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)
“This is an outrage!” I shouted, leaping to my feet. My voice echoed in the suddenly silent room. “How can you possibly justify this… this exploitation?”
Sharon’s eyebrows rose slightly, the only indication of surprise on her otherwise impassive face. “Miss Mitropoulos, I believe? Please, sit down. We can discuss your concerns after the presentation.”
But I had gone beyond reason now. The dam had broken, and all my pent-up anger and disgust came flooding out. “No! I will not sit down and watch this travesty continue. This is nothing short of sexual slavery, dressed up in corporate doublespeak!”
I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me, a mix of shock, disapproval, and—from a few—a glimmer of apprehension. But I didn’t care. I had started to tremble, my fists clenched at my sides as I glared defiantly at Sharon.
“You can’t possibly think this is acceptable,” I continued, my voice rising. “We’re supposed to be leaders, not… not pimps and pornographers!”
Sharon’s eyes hardened, her lips thinning into a severe line. “Miss Mitropoulos, this is your final warning. Sit down, or face the consequences.”
“Consequences?” I laughed bitterly. “What are you going to do, spank me like one of your New Modesty girls?”
A hush fell over the room. I could see the shock on the faces of my fellow recruits, some averting their eyes, others watching with morbid fascination. Sharon’s expression, however, remained unnervingly calm.
“As a matter of fact,” she said, her voice silky smooth, “that’s exactly what we’re going to do.” She turned to address two young men in the front row. “Mr. Johnson, Mr. Ramirez, please escort Miss Mitropoulos to the front of the room.”
For a moment, I stood frozen in disbelief. They couldn’t be serious. But as the two men rose from their seats and approached me, the reality of the situation hit me like a bucket of ice water. This was really happening.
I tried to back away, but found myself hemmed in by the chairs behind me. “Don’t you dare touch me,” I hissed, but my voice lacked conviction. The fight had started to drain out of me.
Johnson and Ramirez approached me cautiously, their faces a mixture of reluctance and determination. I could see the conflict in their eyes—they didn’t want to manhandle a woman, but they also didn’t want to disobey a direct order from Sharon.
“Please, Miss Mitropoulos,” Johnson said softly, reaching out a hand. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
I jerked away from his touch, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. “Don’t you see how wrong this is?” I pleaded, looking from one to the other. “You can’t just go along with this!”
Ramirez sighed, his dark eyes filled with something that might have been pity. “We don’t have a choice. Neither do you.”
They moved in tandem, each grasping one of my arms. Their grips were firm but not painful, clearly trying to be as gentle as possible under the circumstances. I struggled against them, twisting and pulling, but their combined strength was too much for me.
“Let me go!” I demanded, my voice rising in pitch as panic began to set in. The room seemed to spin around me as they half-led, half-carried me toward the front. I could feel the eyes of every other recruit boring into me, a mixture of fascination and horror on their faces.
As we neared the dais, Sharon’s imposing figure loomed before me. She stood with her arms crossed, a slight smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “Over the back of that chair, if you please, gentlemen,” she instructed, gesturing to one of the front-row seats, which she had pulled forward.
Johnson and Ramirez hesitated for just a moment before guiding me forward. I planted my feet, trying to resist, but they easily overpowered me. After a final, desperate struggle, I found myself bent over the back of the chair, my bottom raised, high and vulnerable.
CHAPTER 2
Melissa
I gripped the plastic chair’s minimally cushioned seat, my knuckles cramping with the tension in my hands. The rough synthetic fabric scratched my flushed cheek as I turned my head to the side, refusing to meet the gaze of my fellow recruits. The position felt utterly humiliating, my skirt riding up to expose the backs of my thighs.
Sharon’s heels were noiseless on the carpet as she approached. I felt a slight movement of air and then she was beside me, holding something in front of my face. My eyes widened as I took in the sight of it—a paddle. Stark white plastic emblazoned with Selecta’s bold red logo.
“This, Miss Mitropoulos,” Sharon said, her voice dripping with false sweetness, “is an official Selecta discipline paddle. I think you’ll find it most effective in curbing that rebellious streak of yours.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing it all to be a horrible nightmare. Sharon’s voice continued on smoothly, the feigned compassion making my stomach churn. “I’m sure that all of you, unlike Miss Mitropoulos here, read your contracts thoroughly. So I know you’re well aware that corporate discipline at Selecta is maintained through corporal punishment.”