Hard Reset

INTERNAL POLICY BRIEF -- GODDARD & VALE LLP

Subject: Correction Protocol for Female Employees

Effective: August 12, 2081

1. Purpose

All female employees are subject to the Professional Correction Protocol (PCP), a sanctioned disciplinary alternative intended to resolve workplace mistakes quickly and without formal review.

2. Procedure

Upon acknowledgment of fault, the employee may request correction. The standard procedure includes:

Spanking -- by hand, over or under clothing (at the discretion of the authority)

Corner Time -- minimum 10 minutes, for reflection and emotional recalibration

Aftercare -- emotional check-in, hydration, verbal support

Full Release -- in certain high-pressure cases, physical relief is permitted to complete the cycle of accountability

3. Gender Compliance

Male employees are exempt from the PCP due to legal and biological considerations. Errors by male staff must be addressed through documentation, HR review, or legal arbitration.

Female correction, by contrast, is physical, immediate, and restorative -- allowing uninterrupted professional progression.

4. Culture & Merit

Receiving correction is not a mark of shame, but of maturity. Senior staff are encouraged to model dignity and grace when undergoing PCP, reinforcing the firm's values of openness, humility, and strength.

_____________________________________________________________________________

The elevator doors closed with a soft thud, and I was alone with Jared Brooks and the faint scent of his overpriced cologne.

He stood on the other side of the elevator, shoulders squared like he thought someone important might be watching. Probably imagined this moment in a mirror this morning -- the power pose, the tailored jacket, the tight fade haircut that tried too hard. He wore navy again, of course, the same suit that whispered "intern at a funeral" but screamed "trust fund confidence." The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, just enough to be a statement. Probably thought it made him look dangerous.

He looked at me then, and I could feel the scan in his eyes -- the silent, lazy calculation of a man who made a sport out of underestimating women.

"Strong blazer," he said with a smirk, nodding at me like we were in on something. "You going for intimidating today?"

I raised a brow but didn't turn my head. "Better than going for 'junior senator caught in a scandal.'"

His grin curled wider. Jared loved it when I bit back. He thought it meant we were equals.

I shifted my weight to one heel, letting him look if he wanted to. I wore black today -- cropped blazer, fitted slacks, hair up in a clean twist. Simple, direct, not an inch of softness unless you counted the clear gloss on my lips. I didn't wear jewelry to work. My presence was enough.

Jared ran a hand through his hair. It stayed perfectly in place. Of course it did.

"You know," he started again, voice smooth like oil on glass, "Claire from finance said you yelled at the interns yesterday. Scared one of them into tears."

"I didn't yell," I said flatly. "I spoke clearly. She just wasn't used to being addressed by an adult."

He snorted. "You're brutal."

"No," I said, watching the numbers blink upward. "I'm efficient. You confuse the two because your feedback always starts with 'Hey, buddy.'"

He opened his mouth again -- probably had some half-baked comeback loaded -- but the elevator chimed.

Floor 22.

We stepped out onto polished tile and into the morning hum of the firm. Sunlight spilled across glass walls and sleek furniture. The floor was already alive -- assistants moving with purpose, phones blinking, coffee steaming in hand-carried trays. A few heads turned as we passed. I got nods. Jared got grins.

"Miss Gray, morning."

"Hey, Vicky!"

"Mr. Brooks -- sharp today."

Jared gave his best casual wave, the kind you practiced on yachts. I didn't slow down.

Then Melanie appeared -- perfect Melanie with her tablet and her practiced half-smile.

"Miss Vale would like to see both of you," she said. "Right away."

"Both?" I asked.

Jared looked over at me like a kid who'd just been offered a dare. "Maybe she finally realized how great we are as a team."

Melanie didn't react. She never did. "She's in her office."

We turned toward the east hall together. And just like always, the pace subtly shifted. Not a sprint -- that would be unprofessional. But his steps got faster, and so did mine. Quiet rivalry in click and leather.

He tilted forward. I matched him.

By the time we reached Alyssa Vale's door, we paused like it was all casual. Then he reached for the handle -- half a second before me.

I let him have it. He'd count it as a win. That was fine. We'd see how long he kept it.

Inside, the office was calm. Wood and steel, glass and warmth. Alyssa Vale stood behind her desk, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair pinned, heels off. She looked up with the kind of presence that didn't need announcement.

"Close the door," she said simply.

Jared obeyed like he was doing her a favor.

She glanced at us both, then leaned her palms on the edge of the desk.

"I'll be direct. Numbers are down. Retainers are thinning. We're skating."

I felt Jared straighten beside me.

"I want a new client," Alyssa said. "Big. Sticky. Someone who puts us back on the map. And I'm giving it to both of you."

