Photo section

The endless day in the stingray tank ended with a sharp whistle from May. Magi, Cloe, and Lara, exhausted and morally shattered, piled against the cold aquarium wall, trying to catch their breath and find a shred of dignity in the coverage their miserable bikinis could no longer provide.

"Good work, girls," May said, with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "But the day isn't over. The subscription members have been very... impatient. They've requested a special meet-and-greet. An opportunity to take a tangible souvenir of their favorite stars."

She guided them, not toward the locker rooms, but to a part of the aquarium Magi had never seen: a makeshift photography studio set up among the storage tanks. There were colored backdrops, professional lights with reflective umbrellas, a tripod with an SLR camera, and a technical-looking man with a bored expression who was adjusting a light meter.

"The photo set," May announced with a theatrical gesture. "But we have a small image problem." She approached them and, with one finger, hooked the strap of Magi's bikini. "These swimsuits... they've lost their exclusivity. Everyone has seen them today. They've gone from being a private fantasy to being... dirty work uniforms. And the magic is broken."

She opened a nearby door and led them into a tiny changing room, and from a closet, she took out three garments that barely looked like anything at all. They were microbikinis, sets of just a few strips of elastic, satiny lycra that promised to cover the absolute minimum imaginable.

"For the photoshoot, we need something fresh. Something that redefines the limits of exclusivity," May said, handing one to each of them. Magi's was an intense crimson red. Cloe's, a dark emerald green. Lara's, an electric blue.

"Put them on. Quickly. The clientele is waiting."

The change was fast and humiliating. Taking off the old bikinis, already minimal in themselves, to put on these new artifacts of shame was another step downward.

Magi's top was little more than two triangular strips of ultra-thin lycra, the color of an open wound, joined in the front by a minuscule metal ring that felt cold against her sternum. The absurdly thin side straps were knotted in the back with a bow so small it was almost impossible to untie, creating a constant tension that lifted and separated her breasts obscenely. The bottom was a simple T-shaped strip that plunged deeply into her crotch, while a string sectioned her buttocks mercilessly.

Cloe's was made of a satiny, slippery material. The top, an inverted "heart" design, squeezed and marked her nipples through the fabric. The bottom, a deep V, exposed her hips and belly, being practically invisible in profile.

Lara got the most sinister one. Made of ultra-shiny lycra, her top was a series of straps that crossed over her torso, highlighting her breasts. The bottom, a thong with ultra-thin straps joined by a piece of chrome metal, cold against her skin, was so minimal that the crotch was almost nonexistent.

"Perfect," May murmured, scanning them with a critical eye. "Now you're exclusive again."

She opened the studio doors. Outside, in a small waiting room, about ten subscription members were waiting with glasses of champagne.