Mailgirls Get Off

"No," Seventeen laughed, treating it as a joke. She tugged on them, but Fourteen didn't release her grip.

Instead, Fourteen looked to the table. "Survey?" she asked aloud. Seven shook her head, as did Eighteen and the two Mountbatten girls. Three went a step further, and -- as discreetly as she could - provided proof; she lifted the front of her skirt and exposed her bare pussy to Seventeen.

Seventeen threw up her hands and gave in. "Fine," she sighed. "You win." Again, she scanned the bar, and confirmed that only a pair of the bleach-blonde Young & Unglaub girls was looking her way; none of the handful of men was paying her table much attention at the moment. Fourteen let go of Seventeen's panties, and Seventeen slid them down her thighs, past her knees, and down to her ankles. But, just as she'd lost a pair of underwear to Will Barrow yesterday, Seventeen gasped in horror and surprise as Fourteen snatched these away tonight. Before she even had a chance to object, Fourteen was up and headed towards the bar. Seventeen could do nothing but watch, powerless, as another girl took off with her intimate apparel.

"Where's she going?" Seventeen asked in a panic.

"Drinks," Seven laughed.

Sure enough, Fourteen found her way to the bar, Seventeen's panties in hand, and offered them to the bartender. She and the bartender enjoyed a quick back-and-forth, and then she pointed back to her table, at Seventeen.

Seventeen blushed something awful, but waved at the bartender nonetheless.

"Oh my god," she muttered, and then sat back down in the booth. She slid over to make room for Three, and then tugged at her dress to keep her now bare behind from touching the seat.

As they awaited Fourteen's return, Mountbatten-Two now stood, and then made a show of lifting her own skirt for the table. In contrast to the few and fading red welts that decorated Fourteen's and Seventeen's buttocks, Mountbatten-Two's were covered in a criss-crossed pattern of lashes.

"Fuck," Seven offered. "How are you even sitting down?"

"What was that?" Seventeen asked.

"Cat-o-nine-tails?" Three guessed, and Mountbatten-Two nodded. To Seventeen, she explained, "Mistress Zero has one, as of a week or two ago, but hasn't used it."

"Yet," Eighteen said.

"Yet," Three agreed, resignation in her voice.

"She will," Mountbatten-Two warned, as she fixed her dress and gingerly slid back into the booth. "Your mistress, my mistress -- they compare notes."

"I'm sure," Eighteen said glumly.

Seventeen thought back to that afternoon. She'd been doing her best to keep up with Fourteen, but they'd been late for a handful of deliveries since the previous afternoon, and Seventeen knew at least one or two were her fault. Fourteen, for her part, hadn't seemed overly annoyed with her, even as her demerits began to approach twenty-five; Fourteen explained that it was inevitable she'd hit that threshold at some point, and that it was pointless to cast blame. When their smartphones eventually signaled that they were due, Fourteen groaned, and warned Seventeen that their afternoon break was going to require a visit to Mistress Zero's spanking bench.

Instead, however, Mistress Zero had met them on the 13th Floor. Seventeen had been dreading her first visit to her old office and old colleagues since she'd been led out naked and on a leash the day before. But she hadn't suspected anything more malicious than a routine pick-up or delivery.

Mistress Zero had other ideas; she ordered them both to grab the top of the partition wall just outside of Seventeen's cubicle, spread their legs, and prepare for the riding crop.

Fourteen had gone first, and the waiting had been something awful. Not only did Seventeen wince each time Mistress Zero licked Fourteen's behind, but the sound of the crop itself -- whistling through the air and connecting with a "snap!" --attracted more and more onlookers. Jessica, of course. But also Jen and Ashley. Karen. Lisa. Tracy. Her old boss, Joan. David Ojeda. Mike Gedman. Patrick Nichols, whom Seventeen had had a crush on since she'd first started at USF. She'd been working with these people for years, in some cases. As a peer and as an equal. She'd been in meetings with them, worked on projects with them, raced to meet deadlines with them. She'd complained about Mondays with them, gotten lunch with them, even gone out to drinks with a few of them.