That landed like a challenge.

"Whoever brings in the stronger contract by quarter's end gets bumped to senior litigation."

We both froze, just a beat. Jared's mouth parted slightly. I could already see the wheels turning -- fast, loud, and poorly aligned.

Alyssa's tone didn't shift. "You can work together or not. I don't care. But one of you is getting promoted. The other stays where they are."

"Understood," I said first.

"Absolutely," Jared echoed. "Challenge accepted."

He glanced at me like it was already over.

I smiled. It wasn't.

A week passed like a blade through fabric -- silent, tense, and slicing everything soft.

The office turned into a battlefield, just quieter. Fewer bullets, more calendars. Jared went on the offensive early, calling leads, greasing palms, dropping phrases like "vertical integration" into casual conversations with partners. I watched him the way a snake watches another snake -- admiring the shape, not the substance.

By Wednesday, he had two solid targets, and by Friday, he'd secured a pitch meeting with a mid-size logistics firm out of Boston. It was good. Better than I wanted to admit. Vale noticed. So did everyone else.

He started walking around like he could feel the promotion tightening around his shoulders.

"Still working on yours?" he asked me one morning, not bothering to hide the smirk.

I smiled without blinking. "Still proofreading yours."

That night, I stayed late.

Not because I needed to.

Because his assistant left her screen unlocked.

His proposal was still in drafts -- clean, tight, technically competent. A little too tight. Perfect enough to unravel with the right pull.

I didn't change much. Just enough. A few client names out of place. A wrong date here. An accidental cc to someone who hadn't been vetted. I rewrote the third paragraph in his voice -- sloppy, rushed, a few technical buzzwords that didn't belong together. Not enough to scream sabotage. Just enough to whisper doubt.

Then I sent it.

From his account.

To the client.

And I slept like a stone.

The next morning, Vale's door slammed hard enough to rattle the legal pads. Jared emerged an hour later with his tie in his hand and a look I'd never seen on him before -- not anger, not confusion.

Fear.

Apparently the client had flagged "inconsistencies." Vale had personally apologized. His pitch had been shelved. He was on probation and stripped of first-run client privileges for the rest of the quarter.

He didn't speak to anyone the rest of the day. I watched him sit at his desk, refreshing his inbox like it owed him an apology.

I didn't smile. Not visibly. But inside?

Inside, I danced.

Two days later, I sent mine. My proposal -- lean, aggressive, not desperate. Real numbers. Clear language. Strategy that actually accounted for risk instead of burying it in jargon. I sent it, slept five hours, and came in expecting nothing.

By lunch, Vale called me in. I stepped through her door and saw the little smile at the corner of her mouth -- the one that meant something had moved.

"He loved it," she said, sliding the folder toward me. "He's signing."

I breathed, but didn't exhale.

"We're locking the account by Monday," she said. "And starting next month, you'll be stepping into the senior litigation chair."

I nodded once. Controlled. Professional.

But the rush in my chest?

That was mine alone.

Two weeks later, I was climbing the stairs, coffee in one hand, the morning just beginning to take shape around me. Another meeting, another file to tear apart, another day at the top.

I liked taking the stairs. Elevators were too slow, too public. The stairs felt earned.

I reached the twenty-second floor just as Chloe -- marketing, sweet, always a little anxious -- nearly collided with me at the landing. Her eyes were wide. Breath short.

"Vicky," she said, urgent. "They're asking for you. Miss Vale. Right now."

I blinked. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. It just--" She shook her head. "They said to send you up. She didn't sound... normal."

The air shifted. Something cold slid beneath my ribs.

I adjusted my blazer, fixed my hair with one clean swipe, and smiled as I walked down the hall.

The door was already open.

I stepped inside.

And the smile died before I could close it.

Jared was there.

So was Vale. And a man I recognized instantly -- our client. My client.

And a security officer, standing just off-center like furniture with a badge.

Jared's face wasn't smug. It was still. Focused. Like he'd finally remembered who he was supposed to be.

Vale didn't say anything at first. She didn't look angry. Not exactly. She looked... older. Tired.

She gestured to the screen behind her desk.

"Let's not waste time," she said.

The screen lit up.

A grainy overhead video. Office lights. An empty workspace.

My heart sank before I even saw what I knew was coming.

There I was -- at Jared's desk. His screen on. His chair empty. Me sitting in it. Fingers moving. Shoulders tight. A pause. A breath. Then the cursor clicking send.

I stared at it.

The room was silent.

My mouth opened.

"Wait--" I said, instinctively. "I didn't--"

"You did," Vale cut in, calm as a razor. "And we have more than the video. Security logs. Timestamped entries. IP records."

Jared's eyes didn't leave mine. He didn't gloat. He didn't need to.

