With unexpected orders

The black box with the dress weighed like a brick in Magi's hands. The path to the changing rooms was not the usual descent to the basement, but an ascent to a special instruction room on an upper floor—a soundproofed, unfurnished room with one-way mirrors and only a few folding chairs. The air smelled clean and empty, like a stage set for a perverse show.

Inside, a man she hadn't seen before awaited her. Tall, with broad shoulders, he was dressed in civilian clothes—chinos and a polo shirt—but his posture held an indelible military stiffness. His face was angular, impassive, and his eyes assessed her with the coldness of an engineer testing a faulty prototype.

"I will be your instructor for this phase," he said, without introducing himself. His voice was a monotonous bass, devoid of all emotion. "You may call me Instructor Silva. Warrant Officer Costa has brought me up to speed on your... raw nature. We will start from scratch."

He gestured to the black box Magi was still holding with numb fingers.

"The dress is a tool of exhibition, cadet. It has no bodice, and you wear absolutely nothing underneath. It exhibits everything we need to exhibit. That is the principle of this lesson. Take off your uniform and put on the dress without any underwear. Now."

Magi felt a cold punch to her stomach. The awareness of the nudity beneath the scant fabric hit her before she even touched the silk. She hesitated, looking at the mirrors. Would someone be watching from behind? Costa?

"Now, cadet," Silva repeated, and the tone left no room for doubt.

With clumsy movements, Magi removed the compressive uniform. The cold air of the room hit her skin, raising goosebumps. For an instant, it was a relief. Then, she put on the black dress. The cold silk slid over her skin like a snake, conforming to her curves with terrifying precision. The neckline was so deep she felt the air on her sternum. The skirt so short that every movement was an invitation. She felt infinitely more exposed than in the compressive uniform; this one did not compress, it exhibited.

Silva watched her without blinking.

"Walk to the wall and come back."

Magi obeyed. Her steps were short, unsure. She felt how the fabric clung to her thighs, how the dress accentuated her every move.

"Pathetic," Silva spat. "You walk as if you are wearing armor, not a dress. Relax your hips. Let them sway. Flow. You are not going to a formation; you are going to seduce."

He made her repeat the path again and again, each time with sharper comments.

"Shoulders back, chest out! That's what they're selling out there!"

"Slower! You are not in a hurry to run away! You have all the time in the world to be looked at!"

"That smile? You look like you have gas. Learn to smile with your eyes, not your teeth. Seduction, not terror!"

Then came the "conversation techniques." Silva threw vulgar or condescending questions at her, pretending to be a wealthy client.

—"What is a girl so... discreet... doing in a place like this?"

—"That dress is screaming for someone to take it off."

—"How much do you charge for a night? Be honest."

Magi stammered responses, blushing to the roots of her hair, while Silva cut her off abruptly.

"Don't stammer! Answer with confidence, even if it's a lie!"

"Lower your voice! Speak to them as if you are doing them a favor, not asking for forgiveness!"

"Gaze at the lips, not the eyes! Convey availability, not panic!"

But the most brutal part was yet to come. Silva opened the door and three cadets entered. Magi recognized them: they were peers from whom she had received mockery and lewd stares. They were in civilian clothes. They smelled of cheap cologne and anticipation.

"Practice makes perfect," Silva announced. "They will play clients. You will practice controlled physical interaction. It is vital for your cover that you do not startle at unexpected contact."

The first one approached. He smelled of mock ****.

"Hello, beautiful. Are you new?" he said, sliding a hand down her bare arm.

Magi instinctively flinched.

"Don't tense up!" Silva roared. "Smile. Tilt your head. Accept the contact."

The cadet's hand moved up to her shoulder, then down her back, settling on her waist. His fingers closed over the silk, appreciating the curve of her hip. Magi held her breath, feeling nauseous.

"Very good," Silva said. "Next."

The second cadet was more direct. He approached her from behind while she tried to maintain a trembling smile.

"I like this dress," he murmured near her ear, his breath hot on her neck. "But I'd like it better on my bedroom floor."

His hand passed in front of her, brushing her stomach under the neckline, before resting on her other side of the waist, circling with his thumb. Magi closed her eyes, feeling panic rise in her throat.

