"Baby Doll, I only amped up what you already had... and you know he already likes you! He chose you didn't he?"
Amarie smiled, that was true. However little she knew about him, he knew everything about her. If at any point he decided she was unsatisfactory he could have bought his way out of the contract. She lifted her chin trying to provide a better show of confidence. She let loose a radiant smile.
"I think I'm ready," she stated finally.
"You only have to head to the boutique for your D-Day outfit and accessories and you'll be set!"
"Thank you so much Danny, I'll miss you!" She had a quick thought, "No one else has ever cut my hair..... What am I going to do?"
"Honey, we have connections everywhere. You may be leavin' us but we will still be watchin' out for you."
Amarie gave Danny the standard goodbye wave. In the Consortium, only certain members of staff were allowed to touch Complements in a social manner. Hair stylists didn't qualify. Socializing and occasional platonic touching was allowed among Complements. Each Complement also had a Matron who was largely responsible for the Complement's personal care and served the role of replacement mother. Of course, all interaction happened under direct camera supervision. The Mistress was always watching. Amarie took comfort in the fact that she was always protected here. She has a small flash of being small, neglected, and hungry. She shook her head. No use in dwelling in the past.
As Amarie made her way down the winding passages towards the boutique, she pondered over the changes in her existence over the last two years. Once she had been chosen, she was separated from a majority of the other girls in her age group. Being in the "Naïves" group meant life didn't change all that much. It was the smallest class of Complements; therefore, the number of peers was greatly diminished. She had received basic sexual education that, apparently, outside children learned at a fairly young age. Slowly, her Matron Melanie started teaching her the Consortium grooming regimen and eventually became totally absent. Amarie now knew how to take care of herself. She was also largely alone.
She had undergone several extensive beautifying treatments over the past year. Some of these, like permanent body hair removal, weren't all that pleasant. Although, she was quite relieved that she was no longer responsible for the tedious upkeep anymore. This also gave her a clue that her Commandant was very affluent to afford this Complement option. Her living situation should be more than satisfactory.
As she passed a room with a plexi-glass viewing window she stopped momentarily. Her friend Bridgette was inside the gymnastics room. Her recent hair cut suited the sharp angle of her jaw. Her bright blond hair was cut into a messy pixie style. Bridgette noticed Amarie at the glass and waved from across the room. Quickly, with intense focus, Bridgette began running full speed toward the springboard. She launched herself into air, pushed off the vault, and did a complex sequence of turns before solidly sticking the landing. Bridgette smiled up at the control room; she must have expected her Commandant had come by for a check-up.
Amarie continued her walk to the boutique. She envied Bridgette. She envied her strength, how she excelled at her chosen skill, and ultimately her confidence. In contrast, Amarie was quite adept in most skills, never really excelled in anything particular. She did have an above average skill in art which she enjoyed. It helped balance her when she was feeling alone or tense. Something about watercolor really spoke to her. The colors, so delicately fragile, could be coaxed into being vibrant. The paints could be mixed and layered to give compelling and unique effects. However, if you tried too hard to work against the nature of the paint, it could become muddled and indistinguishable and ultimately ended in disaster. Caught up in her internal musings, Amarie collided into one of the male guards.
"I beg your pardon Sir, I was daydreaming and wasn't watching where I was going," Amarie looked up realizing it was THAT guard, the one that made her uncomfortable.
Hank had been working here for the last year. Of all the beautiful eye candy at his disposal Amarie was most definitely his favorite to mess with. She was so shy and easily ruffled and entirely too good to pass up. He had intentionally walked on the wrong side of the hallway to instigate an interaction. He just needed and excuse for their bodies to brush.
"It's no problem Amarie; you just need to watch where you are going." He looked her up and down, licked his lips, and lowered his mouth to her ear whispering, "I would love to bump up against you all night long... Just tell me when and where."
He had grasped her shoulders as to appear to be pushing her away, yet he held on. He knew this area of the hall had limited camera angles. His hulking body would be blocking most of his actions. He looked down to get an eyeful of her round and firm breasts swaddled by the soft loose material of the Consortium tunic. He ran his large hands down her upper arms. With his thumbs extended he was able graze the tips of her breasts beneath the fabric. Amarie's eyes widened in shock. She had never been touched this way; she wasn't supposed to be touched this way. Her nipples hardened with a soft ache that traveled to a much lower area causing her to gasp. From afar it looked like he may be soothing her after their accident. Amarie looked up at the huge man, with frightened eyes. This only served to whet Hank's lust. He leaned over her to block her face from the camera; quickly covering her mouth he savagely pinched her right nipple. Amarie squealed against his hand, her knees buckled slightly. Hank groaned and lowered his mouth so his cracked lips grazed her ear.
"If I thought I could get away with it... I rip off this poor excuse for clothing, slam you against this wall, and rip open that tight virgin pussy until you were screamin' for me. We'd see if your fancy Commandant would want you then."
Amarie whimpered against his hand. She had no clue what to do. He was making her body feel strange things, but she didn't want this. She didn't want him. He was disgusting, savage, and was just.... a bully. At this point, Hank pressed his body against hers. She could feel what she could only assume was his erection against her stomach. She squeezed her eyes shut and just hoped, hoped that something would happen or someone would help her.
She heard something, a clicking sound, surely this was an auditory hallucination of the metaphorical clock ticking away her last moments of value. Amarie started to succumb, falling back on her passivity until she heard a different sound. That was most definitely the sound of someone clearing their throat. She opened her eyes just in time to see Hank jump back from her like she was made of hot coals. Mistress was standing right beside him, and though she was shorter he definitely cowered. Rage filled her eyes, she was seething with hatred. Clad in tight leather leggings, black ankle boots, a structured top, and a severely red lip... She looked like some type of futuristic warrior. She had a strange stubby cylindrical object in her hand. Her knees were bent, her back slightly crouched, her elbow at an angle with fists clenched. Mistress looked like she about to lunge like a jungle cat.
"What, may I ask, were you attempting to do to Amarie?" Mistress all but growled.
Hank stammered, "I... Well you see..."
That's all he had a chance to say. Mistress, with a slight flick of the wrist, extended the cylinder in to a metal baton with a decisive snap. She took two steps toward Hank. At that moment, a firm hand seized Amarie's and pulled her into an impromptu Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers move. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her toward his broad chest as she shook with fear. He took one large hand and placed it gently over her ear trying to rest her head and calm her fears. She shook his hand loose trying to look up at the man holding her. She stilled, caught up in the steely gaze of the two most piercing grey eyes she had ever saw. She was immobilized like some strong magnetic force had hold of her. It was then that two gut-wrenching cracking sounds echoed through the hall. With that last bit of sensory overload, Amarie lost consciousness.
