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)
The imaginary man said nothing, simply raising the paddle high. I came hard, harder even than I had in the bathroom at work. I stood there, panting, eyes closed as if I could deny what had just happened. My thoughts began to clear.
So… I told myself. That’s out of my system. Good. Nothing a bit of a wank couldn’t fix. Two bits of wanking, anyway.
I turned off the bathroom light and padded the six or seven steps to the bed. Climbing into it, doing everything I could to think about the insanely high thread count of the Selecta-provided sheets rather than anything else that might cross my mind, I failed to suppress the ghost of a doubt. Did pleasuring myself, indulging my pussy’s wayward whims, really represent a solution?
Well, my last waking thought said, at least my embarrassment at those fantasies will make me want to get rid of the provocation, won’t it? I won’t be lining up for any more paddlings, will I?
Will I?
CHAPTER 6
Melissa
I woke the next morning feeling groggy and disoriented. For a blissful moment, I forgot where I was and what had happened the day before. Then reality came crashing back as I shifted in bed and felt the lingering soreness in my bottom and the absence of my panties.
I groaned, burying my face in my pillow. How was I supposed to face another day at Selecta after everything that had transpired? The humiliation of my public punishment, the confusing arousal I’d experienced… the way I’d masturbated not once but twice. I tried to feel my usual defiant pride in self-pleasure, but I failed utterly: I felt ashamed of myself instead.
With what I thought of as my usual casual wanking sessions, I decided when I would touch myself. I decided on the scenes that would play out in my mind as I stroked my private lips, rubbed my clit, put a finger inside my warm, wet sheath. I chose the time, and I chose the fantasy. Yesterday, though… I had felt compelled. I had needed to play with my pussy. Worse, the fantasies that had popped into my mind had done so completely unbidden—and they had aroused me more than any fantasies I had ever had before.
But I had made a decision last night. I would not give up. I would change things from the inside. With that thought bolstering my resolve, I forced myself out of bed and into the shower.
As the hot water cascaded over me, I had to keep pushing away the memories of yesterday and force myself to focus on the day ahead. I had no idea what to expect, though—would there be more orientation sessions? Would I be starting actual work? The uncertainty made my stomach churn with anxiety.
I dried off and stood in front of my closet, pondering what to wear. Part of me wanted to pick something conservative and unremarkable, to avoid drawing any more attention to myself. But another part rebelled at the idea of letting Selecta dictate my choices in any way.
In the end, I opted for a conservative suit, one of the three I had bought with Selecta’s eye-popping signing bonus. Conservative in cut, but the boldest of the three in color: red. Professional, but with a hint of defiance in the color. As I zipped up the skirt, wincing slightly at the pressure on my tender flesh, I examined myself in the mirror. I saw determination in my face, despite lingering shadows under my eyes. Good. I needed every ounce of that determination to face whatever Selecta had in store for me today.
I arrived at the towering building with ten minutes to spare before my nine a.m. start time, thanks to the comfortable shuttle provided by Selecta. As I walked through the lobby, I couldn’t help but notice how different it felt from yesterday. The same sleek marble and glass surrounded me, but now it seemed brutal rather than impressive. Just as I reached the security desk I got an alert on my handheld.
Good morning, Melissa. Please report to Heather, the office manager of NMB Strategic, on 52.
I swallowed hard at the innocent-seeming abbreviation. NMB. New Modesty Blue. My cheeks got warm as I wondered whether they had put me there not in spite of but because of my outburst yesterday, and its horrid consequences.
I joined a group of other employees waiting for the elevator, trying to ignore the sidelong glances some of them were giving me. Did they know, somehow, what had happened yesterday? Had word spread about the troublemaker who had gotten paddled on her first day?
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the bustling fifty-second floor. I stepped out, my heart pounding in my chest. The space before me buzzed with activity—a sea of desks and cubicles stretching as far as I could see, populated by sharply dressed men and women moving with purpose.