End of the Workday

After everyone had left, Julia remained kneeling on the floor for nearly ten minutes. Her body felt foreign. Heavy. Dirty. Used.

Slowly, she stood up. Every step hurt. It was sticky between her legs. Semen oozed out of her pussy and her ass in warm, thick drops and ran down her inner thighs. She walked to the fridge, drank greedily from the water bottle—and then threw up violently into the sink. Tears streamed down her face as she vomited. The taste of cum and bile burned in her mouth.

When she was done, she wiped her mouth with trembling hands. She looked into the small mirror above the sink. The face staring back at her was a stranger’s. Red from crying, with puffy eyes and swollen lips. She barely recognized herself.

She went downstairs to the changing room and slowly slipped out of her torn costume. The semen was already drying on her skin. She wiped herself clean as best she could with paper towels, but the sticky, damp feeling between her legs remained. She slipped into her regular clothes and left the building through the back exit.

No one was there anymore—except for the waitress at the back entrance.

Julia just wanted to get away. She merely nodded silently at the young woman and was about to walk past.

Then the waitress said calmly and clearly:

“Goodbye, Ms. Bergmann.”

Julia stopped in her tracks, as if she’d been struck.

The waitress knew. They all knew.

She got into the car, locked the doors, and just sat there. Her hands lay trembling on the steering wheel. She stared ahead without really seeing anything. Then, very quietly, she began to recite the names of her enemies. Like a mantra. Like a prayer of hatred.

“Claudia…,” she whispered.

“Lena…”

“Meier…”

“Schäfer…”

“Voss…”

She repeated the names over and over, softer, then louder, as the tears came again.

“Claudia… Lena… Meier… Schäfer… Voss…”

Each name tasted bitter on her tongue. Each name burned. And those were just today’s.

She leaned her head against the steering wheel and cried. Not quietly. She was sobbing. Her whole body was shaking. The semen was still slowly trickling out of her, soaking her panties. She felt empty, dirty, and deeply humiliated.

After a while, her sobbing subsided. She lifted her head, looked in the rearview mirror, and wiped her face. Her eyes had grown hard.

“Peter…,” she said quietly. “He’ll take care of it. The whole thing. The waitress. Everything.”

She started the engine. Before she drove off, she said the names again—this time more slowly, more coldly, and with a new, dangerous calm in her voice.

Then she drove off.