"Eyes open!" Silva ordered. "Observe your surroundings! Never close your eyes!"

The third was the worst. He pretended to be more ****, with exaggerated movements and a slurred voice.

"Let's dance, doll!" he laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her roughly.

As she struggled, his hand "accidentally" slid up her leg, rising up her thigh under the short skirt until it touched the edge of her lack of underwear. Magi recoiled as if she'd been electrocuted, a strangled cry escaping her lips.

"Failure!" Silva yelled, coldly. "An **** client will be rough. You must redirect the movement, not reject it. Otherwise the target will be scared off! Or worse, he'll get angry! Do you want to be thrown out on your first night?"

The session continued for an eternal hour. Hands ran over her arms, her back, her waist. Obscene comments whispered in her ear. **** smiles that ached in her facial muscles. Silva corrected every spasm, every look of panic, every tension in her shoulders with the precision of a surgeon cutting away dead flesh.

When the practice with the cadets finally ended, Magi was trembling. The dress, once immaculate, was wrinkled and hot from the sweat of her and their hands. Her skin felt as if it had been filed down.

"Very well," Silva said, with a tone that denoted not satisfaction, but only functional progress. "Tomorrow, more of the same. But there is one final lesson for today. It is the most important."

He pointed to the open black box on one of the folding chairs.

"Now, the lesson of withdrawal. It must not look like an escape, but a promise. When your encounter ends, you must leave the target wanting more, needing it. It is not enough to just leave, cadet. You must disappear in a cloud of desire."

Silva stood next to the sound system and put on a slow, sensual piece of music. The music filled the soundproof room.

"Now, cadet. I want you to take off the dress. I want you to do it with a dance, slowly. With the same... fluidity that I have tried to teach you. The goal now is total liberation. The final act of seduction is the offer of the forbidden."

Magi stood motionless. Panic flooded her chest, much sharper than with the cadets' contact.

"Instructor... I can't... I can't take off the dress. I'll... I'll be topless."

Silva looked at her, his impassivity almost a mockery.

"And? Is that your limit, cadet? Do you fear what you've been selling all day? Do you fear total exhibition? The target might ask for more. You must be prepared for that moment, to know how to yield without losing control or how to refuse with grace, but first you must know what it feels like to offer everything."

His voice was a low whip.

"The fear in your eyes does not seduce, Magi. Control, even in surrender, does. You have no other choice. If you don't do it, I will consider this phase a total failure. And you already know what that means."

The threat was clear: a harder, more degrading punishment. The fear of what would come if she failed overcame the panic of the moment. With trembling hands, Magi raised her arms and began to move, the sensual rhythm of the music clashing with the terror in her soul.

Her movements were clumsy at first, but Silva **** her to look at her reflection, to **** seduction onto her own pale face. She brought her hands to the neckline and slowly slid the thin silk straps off her shoulders.

The fabric slid downwards with torturous slowness, exposing her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, and then, inevitably, her breasts. The cold air of the room hit her skin. For an instant, only the mirror and she existed, in a pose of total, **** vulnerability. The dress fell to her feet, a black pool of silk, and Magi stood there, naked from the waist up, covered only by the short skirt. The woman in the mirror had eyes full of tears, but the smile was cold and practiced.

"Enough," Silva said, gathering his things without a single look at her body, only an evaluation of her obedience. "The lesson was not the act, cadet. It was the obedience to the act. And you have obeyed. Tomorrow, more of the same. Until you stop looking like a rag doll and become something useful. Get out."

Magi staggered out of the room. The micro-implant in her ear buzzed slightly, a constant reminder that surveillance and orders would now go inside her head. She locked herself in a bathroom and leaned against the door, panting. The dress, once a garment, was now a symbol of submission lying on the instruction room floor.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The woman who looked back was broken, but deep in her glazed eyes, something had hardened. The "lessons" were a methodical, psychological punishment. And the worst thing was that it was working. Every unwanted touch, every degrading comment, every piece of clothing removed by order, was carving something inside her, emptying her to fill her with whatever Costa wanted to put in. Redemption did not exist. There was only the **** transformation into an instrument. And she, trembling and terrified, was learning to obey.