And now, less than forty-eight hours into her new role with the mailgirl program, she was naked and being spanked with a riding crop in front of them.

When Mistress Zero turned her attention to Seventeen, she half expected someone -- Patrick, maybe -- to jump to her defense. But no one had rescued her yesterday, just as no one would rescue her that afternoon. Instead, she listened to them snicker and laugh, and heard someone squeal with excitement when the blows began. The riding crop hurt as much as Seventeen had expected it to, but it was the humiliation that stung worse.

She hadn't cried, which was a victory. But she'd been forced to thank Mistress Zero three times afterwards before the German woman was satisfied with her volume and enthusiasm. And she and Fourteen had been left in-position -- still bent at the waist, awkwardly clutching Seventeen's old cubicle wall -- until their next delivery. Which, thankfully, came quickly, and the girls were allowed to escape to the stairwell.

Instead of immediately bounding up the stairs to the 21st Floor, though, Fourteen had turned to Seventeen, grabbed her forcibly by the back of the head, and kissed her deeply, passionately, and powerfully. Seventeen hadn't been sure how to react; as their breasts met, and as their naked, sticky bodies connected, she couldn't help but reciprocate. Something about the session with Mistress Zero had left her weirdly conflicted and aroused, and the kiss suggested Fourteen was feeling the same way.

"Wow," Fourteen panted when she finally pulled away. "Tell me that that didn't do it for you..."

She didn't wait for a response; the observation was entirely rhetorical. A dumbfounded Seventeen was left in her wake as Fourteen began her ascent, the veteran mailgirl not bothering to look back for Seventeen to confirm.

A moment later, Seventeen followed behind. The two girls hadn't spoke of the kiss since.

Fourteen returned to the booth with two shot glasses and Mailgirl Number Twenty in tow. The two shots -- which smelled revoltingly sweet -- were ceremoniously placed in front of Seventeen. Twenty took a seat on Fourteen's knee at the end of the table.

"What's this?" Seventeen asked.

"Cherry liqueur," Fourteen smiled. "As a celebration."

"Celebration?"

"For your cherry!" Fourteen sang out loudly, and raised the glass she'd left behind moments earlier.

The other girls all laughed and clapped, and dutifully raised their own glasses.

Seventeen blushed again, her face as red as the liqueur before her. They all knew. They all knew she'd masturbated at her locker before coming over here.

"Two days!" Seven shouted out.

"Two days!" Eighteen laughed, toasting her.

What could Seventeen do but laugh along? With the exception of the two Mountbatten girls across from her, she'd seen every other girl at the table get herself off -- whether it had been at some point in the last two days, or whether it had been through the mirror glass in her prior life. They were welcoming her into their sorority.

Seventeen threw the first shot back, and recoiled at the taste. She steeled herself, held her breath, and then reached for the second. She washed it down with a sip from the lemon drop martini she'd ordered before. Still bright red from embarrassment, and still grinning sheepishly, Seventeen accepted the applause.

"I made it to three," Seven confessed.

"Seven days," Three said.

"Four," said Eighteen with a smile.

"Day one!" Fourteen offered with triumph.

"Same," laughed Mountbatten-Seven.

"Two days, as well," said Twenty.

"Twelve days," Mountbatten-Two announced, to a round of catcalls.

"So if I had made it twelve," Seventeen asked, "you'd have gotten me twelve shots?"

"Of course," Fourteen answered. "Though I probably would have needed a few more pairs of underwear to trade."

Seventeen shook her head, but laughed all the same.

"We nearly killed Number Eight," Three chuckled.

"One hundred and four days," Seven explained. "She broke down right after our original Thirteen went to Park Place."

"You didn't make her take a hundred and four shots of this shit, did you?" Seventeen asked, holding up her empty shot glass.

