Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
M elissa
I rushed back to my desk, my cheeks flushed and my heart racing. I tried to push away the vivid images from the video, but they kept intruding on my thoughts. Georgette’s cries, the angry red welts on her bottom, the look of ecstasy on her face as Michael…
No. Focus. This is about work. About… change.
I took a deep breath and opened my proposal document. To my surprise, words began to flow from my fingertips as if they had a life of their own. The episode I had just watched, as disturbing as it had been—maybe because of the effect it had had on me—had sparked something in my mind. I saw connections I hadn’t before, patterns emerging from the data.
Recent audience response data , I typed furiously, indicates a significant trend among a currently small, but clearly susceptible to explosive growth, segment of viewership: female viewers of New Modesty Blue in households where the male breadwinner does not watch NMB.
The segment has not been given the attention it deserves, and so we aren’t even sure how the circumstance comes about. It appears, though, that certain customers acquire their NMB subscriptions either by mistake or because they’re interested but too busy to watch. A statistically significant number of their resident wives and partners, however, become frequent NMB viewers. These viewers respond with levels of arousal that often exceed that of loyal male subscribers who watch with comparable frequency.
Assessment’s recent whitepaper , Points of Reference: a Model for Cryptic Submissives’ Engagement , provides a fascinating look at how submissive women in long-term relationships can use erotic content as an essential reference point for conversations with their partners about submission. I theorize that the phenomenon they observe represents a significant opportunity for marketing NMB.
I paused, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Was I really writing this? But I couldn’t deny the truth of it. The data was there in the whitepaper on the one hand and in the audience data on the other.
The episode ‘Georgette’s Kitchen Lesson’ serves as a prime example of NMB’s ability to provide a point of reference for submissive desires , I continued. The situation and the authenticity of the real-world New Modesty couple tap into deep-seated fantasies that many of these cryptically submissive women struggle to articulate.
I swallowed hard as a new wave of arousal threatened to derail me into picturing Georgette’s face.
By presenting real scenarios of women like Georgette receiving loving but firm discipline and then being made to give pleasure to their partners, NMB offers such viewers a spectrum of experiences to explore vicariously. That, in turn, as Assessment’s whitepaper makes clear, makes it easier for submissive women to identify and express their own boundaries and desires to their partners.
The words poured out of me, filling paragraph after paragraph. Using the incredible wealth of data Assessment had collected, I delved into the psychology behind submission. I even managed to cite their studies on the therapeutic effects of submission for depressed women, pushing far, far away my thoughts about my own needs or lack thereof. I analyzed the careful balance Georgette’s shameful punishment struck between fantasy fulfillment and responsible portrayal of consent and aftercare.
Moreover , I wrote, my cheeks burning, the production quality and attention to detail in episodes like ‘Georgette’s Kitchen Lesson’ create an immersive experience for viewers. The authentic reactions of the couple, the palpable chemistry between them, and the meticulous staging all contribute to the realism that resonates deeply with the audience.
I found myself describing specific moments from the episode—the way Michael’s voice softened even as he disciplined Georgette, the way she responded to the discomfort of his hardness in her smallest hole. I wrote about how these elements created a holistic representation of a D/s relationship, one that went beyond mere physical acts to explore the emotional dynamics at play.
Every one of these aspects of NMB’s content corresponds to Assessment’s observations on points of reference , I concluded . By providing such vivid, multifaceted portrayals NMB serves as the safe space for exploration and self discovery that this segment clearly needs, to help them address the issue of submission with their husbands and partners. The marketing campaign outlined above, targeted at this underserved segment, could potentially add as many as ten million subscriptions within six months of launch.
As I finished typing the last sentence, I realized my hands were trembling. I stared at the screen, my heart pounding, as I tried to process what I had just written. The words seemed to blur before my eyes, a mix of business strategy and barely concealed eroticism.
I had poured everything into this proposal—my marketing expertise, my analysis of the data, and the part of me I still, in my conscious mind, refused to acknowledge even existed. Or, if it did exist, it represented a private little insanity.
A secret garden? I felt my cheeks heat instantly to scalding.
Geniuses were all crazy, right? Not to pretend I was a genius, but maybe I could use that crazy part of me to do smart stuff?
Smart? Or…
The vivid descriptions of Georgette’s punishment, the careful examination of the emotional dynamics at play—it all felt intensely personal in a way I hadn’t anticipated, and it made the inside of my head feel like it would push its darkest recesses out into the world if I thought too hard.
My cheeks burned as I scrolled back over the report and saw specific phrases I’d typed, doing my best not to read them as I put them on the screen. The authentic reactions of the couple… the palpable chemistry between them … Had I really written those words about a scene of domestic discipline and anal sex?
Not me me, though, right? My little bit of crazy, which is different.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. I could make this just about work, I told myself firmly. In the real world, the one where I actually lived, what I had put on that screen was just a business proposal. The fact that my thighs were pressed tightly together, that I could feel the dampness in my panties—that represented a simple physiological response. It didn’t mean anything.
Okay, I’m not actually that stupid. There’s nothing that doesn’t mean anything. Gibbon… Carlyle… Darwin, for God’s sake: they would all tell me that. But…
But I get to decide what it means—and what I’m going to do with it.
