Chapter 3: The Integration Assessment

Jessica pushed open the double doors. Her hand remained on Ingrid’s lower back, guiding her over the threshold. Ingrid stepped from the quiet hallway into the noise of a large, open office space. The sound was immediately overwhelming, a mixture of clicking keyboards, muffled phone conversations, and the low hum of distant laughter.

This space was nothing like the orderly, silent hallway they had just left. It stretched out vast and brightly lit, filled with rows of glossy white desks. Every station housed a young woman, all dressed identically in the tight white blouses and navy skirts that now comprised Ingrid’s own uniform.

The sight was jarring. They were all impossibly busty. Ingrid saw her own insecurities mirrored on thirty different bodies, amplified by the strained fabric and revealing cuts of the required clothing. They worked with practiced concentration, eyes focused on their screens, yet the atmosphere felt charged with a strange, high-voltage energy. It was performance disguised as productivity.

Jessica steered Ingrid past the main workstations and toward a set of interior doors at the far side. These doors led into a conference room. The walls were made of frosted glass, diffusing the bright overhead light into a soft, milky glow inside.

Ingrid felt the grip on her lower back tighten slightly as they reached the door. Jessica opened it without knocking and ushered Ingrid inside.

The conference room was relatively small. A long oval table dominated the center, polished nearly to a mirror finish. Three young women sat around it, already waiting. They looked up in unison as Ingrid and Jessica entered.

Ingrid took a quick inventory of the room. The air conditioning was much colder in here, raising renewed goosebumps on her arms. A leather portfolio and a small electronic tablet sat neatly placed before each of the three waiting women.

“Ingrid Bergström, please meet Victoria, Amber, and Sienna,” Jessica announced with a flat, professional tone. She didn’t wait for Ingrid to offer a greeting. “Ladies, this is the newest intern.”

The three women were, like everyone else in the office, impossibly put together. They were flawlessly made up, and their uniforms seemed to fit them with precise, almost aggressive perfection.

Victoria sat at the head of the table. She had sharp features and dark, immaculately styled brunette hair. She wore a severe expression that suggested she found the entire proceedings a mild inconvenience. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, making her marginally older than the others Ingrid had seen.

Next to her sat Amber. Amber was blonde, and she wore a pair of thick, black horn-rimmed glasses that contrasted sharply with her delicate features. Her uniform, too, strained conspicuously across her chest, though she seemed entirely oblivious to the fact. She already had her tablet open, and her fingers moved over the screen with practiced speed.

Sienna occupied the third chair. She was a redhead, though Ingrid suspected the color came from a bottle given its vivid intensity. Her makeup was severe, emphasizing her wide-set eyes and perfectly defined lips. Sienna held a professional-grade camera, its large lens resting on the table pointed vaguely in Ingrid’s direction.

Victoria spoke first. Her voice was low and precise, cutting through the silence that had fallen over the room.

“Thank you, Jessica. You may wait outside.”

Jessica acknowledged the dismissal with a sharp nod, then removed her hand from Ingrid’s back. Without another word, she turned and left the conference room, closing the door softly behind her. The soundproofing was immediate. The noisy office environment instantly vanished, replaced by the humming silence of the air conditioning unit.

Ingrid stood alone near the door, feeling exposed in the tight, ill-fitting uniform. The attention of the three women was heavy, assessing.

Victoria motioned toward the end of the oval table near her. “Ingrid, please stand here for the moment.”

Ingrid walked carefully around the table, trying not to brush against anything. She stopped where Victoria had indicated. The focus of the camera lens, held now by Sienna, seemed to track her every movement.

“I am Victoria,” the brunette stated, leaning back slightly in her chair. “This is your mandatory Integration Assessment. We use this session to evaluate your current cultural fit and identify areas requiring remedial training.”

Amber nodded without looking up from her tablet. Sienna simply raised the camera slightly, adjusting the focus.

“The process consists primarily of physical positioning exercises,” Victoria continued, her hands folded neatly on the table. “These are designed to test your comfort with display, your body awareness, and your obedience to explicit instruction.”

Ingrid swallowed hard. This was less an assessment and more a performance review of her body’s suitability for their company’s specific demands. The humiliation was already beginning to settle heavily in her stomach.

“Amber will be documenting the session, and Sienna will be recording visual evidence,” Victoria explained. “We require your full cooperation and absolute silence unless a direct question is asked. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Ingrid managed. Her voice felt thin and reedy in the cold room.

“Good.” Victoria consulted a sheet of paper on her portfolio. “We begin with Posture Test Alpha. This is a basic gauge of tension and natural presentation.”

Victoria instructed Ingrid on the first position. “Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. Shoulders back. Tilt your chin up slightly. Now, clasp your hands behind your head.”

