dispelled the memory of the stark white plastic blade of the paddle, with the red SELECTA emblazoned on it.

The hours ticked by, marked by the soft blue glow of the digital clock on my nightstand. I cycled through a range of emotions. Anger at the injustice of it all. Fear of what might lie ahead if I stayed. Shame at how my body had betrayed me. And underneath it all, the gnawing uncertainty about what I should do next.

I must have dozed off at some point, because I woke with a start a few hours later, my bladder urgently demanding attention. Groggily, I pushed myself up from the bed, wincing as the movement sent fresh waves of pain radiating from my backside. The paddle had left its mark, both physically and mentally.

Trying to take the smallest possible steps, I made my way to the bathroom, each stab of pain a reminder of my humiliation. The tile floor felt soothing against my bare feet as I flicked on the light, momentarily blinded by its harsh glare.

As I relieved myself, I couldn’t help but remember what I had done in the bathroom stall, at work. The memory sent a thrill of shame through me. I tried to push it away. I had started to realize the danger that emotion posed—in this context, anyway. The feeling of sitting on the toilet seat, though… the way it brought back the soreness from the horrid paddle… I felt my brow furrow as I wiped between my legs and rose.

After I flushed the toilet, I stood before the large, well-lit mirror above the sink. My reflection stared back at me, eyes shadowedwith fatigue, hair mussed from restless sleep. I looked defeated. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

That wasn’t me. I wasn’t someone who gave up, who let injustice stand unchallenged. I had come to Selecta with a purpose, hadn’t I? To change things from the inside?

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