With an election.

The last glass of champagne had been served. The last **** laugh had been issued. The subscribers, satisfied and drunk on power and lust, began to retire, casting final looks of approval (or ownership) toward the exhausted girls. The silence they left behind was as heavy as the smoke that still floated in the air.

Magi, Julia, Chloe, and Lara stood in the center of the empty room, surrounded by dirty glasses and party remnants. Magi and Julia were completely in thongs, their bare torsos prickling from the cold air conditioning and residual shame. Chloe still had her top on, and Lara had her shorts and thong. Trembling, they instinctively embraced, seeking warmth and comfort that the environment denied them.

It was then that May’s shoes echoed on the marble floor, approaching with a terrifying calm. In her hands, she carried not their street clothes, but the four garments that had been torn off during the race: Julia’s and Chloe’s shorts, and Magi’s and Julia’s tops. She hung them on a hook on the wall, as if they were hunting trophies.

"A successful evening, ladies," she said, her voice serene but charged with authority. "The investors are delighted. The... chemistry among you added an unexpected special touch." Her gaze landed on Magi, cold and calculating. "Such a supportive gesture deserves an appropriate reward."

She walked up to the pile of humiliating clothes and picked up only one garment: Magi's black Lycra top.

"For your demonstration of... initiative," she said, extending it to Magi, "you can choose. You can put this on for your trip home... or you can give it to another. But there is only one. The rest stays here. For the next performance."

It was a perfect psychological ****. Rewarding Magi's act by forcing her into an impossible choice: cover herself, or cover Julia, the most exposed, the one she had tried to protect.

Magi looked at the top in her hands. It was a tiny, damp, sweaty rag, but in that moment it represented a world of protection. Then she looked at Julia, who was still shaking violently, her arms crossed over her chest as if they were the only thing holding her together. Her eyes, filled with silent tears, pleaded.

"Magi..." Julia whispered, her voice broken.

Chloe and Lara watched in silence, paralyzed, understanding that any movement could attract May's attention and make things worse.

Magi took a deep breath. The guilt for having led Julia here was an unbearable weight. Her own well-being mattered less than symbolically making amends for her mistake.

With slow movements, she approached Julia and offered her the top.

"Take it," she said, her voice hoarse. "Put it on."

Julia took it with trembling hands, grateful and devastated at the same time. She put on the tight top, which at least covered her torso, giving her a fragile layer of decency. A sob of relief escaped her lips.

May smiled, a wide, satisfied gesture.

"Magnificent! Solidarity is always touching." Then, her smile vanished. "Now, as for the rest..." She pointed to the service door. "The day is over. You may leave. In what you are wearing."

The four looked toward the door that led out into the cold city night. Magi wore only her thong. Julia and Chloe wore their top and thong. Lara, her shorts and thong. None of them were dressed. Not even close.

"But..." Chloe protested weakly. "We can't go out like this..."

"Can't you?" May asked, with feigned innocence. "It seems you can. It's just clothes. Or the lack thereof." She approached the door and opened it, letting in a gust of cold night air. "I wish you a pleasant walk home. Remember to smile. You never know who might be watching."

A final cruel smile, and May turned away, leaving them alone with their decision.

They walked out into the night, a procession of shame and skin. Magi, having given up her only garment, was the most exposed, feeling every glance from the few night passersby like a lash. Julia, in Magi's top, clung to herself, the debt to her companion added to her humiliation. Chloe and Lara, a little more covered but equally ashamed, walked with their heads down.

They didn't talk. They made no pact. They just walked together, bound by the **** nudity and the complicit silence of knowing that, for May, even an act of kindness could be perverted and used to divide and punish them a little more. The walk home was the final stage of the race. And they had all lost.