I needed to get my mind off this. To think about something else—anything else. Put this proposal on track toward whatever future it might have, and move on to learning the business at a more practical level. With slightly shaky fingers, I opened my email and wrote a message to Mandy.
Hi, Mandy,
I was hoping to get some time on Stuart’s calendar to discuss a project I’ve been working on. Could you please let me know his availability for the next few days?
Thanks,
Melissa
I hit send, then leaned back in my chair, taking deep breaths. There. That was normal. Professional. I just needed to focus on next steps, on moving this proposal forward through proper channels.
An hour passed, then two. No response from Mandy. I distracted myself by studying the org chart and the strategic plan for the next fiscal year, but I kept finding my eyes drawn back to my open email client. Each time I glanced at it, I got a little more tense at the lack of response from Mandy.
By late afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I told myself I needed to talk to Stuart, to get his input on this project before I lost my nerve entirely. I decided to go find Mandy in person and see if I could get on Stuart’s calendar.
I made my way through the maze of cubicles to Mandy’s desk. As I approached, I saw her leaning back in her chair, one hand holding her phone to her ear while the other carefully applied bright red polish to her fingernails.
“…and then I told him, if he thinks I’m going to put up with that kind of behavior, he’s got another think coming,” Mandy was saying, her tone light and gossipy. She looked up as I approached, giving me an irritated glance.
I stood there awkwardly for a moment, not wanting to interrupt. Mandy raised an eyebrow at me, then sighed dramatically.
“Listen, Jen, I’ve got to go. Some work thing. I’ll call you back later.” She hung up the phone and looked at me, her eyebrows raised.
For a long moment, my mind went completely blank. Somewhere, distantly, I understood that the utter absence of conscious thought came from the sheer complexity of my reaction to Mandy’s failure even to reply to my email when she so obviously had nothing more important to do. All I could truly do , though, in the moment, was stare at the apparently anxiety-free expression on Mandy’s pretty face.
Blood rushed into my cheeks. Mandy’s brows rose even higher, and I felt absolutely certain that she could see my embarrassment in my face. Finally, the words came, though they sounded so much weaker than I wanted them to.
“Did you…” I started. I realized I was shaking with suppressed rage.
“Oh,” Mandy said, her eyes becoming suddenly sympathetic, as if she were embarrassed on my behalf, that I had come to see her with something so trivial. “Your email? About Stuart’s calendar?”
I nodded mutely.
“Why don’t you check back tomorrow, hon? I do the calendar first thing in the morning.”
I swallowed hard.
“Thanks,” I told her, because my whirling thoughts seemed unwilling to let me say anything more meaningful. “I…”
I meant to ask, in an acid, even arrogant tone, whether she could do me the courtesy of a quick reply next time. I meant to get the upper hand in the situation, to assert the dominance my whole being seemed to cry out in need of.
But Mandy had swiveled her chair away so that she could start to put another coat of polish on her nails. Distantly, I understood that this provocation corresponded exactly with my last interaction with Mandy. Some part of her—possibly even a conscious part—felt the compulsion to test me. I thought she probably wouldn’t have tested a male executive quite so strenuously, but I also thought that that fact should have challenged me—brilliant, strong-willed Melissa Mitropoulos—to show my mettle.
Instead, I walked away, heart pounding, face scarlet, brain imploding.
Not because I didn’t want to assert my dominance over Mandy.
Because I did want to do that. I wanted to show Mandy that I might not be Stuart, her super-boss, but I was her boss, as a member of Stuart’s team, however junior.
Frankly, I told myself and then instantly pretended the thought had come from some alternate dimension, I wanted to paddle Mandy’s insubordinate backside.
“What’s wrong?” Joe asked as I sat back down at my desk, planning to do nothing but memorize the Selecta employee handbook, in hope of forgetting everything else that had happened today.
“Oh, nothing,” I told him, finding it easy to pretend indifference. Relationships with my peers in the bullpen went just fine. I had learned in my college business program both to talk the talk and to walk the walk. Even in Selecta’s strange, old-fashioned corporate culture, the rest of Stuart’s team seemed happy to treat me like one of the boys. “Fucking Mandy. You know.”
“What?” Joe asked. “She butt-hurt because you asked her to make a few copies of your secret proposal?”
I told him what had happened, carefully not revealing anything about the nature of my proposal. That had been the subject of good-natured jokes among the team as they had watched me working on it day after day, to the point where Melissa’s Secret Proposal represented a riff any of them could tag on the end of a list of just about anything, for a laugh.
Joe frowned as I narrated, and the frown only deepened as I reached the nail-painting, chair-swiveling climax.
“That’s not nothing,” he told me, his voice serious, when I’d finished.
To my dismay, I had to blink back tears of relief.
“Thanks, Joe,” I told him. “I needed that.”
“No,” he said. “I mean, it’s so not-nothing that you definitely have to do something about it.”
Now I had to fight myself not to swallow hard, because to my impossibly mixed horror and delight, I could see where Joe was going. I still felt the need to push the idea back.
“Like what?” I asked, as innocently as I could.
“I think you need to ask Stuart for permission to paddle her,” Joe said, his eyes fixed on mine as if he knew precisely what kind of turmoil his words had just unleashed in my mind, my heart, and above all my body.