Ingrid complied stiffly. The motion of raising her arms immediately put intense pressure on the already strained buttons of her white blouse. The gaps widened around the exposed central line of her bra and cleavage. It felt obscenely tight.

Victoria rose smoothly from her chair. She moved with deliberate slowness, circling Ingrid entirely. She didn’t touch her, but her gaze lingered on every point where the fabric struggled to contain Ingrid’s body. Victoria held a small notebook, occasionally scribbling notes into it as she completed her circuit.

“Note the immediate excessive gaping,” Victoria murmured, addressing her companions rather than Ingrid. She paused directly in front of the cleavage revealed between the second and third buttons. “The stretch across the lateral aspects is significant. We’ll need to adjust the sizing matrix later, but the baseline presentation confirms the need for consistent structure management.”

Sienna snapped two photographs from a low angle. The rapid clicks of the camera shutter felt incredibly loud in the quiet room.

Victoria continued her slow observation, moving around the side to focus on the skirt. The naval-blue fabric stretched taut across Ingrid’s hips.

“The hemline presents adequately, though the stress point at the partially zipped fly remains a concern for unexpected failure under dynamic movement,” Victoria observed. She returned to her starting position. “Ingrid, maintain that posture.”

Amber typed something rapidly onto her tablet. The soft taps of synthetic keys were the only sound besides the camera and the hum of the air conditioning.

“We will now move to Seated Display One,” Victoria instructed. “Use the chair directly behind you.”

Ingrid lowered her arms carefully, trying not to disrupt the tension on her blouse any further. She turned toward the nearest seat, which was an auxiliary chair placed a small distance from the table. She sat down gingerly.

“Knees pressed together, Ingrid,” Amber interjected sharply, finally looking up from her screen. “Hands folded neatly in your lap.”

Ingrid immediately tightened her legs, pressing her knees together until the skirt fabric felt like it would tear at the seam. She clasped her hands, resting them flat on her thighs.

“No, not like that,” Amber sighed with audible irritation. She leaned forward, adjusting her glasses. “Look at your ankles. You’ve crossed them. That’s incorrect. Ankles should be together, resting straight. We want a clear, unbroken line.”

Ingrid moved her feet, positioning her ankles together as neatly as she could manage. She felt foolish, having her basic physical positioning scrutinized this closely.

“Better. Now, the tilt of your feet,” Amber continued, frowning slightly. “Ingrid, point your feet slightly outward. No, that’s too much. Just a gentle angle. Imagine two small wings.”

Ingrid repositioned her feet again. This felt like an absurdly theatrical way to simply sit in a chair. Amber shook her head.

“Still wrong. The arch must be emphasized. Reposition.”

Amber forced Ingrid to adjust her feet three times, with Sienna firing off photographs after each adjustment. The whole process felt intended only to highlight Ingrid’s awkwardness and inherent lack of grace in performing basic femininity.

Finally, Amber declared the positioning satisfactory and returned her focus to her tablet. Ingrid remained frozen on the chair, desperately trying to maintain the required posture.

Victoria took over again. “Next, we assess situational compliance under stress. Stand up, Ingrid. Return to the position you held before seated display.”

Ingrid stood, easing the strained fabric of the skirt away from her legs. She waited.

Victoria picked up a heavy silver fountain pen from the oval table. She held it demonstrably, then let it drop to the carpet directly at Ingrid’s feet.

The movement was unexpected. The pen landed with a dull thud.

“Retrieve that for me, please,” Victoria requested, her voice entirely neutral.

Ingrid hesitated for a fraction of a second. She knew exactly what this exercise meant. Bending over would maximize the display of everything the uniform struggled to contain.

She bent at the waist, carefully attempting to keep her knees straight in some ridiculous effort to reduce the strain. The skirt instantly pulled tight, cutting into the tops of her thighs.

The blouse reacted violently. The already wide gaps between the buttons expanded significantly. Ingrid felt the fabric shift against her skin. She knew, without looking, that her entire bra, and more importantly, the deep curve of her cleavage, were now on full, undeniable display to the three observing women.

She grabbed the pen quickly and straightened up. Her face felt hot beneath the blush she had applied only an hour ago.

Sienna’s camera clicked aggressively, capturing the moment of exposure. Amber had looked up from her tablet to watch the action, and Victoria simply watched Ingrid’s reaction. Victoria reached out and took the pen from Ingrid’s trembling hand.

“Note the subject’s tendency toward self-protective posture,” Victoria dictated rapidly, not breaking eye contact with Ingrid. “She attempted to compensate for the uniform dynamics by adjusting her center of balance, resulting in inadequate access display. This indicates a resistance to visual exposure. Recommendation: increased public display exposure to acclimatize.”

The clinical dissection of her momentary lapse in obedience only deepened the humiliation. They discussed her body and her reactions as if she were a complicated mannequin.

