His to Enjoy (Corporate Correction #9)

Chapter 1

Grace

“You have to understand, Grace,” said the kind-faced woman at Selecta Solutions, “that it has nothing to do with you, or your worth as a wife, let alone as a person. This was unfortunately our fault—well, NMB’s fault.

As you know, we keep very close watch on our NMB couples, but this slipped through the cracks at the assessment level.

We should have caught Jacob’s tendency to shirk his responsibilities. ”

N. M. B. New Modesty Blue. The division of the Selecta Corporation that had made money by streaming the most intimate, embarrassing moments of my marriage.

The ones where I got spanked. The ones where the husband—the gorgeous, dominant man who had just, it seemed, left me—used me for his pleasure exactly as he chose.

The ones where I helplessly demonstrated that I loved being used that way.

I had stopped loving Jacob, at some point, but I had never stopped getting wet at the feeling of his hands on my body, controlling me—draping me across his knee or bending me over the bed.

Or the feeling of his hardness inside me, demonstrating his mastery and my obedience as wealthy men, I knew very well, enjoyed watching me submit from the comfort of their mansions, or planes, or whatever billionaire accommodations they happened to occupy at that moment.

Any given moment when my husband had decided to punish and fuck me in front of the ever-present NMB cameras, for the vicarious enjoyment of the channel’s subscribers.

I couldn’t look at the woman—Mrs. Chen, said the nameplate on her desk. My face had gotten hot and, I felt certain, very red. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. For crying in her office? For the failure of my marriage? For the shameful way my body still responded to memories of Jacob’s dominance even now, when he had abandoned me for another woman?

Mrs. Chen’s voice softened. “Grace, you have nothing to apologize for. The fault lies entirely with our screening process. As I said, we failed to identify Jacob’s… character deficiencies during the initial assessment phase.”

I finally managed to look up at her, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. “What happens to me now?” The question came out smaller than I’d intended, like a child asking what would become of her after her parents had decided they no longer wanted her.

“That’s why I asked you to come in today.” Mrs. Chen opened a folder on her desk, her movements precise and businesslike despite the gentleness in her tone. “Selecta takes full responsibility for this situation. We have several options available to you.”

My hands trembled slightly in my lap. Everything I had known, everything I had built my identity around for the past two years, had crumbled in the space of a single phone call from Jacob.

He hadn’t even had the courtesy to tell me in person that he was leaving me for his secretary—a woman who, he’d informed me with clinical detachment, “better understood his needs.”

“The first option,” Mrs. Chen continued, “is financial compensation. A settlement that would allow you to start fresh, completely independent of the New Modesty program.”

Independent. The word sent a chill through me. I had never been independent, not really. I had gone from my father’s house to the New Modesty program to Jacob’s control. The thought of navigating the world entirely on my own felt both terrifying and oddly thrilling.

“Another option,” Mrs. Chen said, her fingers moving to another section of the folder, “would be to re-enter the courtship program. We have several highly suitable candidates who are looking for wives with your experience and training.”

A restless energy coursed through me at those words.

The thought of going through it all again—the careful presentation of myself to another man, the evaluation period, the slow dance of submission and acceptance—made something inside me want to pace the small office.

I shifted in my chair, my hands clenching and unclenching in my lap.

“And,” Mrs. Chen continued, studying my face with what seemed like professional interest, “there is a third option. One that might be particularly well suited to you, given your test scores when you first entered the New Modesty program.”

My restlessness stilled. “My test scores?”

“You demonstrated exceptionally high aptitude in analytical thinking and problem-solving. Far above average, actually.” She pulled out what looked like a standardized test report. “Have you ever heard of Selecta’s business education program?”

My heart began to beat faster, though I tried to keep my expression neutral. A business education program. Something that had nothing to do with marriage or courtship or presenting myself for another man’s approval.

“The biz ed program would require you to submit to a rigorous interview process,” Mrs. Chen said, her eyes never leaving my face. “It’s quite intensive.”

I swallowed, hoping she couldn’t see how the mention of a rigorous interview had made my pulse quicken.

There was something about the word ‘rigorous’ that sent an unwelcome flutter through my stomach—a response I recognized all too well from my two years with Jacob.

“What… what would the interview involve?”

Mrs. Chen’s smile was knowing, almost maternal.

“I’m quite confident you would pass, Grace.

The interview process is designed to ensure that all female candidates fully understand Selecta’s traditional corporate culture and, most important, the prominent role that corporal punishment plays in maintaining proper workplace discipline and hierarchy. ”

The words hit me like a physical blow. My breath caught, and I felt that familiar heat spreading through my body—the same shameful response I’d had to Jacob’s dominance, now triggered by the mere mention of corporate corporal punishment.

I pressed my thighs together under the desk, praying Mrs. Chen wouldn’t notice the way my breathing had changed.

“The business world can be quite demanding,” she continued, her tone still professional, but with an undertone I couldn’t quite identify. “Selecta believes that women in corporate positions must demonstrate their ability to accept correction gracefully and learn from structured feedback.”

“If I don’t pass the interview,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper, “could I still take the financial settlement instead?”

