Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
M elissa
I hurried back to my desk, my legs unsteady beneath me. As I sank into my chair, I became terribly aware of a damp patch in my own underwear. My breath came in short, sharp pants as I tried to regain my composure.
I sat there, staring blankly at my monitor, for a long time. I tried desperately to refocus on work. I tried to push the lingering arousal from what I had just witnessed way, way down in my mind.
I couldn’t: my cheeks burned with shame as I helplessly replayed the scene in my mind—Georgette’s mortification as she wet herself, the unmistakable signs of her reluctant arousal. And my own shameful response to it all.
I shook my head, willing the images away. Crazy. All of it. So very crazy.
I just shouldn’t be affected by something like that. I was here to change things, not to…
I saw the look on Georgette’s face again. I denied that I had felt anything that matched it. In that effort, my mind went in a new direction that seemed stupid and insane at first—and then, suddenly, became the kind of aha moment I remembered from my favorite case studies and my favorite nonfiction.
Women. Women like Georgette. There must be… in the audience… lots of women who don’t think they want their suitors or husbands or boyfriends or whatever to put them in diapers. Don’t think they want that… but…
I remembered a report I had seen on the broad, top-down market trends for New Modesty Blue. Suddenly reanimated, I reached out for my keyboard and brought my monitor back to life. I searched and found the report.
Yes: viewership was roughly ninety percent male. Most of the other ten percent were characterized in the report as ‘DF’—Dominant Female. A tiny sliver, without a percentage, bore the label ‘SF’—Submissive Female.
I opened a new document and started to type, using the flow of my thoughts about marketing to push away the ones about my own reaction to what I had seen in the viewing room—not to mention everything I had experienced since coming to Selecta Entertainment.
According to the most recent longitudinal survey of market segmentation trends, NMB is leaving money on the table.
A strong first statement. I needed to back it up. I needed data.
I dove into what I had, pulling up reports and market analyses. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I poured my thoughts onto the screen:
The current viewer demographics for NMB show a clear gender imbalance, with only ten percent of viewers identified as female. However, as Selecta knows very well indeed, a significant portion of women harbor submissive fantasies they may be reluctant to acknowledge or explore. By targeting this untapped market segment, NMB has the potential to dramatically increase its viewership and revenue.
I paused, my heart racing. Was I really suggesting what I thought I was suggesting? I shook my head and pressed on, telling myself this was just business strategy.
Proposed marketing approach:
1. Develop a discreet, female-focused advertising campaign emphasizing the ‘empowerment through submission’ narrative. Use subtle imagery and language that speaks to hidden desires without being overly explicit.
2. Create a separate viewing portal specifically for submissive female viewers, with a softer aesthetic and more romantic framing of NMB content.
3. Introduce a loyalty program for female viewers, offering exclusive content and personalized ‘training’ suggestions based on viewing habits.
4. Partner with high-end lingerie and sex toy companies to offer curated product selections tied to popular NMB scenarios.
5. Launch a series of anonymous testimonials from satisfied female viewers, focusing on how NMB has improved their relationships and self-understanding.
As I typed, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered that I wasn’t just crafting a marketing strategy—I was outlining my own secret desires. I pushed the thought away, my cheeks burning.
Target demographic: Affluent women aged 25–45, married or in long-term relationships. Particular emphasis on the partners of high-net-worth individuals who may feel unfulfilled or curious about power dynamics in their relationships.
I paused, realizing I had just described myself, minus the billionaire partner. My fingers trembled as I continued typing.
Potential campaign slogans: Discover Your True Self… Embrace Your Deepest Desires… The Power of Surrender… Cultivate Your Secret Garden…
I stared at the words on the screen, feeling a mix of horror and exhilaration. Was this really me writing this? Had I somehow tapped into that hidden part of myself that I’d been desperately trying to ignore?
To distract myself from these unsettling thoughts, I dove back into the data. I wanted to look at what we knew about women in high-net-worth households that subscribed to other Selecta Entertainment content, but not NMB.
I hit a roadblock: I didn’t have access to client data at that granular level. I looked around the bullpen, feeling a little groggy from the deep immersion of my writing. I noticed my colleague Joe had come back from lunch without my even registering his presence two desks away.
“Joe?” I asked. “You got a minute?”
“Sure, Melissa,” he said. “What’s up?”
I explained what I was looking for.
“Cool,” Joe said. “Mandy can get you that data, easy. Assessment just has to anonymize it.”
Mandy, I remembered, was Stuart’s secretary. As a junior member of the team, I hadn’t yet had any real contact with her, but I knew she supported the rest of the team as well as our boss.
Hi, Mandy! I emailed her. I’m Melissa, the new exec on Stuart’s team. I have a query I’m hoping will be easy.
I went on, detailing the report I was looking for and saying that Joe had thought Mandy could help.
Less than a minute later, I got a reply.
Hi. Very busy today. Can probably get you that next week.
I frowned at my screen. “Well, that sucks,” I commented to no one in particular.