"I--" I tried again. "It wasn't what it looked like. I didn't mean--"

"You meant it exactly as it happened," Vale said. Her voice wasn't raised. That made it worse.

"You compromised a client relationship," she continued. "You sabotaged a colleague. You lied."

My throat was dry. The client hadn't said a word, but his eyes were sharp.

"We've already terminated the contract with him," she added, nodding toward the man. "He came only to witness this. On principle."

I turned to him, but there was no opening there. Just polished shoes and corporate silence.

"Effective immediately," Vale said, "your contract with Goddard & Vale is suspended. HR will finalize the paperwork by noon."

The guard stepped forward.

I didn't move.

I couldn't.

My feet were still planted, but everything else was falling.

No one shouted. No one scolded. There was just the quiet sound of the screen powering down.

And the sound of me breathing like I was underwater.

Jared didn't say anything as I was led out.

But I could feel it.

That little flicker in the air behind me -- not quite triumph.

Just balance, restored.

Vale didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.

"Mr. Brooks received a formal penalty," she said evenly, eyes still on me. "We nearly lost a client. Which means your promotion is rescinded."

The words hit harder than I expected. I stiffened, opened my mouth to argue--

But stopped myself.

This wasn't my call. And we both knew it.

She stood slowly, walked past her desk, and retrieved a plain wooden chair from the wall.

Not her usual chair. One of the regulation ones -- no arms, no cushion, legs squared to the floor. The kind we'd all seen in Policy Orientation but hoped never to sit near.

She placed it carefully in the center of the room. Then she sat down.

"Victoria," she said calmly, "step forward."

I hesitated. Looked around the room.

The client was still seated on the leather couch, legs crossed, watching with cool detachment. Jared sat beside him, silent, but I saw it -- the barely-contained flicker at the corner of his mouth. And the security officer, neutral-faced, arms behind his back like a sculpture. None of them moved.

"I... what about them?" I asked, motioning weakly.

Vale's tone didn't shift. "They will remain present. As witnesses. That's protocol."

I froze.

The shame moved fast -- up my neck, behind my ears, down my spine like ice. I took a step back.

"Ma'am, I--"

"You falsified a legal document. Sabotaged a colleague. Violated contract integrity. And you were caught." She looked up at me, eyes sharp. "This is your correction."

My mouth opened again. Nothing came out.

She stood, walked toward me, and gently took my wrist.

I didn't resist.

She led me forward. Slowly. Like I was sleepwalking.

The room felt wider somehow, and too quiet. I felt the breath of every witness in it.

She sat again. And without a word, guided me across her lap.

My heart pounded in my ears.

The first slap came sharp, clean, across the seat of my slacks. Then another. And another. Each one rang, not just in my skin but in my skull, reminding me exactly who I was in this moment.

I tensed. Flinched. My thighs clenched against her knees, my fists gripped air.

But it didn't stop.

Smack. Smack. Pause. Smack.

My face was burning. My stomach twisted. The heat rising beneath the fabric matched the heat in my chest. I didn't cry out, but my breath came shallow and fast.

Then I felt her fingers at the waistband of my pants.

"No--" I whispered, twisting reflexively. "Please--"

Her hand froze.

She leaned down and whispered in my ear -- not cruelly, but with the steel of law behind it.

"You will not resist correction, Victoria. If this were Mr. Brooks in your place, he'd be terminated with record stain and license review. You are being granted mercy."

The zipper went down.

I closed my eyes.

My slacks were lowered to mid-thigh, my underwear taut against flushed skin. And then the spanking resumed -- louder now, more direct. My legs kicked once, then settled. I heard laughter behind me -- soft, amused, male.

Jared.

Of course it was Jared.

I bit the inside of my cheek and swallowed every word I wanted to scream.

This was mine.

This was what I earned.

And they would all watch until it was over.

When the spanking stopped, my breath was shallow, skin hot, scalp tingling. I thought maybe that was it. That I could stand, pull myself together, and walk out of here holding the last shred of dignity tight in my fist.

But Vale had other plans.

She placed a hand on my hip and said, quiet and firm, "Stand up."

I pushed myself upright, legs shaking. My slacks hung pitifully at my thighs, and I didn't dare meet anyone's eyes.

Then, with a single movement -- quick, practiced -- she hooked her fingers in the waistband of my underwear and pulled them straight down.

The air hit me hard. My breath caught.

I grabbed for the front of my blazer on instinct, but Vale's voice stopped me.

"Hands at your sides."

My arms dropped like stone.

I could feel everything -- the burn in my backside, the wet heat of my humiliation, the open exposure. I wasn't just spanked.

I was naked.

She took my wrist again -- gently, somehow -- and turned me.

