Page 19 of His to Correct

When properly motivated, I had always found Mandy’s work outstanding. Truth to tell, I had never minded motivating her, either. Heather had administered Mandy’s last punishment with the official paddle, but the time before that, when Mandy had needed a reminder, I had spanked the girl over my knee—a measure I currently wondered whether I should repeat, given her attempt to deliver this ‘warning’ about Melissa Mitropoulos.

“So?” I asked, knowing that I needed to get to the bottom of it—in one way or another. “What are you warning me about?”

“Well,” Mandy said, knitting her brows as if she really just wanted to think it through with me, “she’s working on something with the assessment team’s audience demographics database. She’s not really learning the business, the way I know you tell your new execs to do.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“You know, sir. Going around… talking to people and asking them what they do. Not just sitting at her computer typing goodness knows what.”

I could tell that underneath Mandy’s apparent mistrust of independent work there lay some other complaint—probably Melissa had asked for Mandy’s help with various things well within the secretary’s duties, but which Mandy found beneath her, or too time-consuming. Given that Mandy seemed to find it too time-consuming to answer the phone, I tended toward Melissa’s side of the argument even without hearing it.

On the other hand, though I wouldn’t fault a member of my team for working on something on their own, I did try to get my team to function as a unit. I hadn’t heard anything about what Melissa might be working on, and I spent a moment wondering whether I should inquire—before Mandy went on to the next agenda item and took my attention in a new direction.

The thought came back later that day, though, when I saw Melissa walk by the windows of my office, with apparent purpose. I wondered if even through the glass I could notice a bit of a blush in her cheeks. I hadn’t had time to think much about her, but the sight of her lovely, leggy body in a knee-length skirt suit—and the idle thought that I’d very much like to see what lingerie she had chosen that morning—brought back Mandy’s ‘warning.’

I had the impulse to ask Mandy to schedule some time with Melissa, so I could ascertain whether whatever she was working on represented a productive use of her time. A broad smile crept onto my face as I thought about it, and how of course, part of that meeting would have to be an inspection to ensure myrequests had been followed, with regard to the girl’s deportment under her skirt.

Surely, though, Melissa would have told her colleagues in the bullpen, if not me, if she thought her project merited attention at this stage. Part of my philosophy as a manager lay in letting my reports find their own way. I would let Melissa come to me—if the situation with Mandy didn’t develop into something I had to deal with from a different angle.

I put a reminder in my calendar for a week in the future.

F/u w/Melissa re ‘secret project.’

Melissa

Your Secret Garden.

Something about the phrase felt right—it captured both the hidden nature of the desires I was trying to tap into, and the sense of nurturing and growth I hoped the project could foster. Of course, I told myself firmly, I was thinking only of Selecta’s growth and profits. Not of… anything else.

Day after day, I pored over the data, refining my ideas and fleshing out the marketing strategy. I barely noticed the hours slipping by, often working late into the evening. My colleagues in the bullpen gave me curious looks, clearly wondering what had me so absorbed, but I deflected their questions with vague comments about a special project.

The more I delved into the numbers, the more convinced I became that I was onto something big. The potential market looked enormous—millions of women who might be curious about submission, but too afraid or ashamed to explore it openly. If we could reach even a fraction of them…

I found myself getting excited not just about the business potential, but about the content itself. I caught myself daydreaming about new storylines and scenarios that might appeal specifically to female viewers. Romantic encounters that slowly built to dominance and submission. Tender aftercare following intense scenes. Even… yes, even things like what I’d seen with Georgette and the diaper punishment.

My cheeks burned as I remembered that video, and my shameful reaction to it. But I couldn’t deny that it had sparked something in me—not just arousal, but a kind of fascination. A desire to understand why someone would submit to such a thing, and why they might find it exciting.

I told myself I was just being thorough, really immersing myself in the product to better market it. But late at night, alone in my apartment, I found myself imagining what it would be like to be one of those women on NMB. To have a strong, dominant partner who would take me in hand, punish me when I was naughty, make me feel safe and cherished and thoroughly owned…

No. I shook my head violently, trying to banish the thoughts, focus myself on changing the system. I threw myself back into the work with renewed vigor, determined to concentrate only on the business aspects.

But as the days went by, I found it harder and harder to maintain that separation. The line between market research and personalcuriosity began to blur. I started watching more NMB content, telling myself it was necessary to understand the product. I found myself lingering over certain scenes, rewatching them multiple times to analyze their appeal.

As I neared completion of the proposal, I realized I needed a concrete, recent example to really drive home the potential. Something that showcased NMB’s broad appeal and ability to captivate diverse audiences. I decided to dive into the audience response data, searching for an episode that had resonated across all demographics.

After sifting through countless reports, I found it—a recent installment of Georgette and Michael’s storyline that had garnered unprecedented engagement metrics. The episode description made my cheeks flush:

Michael punishes Georgette for carelessness in the kitchen by giving her a thorough whipping, followed by taking her anal virginity.

My mouth suddenly went dry. This was exactly the kind of content I’d been avoiding, telling myself I was only interested in the business side of things. I knew I needed to watch it, though. As the highest-rated recent episode, it would complete my proposal perfectly, if I could show how my ideas dovetailed with audience response trends.

More than that, I told myself, I needed to prove to myself that I could watch a popular NMB episode objectively. That I could analyze it clinically without… without having the kind of reaction I’d had to previous NMB content. I needed to show myself I was in control.

With slightly shaking fingers, I sent the episode to one of the private viewing rooms. My heart raced as I stood, smoothing my skirt and taking a deep breath. I could do this. It was just research. Nothing more.

I made my way to the viewing room, trying to time my walk down the hallway so no one would notice where I went. I reached for the door handle, forcing myself not to hesitate despite the appearance of one of my colleagues at the other end of the corridor, and stepped inside.

I settled into the almost distressingly comfortable chair, my heart pounding as the screen flickered to life. The episode opened with Georgette in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared dinner. Her blonde hair was tied back in a neat bun, and she wore a modest floral dress that accentuated her curves.

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