Joe chuckled. “Let me guess,” he said. “Mandy told you she’s very busy and can’t deal with your request until six months from now.”
I laughed. “Next week,” I told him.
“Frankly,” Joe said, looking from side to side theatrically as if to make certain no one would hear him say it. “Mandy is just really fucking lazy. Heather paddled her for it a few months ago…”
I swallowed hard and did everything I could to pretend this news had no effect on me at all.
“…and Mandy got a little better, but it seems like she’s back to her old ways.”
Joe leaned in closer, lowering his voice.
“Look, between you and me, it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to get you access to that database. All Mandy needs to do is make a couple quick calls to Assessment and IT. She’s just being lazy.”
I frowned, feeling a mix of frustration and uncertainty. “Are you sure? I don’t want to push if she’s really swamped.”
Joe waved his hand dismissively. “Trust me, I’ve been here long enough to know how this works. Mandy’s always ‘busy,’ but half the time she’s just scrolling through social media or chatting with her friends. If you want to get anything done around here, sometimes you need to light a fire under her ass.”
I chewed my lip, considering. The data I needed was crucial for this crazy-but-maybe-also-genius proposal, and waiting a week would seriously derail my momentum. “So what should I do?”
“Go talk to her in person,” Joe suggested. “Be firm, but polite. Let her know it’s urgent and that you know it won’t take long. Sometimes she just needs a little… motivation.”
There was something in the way he said ‘motivation’ that made my tummy churn, but I pushed the feeling aside. This was about work, nothing more.
“Alright,” I said, standing up. “I’ll give it a try. Where’s her cubicle?”
Joe pointed me in the right direction, and I made my way through the maze of desks and partitions. As I approached Mandy’s workspace, I could hear the faint sound of laughter and realized she was on a personal call.
I hesitated for a moment, then squared my shoulders and stepped into view. Mandy, a woman in her early twenties with sleek brown hair, looked up at me with mild annoyance. She muttered a quick “Gotta go” into her phone before hanging up.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone bordering on rude.
I took a deep breath, reminding myself to stay professional. “Hi, Mandy, I’m Melissa. We emailed earlier about the database access I need?”
Mandy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Right. I told you I’d get to it next week.”
“I understand you’re busy,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and assertive, “but Joe mentioned that it should only take a few minutes to set up. It’s really important for a project I’m working on. Is there any way you could make those calls now?”
Mandy leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Look, I don’t know what Joe told you, but I have my own priorities to manage. You can’t just show up and demand I drop everything for you.”
I felt a flash of irritation at her dismissive attitude. “I’m not demanding anything. I’m just asking if you could spare a few minutes to help me out. It would make a big difference.”
“Well, the answer is still no,” Mandy said, her eyes narrowing, as if to challenge me.
Mandy’s dismissive attitude ignited a spark of frustration in my chest. I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure, but I could feel my patience wearing thin. The potential importance of my project, the momentum I’d built up, and the sheer unreasonableness of Mandy’s response all combined to push me toward a breaking point.
“Mandy,” I said, my voice taking on a sharper edge than I’d intended, “I understand you have your own work to manage. But part of your job is supporting the team, and right now, I need your support. This will take you less than five minutes, and it’s crucial for a time-sensitive project. I’m not asking you to drop everything—I’m asking you to make two quick phone calls.”
As the words left my mouth, I was struck by how authoritative I sounded. It wasn’t a tone I often used, preferring to collaborate rather than command. But something about this situation—perhaps the high stakes of my secret project, or the lingering effects of everything I’d experienced at Selecta so far—brought out a different side of me.
To my surprise, I saw a change come over Mandy’s face. The dismissive look in her eyes faded, replaced by something else—a glimmer of… respect? Her posture shifted slightly, becoming less defensive and more attentive.
“I… I see,” Mandy said, her voice losing its earlier edge. “I suppose I could make those calls now.”
As I watched her pick up the phone, a memory surfaced unbidden—Joe’s casual mention that Heather had paddled Mandy for laziness a few months ago. The image flashed through my mind: Mandy bent over a desk, her skirt raised, as Heather brought the paddle down with a sharp crack.
I felt my cheeks grow warm. I tried to push it away, as usual, but as Mandy spoke to someone in IT, efficiently arranging my database access, I couldn’t help but wonder: was this sudden cooperation the lingering effect of that punishment? Had my sharp tone reminded her of the consequences of her laziness?
Even more disturbingly, I found myself imagining what might happen if I were the one to discipline Mandy. The thought sent a jolt through me—part shock, part that same excitement I had learned to tell myself meant nothing.
To prove to myself that it meant nothing, I followed the train of thought. I pictured myself holding the paddle, saw Mandy’s nervous glance over her shoulder as she bent over…
“Alright.” Mandy’s voice snapped me back to reality. “You should have access to the database now. Is there anything else you need?”
I blinked, trying to banish the unsettling thoughts from my mind. “No, that’s… that’s perfect. Thank you, Mandy. I really appreciate your help.”