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 report that changed everything for me, for example, seemed entirely innocuous when I started to read it, two weeks after my disastrous arrival at Selecta.
On 18 March, Stream Georgette and Michael: a Dairymaid’s Story featured a toileting punishment in the new communal bathing facility built by NMB in Bradford, a Northern Division NM town. The facility cost roughly $2m to build. ROI seems likely to be high, however: the audience response was universally positive. Sample group A (ageplay-specific) showed an arousal rate of 92%, which obviously tracks with that group’s interests. More interestingly, sample groups B and C (more generally dominant clients) weren’t far behind, with arousal rates of 86% and 89% respectively.
I had to gulp at the words toileting punishment. The rest of the report, however, fascinated me. The simple fact of having such fine-grained data with which to shape the division’s offerings got my brain going in ways I hadn’t experienced since the heady days of case studies in my business courses. In discussing case studies, I had always felt, I could let my creativity out—think about Gibbon and Carlyle and Darwin, even, and what they would make of the case, how really brilliant minds would deal with a minor matter like adjusting a corporation’s portfolio to meet the market’s emerging needs. Even if the kind of data collection I had imagined didn’t exist, when working on a case study I could pretend it did, and shape my response accordingly.
Here at Selecta, though, it seemed like everything was possible. When I read a report like the one about Georgette and Michael I felt as if back in school I wouldn’t even have been able to imagine the level of detail the NMB assessment team had at their disposal. Every time I drilled down in the report—like on the eighty-six percent figure for Group B—I got another, even more finely grained array of numbers. Blinking, as I clicked, at what showed up on my screen, I realized I could see everything about each member of each sample group—hundreds of wealthy men and women—except the names involved, whether of the clients themselves or of their locations.
I could see their level of education, their income, their field, the socioeconomic makeup of their community, the general location of that community, their family size and composition, their five most recent takeout orders… it went on and on.
And I knew I could click on Georgette’s name, too, if I wanted, and I would see an anonymized version of the assessment team’s dossier on her. From time to time I had heard one of my new colleagues talking about a marketing campaign based on a particular couple, or a particular young woman. They always talked vaguely about ‘the numbers on her arousal,’ but I had grown increasingly sure those numbers had to be obtained at some barely imaginable biometric level where Selecta had somehow managed to measure a woman’s sexual response with great precision.
I had read six or seven of these reports by now. I had always resisted clicking on the names of the ‘heroes’ or ‘heroines’ as my coworkers always called the men and women on the NMB streams. Something about this stream, though—about the word toileting… it made me furl my brow as my eyes returned to that word over and over.
I couldn’t help myself. My curiosity about the ‘toileting punishment’ overwhelmed my reservations. I told myself it was just research, that I needed to understand all aspects of NMB to do my job effectively. Deep down, I knew there was more to it than that—but I told myself I had to steel my will against precisely this problem, exactly this treason on my body’s part.
With trembling fingers, I navigated to the video feed for Georgette and Michael’s stream. A message popped up asking if I wanted to view in a private room. I hesitated only a moment before clicking ‘Yes.’
The walk to the viewing room felt like it took an eternity. My heart raced, and I could feel a flush creeping up my neck. I kept my eyes down, terrified someone would see my face and somehow know what I was about to do.
When I reached the door, I paused. A sign hung at eye level:
This room is under constant AI surveillance. Self-stimulation will result in loss of incentives.
My cheeks burned as I read the words. Of course they would monitor these rooms. I told myself again that this was just research, that I had no intention of… of doing anything inappropriate. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The room was small but comfortable, with a plush armchair facing a large screen. I settled into the chair, my body tense as I navigated to the correct stream.
The video began playing, showing a quaint, old-fashioned bathroom. That seemed incongruous with the idea of a new two-million-dollar town bathing facility, but I knew Selecta liked to keep things traditional. Georgette, a pretty blonde in her early twenties, stood facing a stern-looking young man I assumed was Michael. She wore a simple pink dress that emphasized her curves despite its modesty.