Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
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—powerful men—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 ethics or modern 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 only dreamed 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 shadowed with 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?