The exercises began to escalate in physical demand, designed explicitly to exploit the uniform’s constraints.

“Next: Range of Motion Test Gamma,” Amber announced, taking the lead again. “We require you to adjust the window blind closure.”

Ingrid looked around. The frosted glass walls didn’t have blinds, but one small rectangular window, set high near the ceiling for some reason, had a chain pull dangling near it. The window was well above six feet, high enough that Ingrid would need to fully stretch to reach it.

“The lower chain element,” Amber specified. “Reach up and pull it down until the blind retracts fully. We want maximal vertical extension.”

Ingrid moved toward the window. She positioned herself directly beneath the chain. The tight confines of the skirt made it difficult to stretch properly.

She raised her arms over her head, feeling the immediate resistance of the blouse. The fabric protested loudly, the strain on the upper buttons becoming dangerous. Even with her arms fully extended, she was inches short of the chain.

Ingrid had to rise onto her toes, stretching her body upward. By doing this, the already-short skirt rode up several inches further on her thighs. The tension from the vertical extension pulled the fabric even tighter across her chest.

Victoria made another small note in her pad while Sienna took a quick series of photographs. Amber’s eyes assessed the resulting exposure carefully.

Ingrid managed to grasp the chain and tug it sharply down. The blind rattled upward into its housing. She lowered her arms slowly, catching her breath.

“Return to the center,” Amber commanded. “We proceed with Floor Organization Protocol. There are some documents that require sorting.”

Victoria produced a stack of papers from her portfolio, dropping them deliberately near the base of the oriental rug in the center of the room. The papers scattered artfully across the deep blue and gold pattern.

“We need those organized into three distinct stacks: blue borders, red borders, and blank pages,” Victoria instructed. “Remain exactly where you are and kneel to perform the task. Do not cross your legs or sit down.”

Kneeling was perhaps the worst possible position for the tight skirt. Ingrid moved to the center of the spilled papers. It was impossible to kneel without putting extreme lateral stress on the fabric.

She lowered herself awkwardly. As she bent her knees, the skirt fabric stretched taut across her thighs and hips, pulling the partially open zipper section on the side. The teeth of the zipper made a distinct, small zzzt sound as they separated under the tension, traveling downward another inch.

Ingrid froze immediately. Her eyes flicked toward the women at the table. All three were staring at the point of visible failure. Victoria and Amber exchanged swift glances.

The broken zipper meant the skirt was now held on by simple friction and the remaining zip closure. If she moved too quickly, the entire garment could fail.

“Continue the task, Ingrid,” Victoria prompted, her voice laced with a cool amusement. “Maintain focus on the organizational priorities.”

Ingrid forced herself to resume picking up the papers, meticulously sorting them into the three piles. The kneeling position was deeply uncomfortable. The skirt now felt perilously loose around her waist, and the pressure of her thighs against the floor pushed the hemline past the limit of modesty. Sienna angled the camera from above, capturing the strained, awkward angle of Ingrid bent over the papers.

When she finished, the three neat stacks of paper sat on the carpet.

“Excellent retention of instruction,” Victoria complimented, though the tone mocked the very idea of a compliment. “You managed to complete the task despite external pressures.”

Amber stood up, indicating Ingrid should follow suit. Ingrid stood with careful, precise movements, avoiding any sudden shift that might cause the skirt to fail completely. The zipper remained mostly open, a clear indicator of the uniform’s inadequacy.

“We will focus now on flexible seated positions,” Amber announced. “Sit on the floor, Ingrid, cross-legged.”

Ingrid returned to the center rug and settled herself. She had to manage the tight skirt carefully to avoid exposing herself entirely while folding her legs underneath the restrictive fabric. She managed a clumsy cross-legged position.

“The posture is too guarded,” Amber critiqued instantly. “You are minimizing the visibility of the hip line. Uncross and recross. Now use the traditional Indian-style cross-leg position. No, not like that. Knees wider. Extend the visible plane of the skirt.”

Ingrid repositioned, making the crossed-leg stance as open as physically possible.

Amber seemed momentarily satisfied. “Now, uncross and recross your legs slowly, three times. Alternate which leg is on top on each repetition.”

This was a nightmare of coordination under the pressure of revealing clothing. Uncrossing and recrossing required significant movement, and each time her legs shifted, the skirt moved, threatening to ride up or slip due to the broken zipper.

Ingrid performed the required three repetitions. She could see Victoria leaning forward slightly, tracking the movement of the skirt’s hemline. Sienna’s camera kept up, recording the deliberate display.

“Again, perform five alternate repetitions,” Amber demanded. “Faster this time. The hesitation is disrupting the flow.”

The next five repetitions were performed with increased speed. Ingrid felt her face flush again with the effort and the deep sense of shame. She was forced to manipulate her body into positions that were clearly designed to maximize her physical exposure, all under the pretense of ‘assessment.’