Mrs. Chen’s expression brightened, as if I’d asked exactly the right question. “That seems like a very smart approach to me, Grace. You have nothing to lose by trying. In fact, Selecta will even cover your housing while you do your first internship.”

The relief that washed over me was immediate and overwhelming. I had an escape route. Whatever this interview process entailed, I wouldn’t be trapped if I couldn’t handle it.

Three days later, I found myself standing outside an office door on the fifteenth floor of the Selecta building, my palms damp with nervous perspiration. The nameplate read ‘Sharon Fagan, Director of Education.’

“Come in,” came a crisp voice after I knocked.

Sharon Fagan was exactly what I had expected from a Selecta executive—impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit, her dark hair pulled back in a severe chignon. She gestured for me to sit in the chair across from her massive mahogany desk.

“Grace, I want to begin by expressing my sympathy for your situation,” she said, her tone professional, but not unkind. “However, I need you to understand that I cannot and will not go easy on you during this interview process. The standards for our business program are non-negotiable.”

I straightened my shoulders, trying to project more confidence than I felt. “I wouldn’t expect any special treatment, Ms. Fagan. I want to earn my place here.”

She studied me for a long moment, then leaned back in her chair. “Excellent. In that case, please remove your clothes.”

The words hit me like a slap. My mouth fell open slightly, and I felt that familiar heat creeping up my neck. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Remove your dress, Grace. I want to see you in your underwear.”

After two years of being filmed in my most intimate moments for NMB, I was amazed that I could still feel this embarrassed, this exposed, by a simple command. But I did. My hands trembled as I gripped the arms of my chair.

“Could I… maybe keep my clothes on?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.

Sharon’s expression remained unchanged. “I know you’re no stranger to traditional discipline, Grace. Your NMB records make that quite clear. What’s becoming apparent, however, is that being made subordinate to another woman presents a particular problem for you.”

My cheeks burned. She was right, and we both knew it. With Jacob, submission had felt natural, even arousing. But this—being commanded by this stern woman—felt different. More challenging. More threatening to whatever sense of self I had left.

“You have two choices,” Sharon continued, her voice level.

“Remove your dress now so we can proceed with the interview, or call this whole thing off and go back to the folks at Selecta Solutions to explore your other options. I should also say that from this point on, though, disobedience is going to be punished in accordance with our corporate practices. The next time you fail to comply with an instruction, you’ll learn how little the company paddle feels like your ex-husband’s hand, firm as it might have been. ”

My hands shook as I reached for the hem of my simple navy dress.

The fabric felt impossibly heavy as I pulled it over my head, the air conditioning in the office making my skin prickle with goosebumps.

I folded the dress carefully and placed it on the chair beside me, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity even as I stood before this stern woman in nothing but my plain white cotton bra and beige panties.

Sharon’s eyes swept over me with detached assessment, and I saw her mouth tighten with disapproval. “That underwear is completely unacceptable for a Selecta business candidate. It’s dowdy and unfeminine.”

My cheeks burned with shame as she opened a drawer in her desk and withdrew a set of delicate pink lace lingerie. The bra was sheer with tiny rosettes along the cups, and the matching panties were barely more than scraps of lace held together with satin ribbons.

“Put these on instead,” she commanded, placing the lingerie on the edge of her desk. “You’ll be wearing them for the remainder of your interview process—first with me, and then with the team leader for the team you’ll be joining as an intern.”

I stared at the provocative undergarments, my stomach dropping. “I… I can’t wear those. This is supposed to be a business interview.”

Sharon’s expression hardened. “I thought I told you exactly what would happen if you disobeyed again, Grace.”

Before I could respond, she was opening another drawer and withdrawing a stark white paddle emblazoned with Selecta’s red logo. The sight of it made my knees weak with a mixture of fear and that shameful arousal I couldn’t suppress.

“Bend over the desk,” she ordered, standing and moving around to my side.

Panic flooded through me. I dropped to my knees, scrambling for my dress on the floor. “This was a terrible mistake,” I gasped, tears already starting to flow. “I need to leave. I need to go right now.”

“Do you need help bending over the desk, Grace?” Sharon’s voice was perfectly calm, which somehow made it more terrifying.

I heard the soft click of the office door locking behind me, and a sob escaped my throat. There was no escape now. I looked up at the terrifying woman who loomed over me with the horrid paddle in her hand. I swallowed so hard it hurt.

I remembered how this had felt with the husband I’d thought I’d loved: how his physical presence and his handsome face had somehow helped me—as well as knowing, I suddenly realized, that he never spanked me very hard.

It seemed utterly different to submit to discipline from this woman I had just met, here in her office.

Trembling violently, I slowly stood and took the two steps that brought me to her imposing desk. I bit my lip as I leaned forward over the polished surface, my hands gripping the far edge as Sharon positioned herself behind me.

“We’ll have these down,” she said matter-of-factly, and I felt her hand inside the waistband of my panties. “You’re no stranger to bare-bottom discipline, are you, Grace?”

“Oh, no… please…” I murmured, trying to twist my hips so she couldn’t get the underwear down my thighs. “I… not on the bare, please?”