"No, no," Three laughed. She jutted a chin towards where Eight was drinking at the bar, with Numbers Nine and Twelve, and a girl Seventeen didn't recognize. "She's on an installment plan."

"What's Five up to at this point?" Eighteen asked.

Three rolled her eyes at the question, her annoyance with Five plainly evident.

"I don't know," Seven jumped in. "Six-and-half months? Whatever that is."

"Six-and-a-half months?" Mountbatten-Seven asked with incredulity.

"Six-and-a-half months," Seven confirmed.

"She hit a hundred and eighty days earlier this week," Seventeen announced, and the girls all looked her.

Shit, Seventeen thought to herself. Did they not know?

"There's a pool," Seventeen explained. "There's one in Accounting, and I know there are others in the building, on her and Twenty-Four."

"What's Twenty-Four at?" Twenty asked.

"I don't know," Seventeen answered, shaking her head. "I don't follow it. I don't play along with the fantasy game, either. It's just that a hundred and eighty was a big number, and I heard a couple of the guys in my office talking about it."

"Wait...what's the fantasy game?" Mountbatten-Seven asked.

Seventeen swallowed hard. "It's like a fantasy baseball or fantasy football thing. I don't know exactly how it works. I don't play. But you get a 'roster' of mailgirls. Six, I think? And it's some sort of composite score, based on the stats in the app. Weight going up or down, how many demerits a girl picks up, how many bathroom breaks, how many time she...er..."

"Masturbates?" Eighteen asked.

"Cums," Seventeen finally spat out, and took another sip of her drink.

"...which, of course, is why Human Capital now makes us report exactly how many orgasms," Three said, putting two and two together. "We didn't have to do that before."

Seventeen nodded.

"Oh my god!" Seven yelped. "It makes sense now."

The other girls gave her a quizzical look.

"The conversation I had with Spencer Russell in HR," she explained. "He spent five minutes grilling me on my menstrual cycle."

Fourteen coughed in her drink, and then laughed. "They're betting on our periods?!!"

"Jesus Christ," Three cursed.

They were all silent for a moment, as the weight of this revelation sunk in.

Twenty was the first to speak. "I wonder if they'd let us play?"

This went on for a few more minutes, as the girls joked about how they could game the system. Eventually, though, Seven announced, while laughing, that this - this news that the company was now betting on how many times she masturbated at work, how many times she reached orgasm, how many minutes it took her to get there -- this was the most screwed-up thing that turned her on all week. It was part of a game that they all apparently played with one another, week after week at these Friday night Bitch Sessions.

"My own body odor," Fourteen blurted out, and sniffed her armpits for show. Twenty feigned a gag.

"Having my hair pulled," Mountbatten-Two admitted.

"Holding One's hand up on the 42nd Floor," Three offered, to boos and hisses from the other girls. Apparently, it wasn't risqué enough for their liking.

"New fish," Twenty said, looking in Seventeen's direction. When Seventeen looked surprised, Twenty amended her confession. "Not you. Not you, exactly. I mean, you're very pretty. Very, very pretty. But just the thought of my first day, of going through all of this the first time."

The other girls nodded in agreement.

"How about you?" Seven asked of Seventeen.

Seventeen didn't get a chance to respond. "Getting spanked in front of her old co-workers," Fourteen answered for her. "Next?"

Seventeen, red-faced once more, nodded in the affirmative.

Eighteen and Mountbatten-Seven made their admissions, as well, but follow-ups were cut short when Fourteen cried out, "Are you touching yourself on my knee?!"

Twenty's hand was indeed in her lap, and she looked embarrassed about being caught. Though, perhaps, not as embarrassed as she should have been. She apologized with a shrug, and brought her hands back up to the table.

"Come on," Three said, taking Twenty by the hand, and leading her away from the table. "Let's go to the Kissing Booth. We can take turns on watch."