“Finally, we examine dynamic lateral presentation,” Victoria said, taking charge once more. “Stand, Ingrid, and return to the oval table.”

Ingrid obeyed, positioning herself beside the table, aware of the broken zipper running down her side like a visible fault line.

Victoria deliberately placed her black leather portfolio at the far edge of the table, near Ingrid’s left side. She placed a small silver pen at the far edge of the table on Ingrid’s right side.

“You are required to retrieve both items without moving your feet,” Victoria explained. “Bend sideways at the waist to reach the portfolio first.”

Ingrid understood the geometry immediately. To reach the item required her to bend laterally, straining the already tight blouse over her chest while simultaneously hiking the skirt up drastically on the opposite side.

She stretched to the left. The fabric pulled dramatically across her chest. The side bend completely decoupled the tension in the remaining buttons of the blouse. The fourth and fifth buttons popped open instantly, hitting the polished wood of the table with two tiny clicks.

Ingrid gasped. Now only the top button near her collarbone remained, and the two bottom buttons holding the blouse precariously together. The entire front panel gaped open, exposing the full breadth of her bra and the upper swell of her breasts.

She snatched the portfolio and straightened rapidly, trying to pull the blouse closed with the movement.

She held the portfolio tightly against her abdomen, attempting a poor attempt at coverage.

“You’ve created an unacceptable uniform violation, Ingrid,” Victoria noted calmly, observing the damage. “This highlights a lack of spatial awareness and poor maintenance of the required display matrix.”

Sienna, however, appeared delighted, capturing a flurry of photos of the dramatic gaping blouse.

“Now, retrieve the pen from the right side,” Victoria prompted, utterly unconcerned by the state of Ingrid’s uniform. “Quickly, please.”

Ingrid had no choice but to bend the opposite direction. She held the portfolio awkwardly in her left hand, trying desperately to use it to conceal the front of her blouse, but the angle made it impossible.

She bent to the right. The blouse, already severely damaged at the buttons, responded to the tension by pulling open further. The remaining top button resisted, but the fabric around it stretched dangerously.

Ingrid retrieved the pen and stood upright again, trying to look anywhere but at the three women assessing her.

Victoria leaned back, observing the scene with a satisfied expression. Amber typed the final notes into her tablet. The assessment was over.

Sienna reviewed the photographs she had taken during the assessment. She scrolled through them rapidly, showing them to Victoria on the camera’s small screen.

Victoria paused the scrolling when Sienna reached the photographs of Ingrid kneeling, where the zipper had failed. She then moved to the images of Ingrid reaching for the portfolio, highlighting the dramatic split in the blouse fabric.

“The visual evidence confirms our initial observations,” Victoria stated, closing her notebook and setting it squarely on the table. “Ingrid demonstrates fundamental deficiencies in feminine presentation and body awareness.”

Victoria looked directly at Ingrid from her position at the head of the table.

“You struggle fundamentally with the requirement for performative femininity,” Victoria explained, as if discussing a technical failure. “Your instinct is to conceal and minimize, which runs contrary to the company’s core exhibition philosophy. You are currently registering exceptionally low on the compliance metric.”

Ingrid stared at the floor. She wanted to disappear into the carpet.

“This requires immediate intervention,” Victoria declared. “We cannot permit an intern with such profound structural resistance to enter the general staff environment without proper conditioning.”

Victoria addressed Amber and Sienna. “Schedule Ingrid for the Remedial Femininity Training curriculum. We are prioritizing visual and physical acclimatization protocols.”

Amber consulted her tablet for a moment. “The earliest opening for a dedicated session is tonight at seven o’clock. The facility is available.”

“Confirmed,” Victoria said. She looked back at Ingrid. “Ingrid, you are required to report for remedial training this evening at nineteen hundred hours. The location will be provided later. Consider this mandatory, non-negotiable instruction for professional development.”

Victoria shifted her attention to Jessica, who still stood patiently by the conference room door.

“Jessica,” Victoria said, giving a curt, dismissive nod. “You may retire now. Thank you for the successful delivery.”

Jessica nodded once, a quick, efficient motion, and turned to leave the conference room.

Victoria then focused solely on Ingrid again. “Ingrid, you will remain seated at the end of the table. We need to assess your immediate needs for uniform adjustment consultation. The current state is, frankly, unacceptable.”

Ingrid watched Jessica exit, the soft click of the door marking her complete isolation. She was left alone with Victoria, Amber, and Sienna. Ingrid felt the cold air. The three women stared at the evidence of her physical failure: the two popped buttons on the blouse, the gaping exposure, and the broken zipper on the navy skirt. Ingrid remained standing, frozen by instruction and humiliation.

Victoria pointed to the chair Ingrid had used earlier. “Sit. You will not leave this room until we have finalized the initial corrective measurements.”