Led me forward.

My bare thighs brushed against her skirt as she walked me toward the couch. Each step made the fabric of my pants drag lower.

I saw them before they saw me.

The client, composed but slightly leaning forward now. Jared, arms folded, legs apart, that same smug tilt in his jaw. And the security officer, still still, like part of the architecture.

Vale stopped in front of them. Then looked at me.

"Apologize," she said. "To each of them. Clearly."

I blinked at her.

"Out loud, Victoria."

My throat felt like sandpaper.

"I..." I swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Vale's palm landed on my bare ass again -- hard.

"Not to me."

She nodded toward the client.

I turned, slowly.

"I'm sorry," I said, forcing the words through a trembling voice. "For compromising the firm. For disrespecting your trust."

Smack.

Jared was next. I didn't want to look at him, but I had to.

I met his eyes.

They were lit with something quiet. Not laughter. Not malice.

Satisfaction.

"I'm sorry," I said, cheeks flaming. "For sabotaging your work. For what I did."

He didn't answer. Just blinked once, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the moment.

Smack.

And then the officer. That felt absurd. But I said it.

"For violating policy. And company conduct. I'm sorry."

Another slap. Slower this time. Measured.

Then Vale turned me again, walked me to the far corner of the room.

She didn't say anything else. Just guided me until my nose nearly touched the wall.

"Stay here. Reflect."

And then she walked away.

I heard her heels fade. A chair creaked. Paper shifted. They went back to business. And I -- I stayed.

Bare-bottomed. Facing the wall.

Exposed.

My skin burned with every second. I could feel the pulse of my humiliation like it was alive. The rustle of clothes behind me, the breath of voices, the occasional chuckle.

Once, I dared to glance back.

Just for a second.

And met Jared's eyes.

He didn't smirk. Didn't mock.

He just looked.

Calm. In control.

Like he'd finally won -- and I had personally delivered him the prize.

I don't know how long I stood there, nose to the wall, bare and burning, time stretching out like wire. The sting in my skin had dulled to a throb, but the heat in my face wouldn't leave. Every breath behind me -- every paper rustle, every cough -- sliced through whatever was left of my pride.

Eventually, Vale's voice came again. Calm. Clear.

"You may turn."

I turned.

Her expression hadn't changed. Steady. Professional. But in her hands now was something new -- black leather, slender, gleaming in her fingers like something far too elegant to humiliate.

A collar.

And a thin lead strap attached.

My stomach twisted.

"I believe," she said, "you mentioned there would be a final step to your apology."

My mouth opened. Dried. Then I nodded.

"Yes, ma'am," I whispered.

She approached and, without pause, fastened the collar around my neck.

The leather was soft but firm, like everything she ever did. I felt the buckle snap, then settle into place. The strap hung lightly from her hand.

"Step forward."

I did.

Behind me, I heard Jared rise.

I didn't need to be told. He took the strap from her like it was routine. Like this had been part of the plan all along. He didn't laugh. He didn't leer. He simply turned, gentle grip on the lead, and began walking.

And I followed.

Down the hallway.

Past the couches.

Out of Vale's office.

No pants. No panties. No blazer. Only the collar, the lead, and the heels I hadn't dared to remove.

Eyes turned instantly.

Conversations stopped.

A dozen desks along the main floor -- legal assistants, junior staff, interns, and two senior attorneys -- all saw me before I could blink. Some blinked back. Others stared.

And one -- Jason from intake -- actually grinned.

I kept walking.

My face burned worse than my ass. Every step echoed on marble tile, each heel click another drumbeat of exposure. Jared didn't tug. He didn't need to. I moved because I had no choice. Because the only thing worse than this was dragging my feet and pretending it wasn't happening.

We passed the break room.

Laughter. I heard it. Felt it. A sharp exhale behind a paper cup. A whisper. A cough hiding a smirk.

Then we reached my desk.

He stopped.

I stopped.

And he let go.

"Back to work," he said. Not cruelly. Not kindly. Just... as a fact.

I sat slowly, careful not to wince as my still-red skin met the seat. My bare thighs stuck to the leather. The keyboard blinked awake in front of me, pretending nothing had changed.

And I worked.

For the rest of the day.

Completely naked, except for heels and the black collar still snug around my neck.

No one spoke to me.

Not directly.

But I felt them. Every glance. Every sideways shift. Every tilted head and barely-suppressed smile. I saw a phone come out once -- I didn't know whose -- and I knew, deep down, there'd be whispers about this for weeks.

But no one stopped it.

Because this wasn't a scandal.

This was a correction.

And I -- I had earned it.

This piece was created on commission.

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the crackle of air

(Written and edited by AlexisVriting)