Cleaning show

The next day. The silence in May’s office was so dense it seemed to absorb every last breath. Magi, Cloe, and Lara stood motionless, the echoes of the previous evening still pulsing in their bodies like fresh bruises. The door opened without warning and May appeared, a smile a thin, sharp, and cold cut on her face.

“Good morning, my stars,” she greeted, her voice a silky thread that tangled in the still air. “I hope you’re ready. Our partners are impatient to see you in action.”

She guided them down the back hallway, a place that smelled of chlorine and old dampness, where the flickering light cast twisted shadows on the walls. When she opened the locker room door, the cold enveloped them like a shroud. And there, hanging expectantly, awaited the uniforms.

May gestured toward them with a ceremonial flair.

“For you, Magi,” she announced, her finger pointing toward a long, rigid black PVC apron with an impossible cut. “Practicality is key. This will give you the freedom of movement you need for the most… delicate tasks.”

Magi watched it with a knot of horror in her stomach. The apron was obscenely narrow, barely a vertical strip of material that promised to cover only a tiny part of the front of her body. On the sides, there was nothing. Nothing to protect her hips, her buttocks, her entire back. With hands that trembled slightly, she put it on. The weight of the PVC hit her thighs, cold and impersonal. But then, May reached out, holding a tiny black lace thong.

“And this. Elegance is in the details,” she said, with a mocking smile. “We don’t want visible lines to spoil the aesthetic, do we?”

Magi put it on, feeling the thin strip of fabric more as a mark of ownership than of modesty. When she moved, the cold air brushed against her bare hips and buttocks, while the thong sank in, cruelly highlighting her exposure instead of mitigating it.

“For you, Cloe,” May continued, gesturing toward the elastic mesh jumpsuit. “Flexibility is paramount. This will allow you to reach every corner… without restrictions.”

Cloe took the garment. The mesh was rough and resistant. As she slipped it on, the net adhered to her skin like a grotesque second skin, each hole widening to show patches of her belly, thighs, ribs. And on her nipples and pubis, the ridiculous rubber flowers rested, brushing against her with a vulgar insistence in every movement.

“And for you, Lara,” May concluded, with a glint of secret complicity. “Always so professional, so willing. This will honor that spirit… with transparency.”

It was a black neoprene suit, seemingly complete, but mutilated with a surgeon’s precision. It was missing the entire back, from her shoulders to her lower back. It was missing two round sections on her buttocks. And in the front, a rectangle had been excised from her sternum to her pubis, and a perfect circle surrounded the area of her left nipple. However, before Lara put it on, May handed her two small adhesive silicone patches, the exact tone of her skin.

“For protocol,” May murmured. “We want to suggest, not reveal the whole mystery all at once. Not yet.”

Lara applied the patches over her nipples, feeling the cold gel stick to her skin. Then she put on the neoprene. The material clung to her body like a wet glove, while the cutouts bit into her flesh with their rough edges. From any distance, she looked terribly exposed. The patches created an illusion of total nudity, protecting just enough to feed the morbid curiosity without crossing that last boundary. It was a more sophisticated humiliation.

“Perfect,” May murmured, her gaze sweeping over them like a collector’s. “Each in her role. Now, follow me.”

She led them to the elevated walkway, in front of the main tank. Behind the polarized glass, the silhouettes of the men were outlined against the gloom, expectant, with their glasses in hand. A low murmur greeted them.

“Your tools,” May announced, pointing to the buckets and sponges. “The bull shark tank needs attention. Get started.”

Magi bent down to wet the sponge. The heavy PVC apron swayed forward, completely exposing the roundness of her buttocks, where the thin strip of the thong sank in, marking the spot that all eyes were devouring. As she stretched to reach the top of the glass, the side of her breast peeked out, and the thong, in front, became a black line under the PVC, a reminder of the false intimacy.

Cloe moved clumsily, the mesh pulling on her skin. The rubber flowers brushed against her nipples with every gesture, causing shivers of disgust that the men behind the glass interpreted as pleasure.

Lara rubbed the glass with performative energy. The cut edges of the neoprene chafed her bare back and buttocks, marking her with red lines. The circle around her left breast left the patch exposed, a smooth, bare skin that promised a nudity that wasn’t real, exciting by its very deception.

The murmurs behind the glass grew, speculative, the muffled laughter pricking like needles. May watched from the shadows, her smile widening. They weren't three women being humiliated in the same way; they were three pieces of the same exhibition, each torn in her own way, feeling the unique loneliness of her own personalized shame.