His to Enjoy – Corporate Correction Read Online Emily Tilton

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic Tags Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement

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The app chirped softly as I approached, and I heard the lock disengage with a subtle click. The door swung open to reveal a space that took my breath away.

It was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, offering a view of the city skyline that seemed like the opposite of the little garden I had looked out at from my kitchen window three weeks ago, when my life seemed settled. The living area was open and airy, furnished with a cream-colored sofa and matching chairs that looked impossibly soft. A kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances gleamed to my left. Everything was modern, sophisticated, expensive.

I walked through slowly, running my fingers along the smooth surfaces. The bedroom looked equally impressive—a king-sized bed already made with crisp white linens, a walk-in closet stocked with hangers, a vanity with perfect lighting. The bathroom featured a deep soaking tub and a separate glass shower with multiple jets.

It was everything I’d never dared dream of having. And yet…

My eyes kept catching on tiny details. The smoke detector in the bedroom ceiling seemed unusually large. The decorative mirror in the living room had an odd sheen to its surface. Even the elegant light fixtures appeared to have small dark spots at their centers.

Cameras. They were everywhere, just as Tyler had said—discreet, built into the architecture itself.

I sank onto the sofa, my legs suddenly weak. Someone could be watching me right now. Sharon Fagan could be sitting in her office, pulling up my feed on her computer, observing me as I explored my new cage. The thought should have been terrifying.

Instead, I felt that too-familiar warmth beginning between my thighs.

I pressed my legs together, trying to ignore it, but the sensation only intensified. Every movement I made felt performative now, knowing unseen eyes might be tracking me. When I stood to get a glass of water, I was acutely aware of how my dress swayed, how the pink stockings whispered against each other. When I bent to look in the refrigerator—featuring a display screen I couldn’t figure out and already stocked with fresh produce as well as bottles of expensive sparkling water—I wondered if someone was admiring the view.

Stop it, I told myself firmly, but my body had already begun its betrayal. The delicate lace of my panties felt damp against my sensitive flesh, still swollen from Scott’s humiliating exploration in the screening room. My nipples had hardened beneath the sheer cups of my bra, making them visible through the thin fabric of my dress.

My handheld chimed with an incoming message. Sharon Fagan’s name appeared on the screen, and my stomach clenched with a mixture of dread and that terrible anticipation I couldn’t seem to control.

I trust you’re settling in comfortably. Please be aware that as part of your probationary period, certain behavioral standards must be maintained even in your private residence. The employee handbook has been uploaded to your device.

I opened the attachment with trembling fingers. The handbook was extensive—pages and pages of rules and expectations. But one section made my breath catch: ‘Personal Conduct in Company Housing.’

Female employees residing in Selecta housing are expected to maintain appropriate behavioral standards at all times. Masturbation without explicit permission from one’s direct supervisor is strictly prohibited and will result in disciplinary action.

I stared at the words, reading them three times to make sure I understood correctly. They were monitoring not just my safety, but my sexuality, my most intimate moments. They had made rules about what I could do with my own body.

The warmth below my belly had become an ache now, a pulsing need that seemed to mock the very rule I’d just read. It had been over two weeks since I’d had any release except for what Scott had given me—no, forced on me—in his office. Even with Jacob, as controlling as he’d been, I’d never been explicitly forbidden from touching myself. I’d simply chosen not to, trained by years of the New Modesty program to view my own pleasure as something dangerous.

But now, knowing I couldn’t, knowing someone might be watching to ensure I didn’t… the desire became almost unbearable.

I paced the apartment, trying to distract myself. I unpacked the few belongings I’d brought from my old life—some clothes, a few books, a photograph of my parents. Everything else had belonged to Jacob, or to the marriage that no longer existed.

But with each movement, I felt the shift of lace against my skin, the pull of the garter straps, the lingering soreness where Scott’s fingers had violated me. My body seemed determined to remind me of every humiliating moment from today, replaying them in vivid detail.

I tried to read, curling up on the sofa with a thriller everyone seemed to love, but the words swam before my eyes. All I could think about was Scott’s voice, low and commanding: You’re going to come with my fingers in your ass. The memory alone made me clench involuntarily, a fresh wave of arousal washing over me.

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