"Your old lady's not going to mind?" Fourteen asked, referring to Mailgirl Number Two. Two and Three, as Seventeen understood it, had been a monogamous couple since some point earlier in the summer.

Three just winked, and b-lined for the darkened booth in the corner of the bar with Twenty in two. The monogamy she and Two shared apparently still had some allowances. Seventeen saw that there was already a girl sitting in the booth, but she couldn't tell who it was or what, exactly, she was doing. Which was, of course, the point of said Kissing Booth; Mountbatten-Two had admitted to getting herself off over in that corner earlier in the evening while Mountbatten-Seven played lookout.

"And speaking of old ladies," Fourteen said, turning to Seven with a raised eyebrow, "how is yours? How was the trip across the Hudson?"

"Not my 'old lady,'" Seven corrected her, "but she's good. I mean, she's okay."

"Really?"

"Really," Seven answered. To Seventeen, she explained, "Our last Mailgirl Number Thirteen, the one that Human Capital sent to Park Place. I went and visited her last weekend."

"Oh, yeah," Eighteen said, just now remembering that Seven had taken that trip to Jersey City. "I meant to ask you. How'd it go? What's it like?"

Seven took a sip of her own drink, and explained. "So, you know, it's twenty-four/seven. She can't leave. But, I mean, you can visit. They basically do this," -- meaning, drinks -- "on Saturday nights in one of the employee lounges. They're off the clock from seven on Saturday night until seven on Sunday morning, so we were up until after three."

"Doing what, pray tell?" Fourteen smirked.

"I'm not one to kiss and tell," Seven answered coyly.

"But she's allowed to...?" Eighteen began, and then stopped. She tried again, "They're allowed to...?"

"Yes," Seven replied. "They're allowed to sleep with each other in the building. At night. After their shifts. But before lights-out at nine. And on Saturdays nights, until Sunday morning." Sensing more teasing from Fourteen, Seven got out in front it. "And, yes, I slept with Thirteen. Once in the lounge, once back in the locker room, and then once more in the locker room in the morning. Happy?"

Fourteen just grinned suggestively.

"So, you can visit. But you've got to be naked," Seven went on. "Not just us, though, either. Any female visitors. Apparently her mom flew out at the end of October, to see her and her sister, and Barrow stuck to his guns."

"No!" Mountbatten-Two gasped.

Seven shrugged. "She's apparently in pretty good shape. Mrs. Scott, that is. Or, Mrs. Ryan, I think? There was a divorce and a second husband in there somewhere, if I remember right. But, she had Thirteen and her sister young."

"Two?" Fourteen asked. "One and Two?"

"One and Two," Seven nodded. "Park Place One and Park Place Two. I was 'Plaza Seven' the whole night."

"It's hard to follow along sometimes," Mountbatten-Seven observed.

"Talk to the Chiyoda girls," Eighteen said. "They get new numbers every single day, just to drive home how interchangeable they all are."

"And apparently it's a clusterfuck," Fourteen added. "It's what they do at Fukuda-Chiyoda Financial Group in Tokyo, so they set it up the same way here at Chiyoda America. It's confusing as shit, though, so they all call each other by their real names secretly, and it ends up slipping out every now and then at work. Which means they get slapped around a lot." She nudged Seventeen with her elbow. "You can tell the Chiyoda girls by the handprints on their cheeks."

"So, Park Place Two," Seven started up again, ignoring the aside. "You can visit her. But you have to be in uniform, and they'll lock you in for night, so I did have to sleep in their locker room. They've all got Sunday shifts they have to do -- with the same sort busy work we do on Saturdays -- but Park Place Two gets allowed some time in Human Capital to work on her research. And, truly and honestly, I think she's okay with it now."

"Come on!" Fourteen waved the suggestion off.

"No, really," Seven said earnestly. "She had a hard time at the beginning, the way the whole thing played out. And, you know, they sleep on the floor over there, so she misses her bed. But it's been like eleven weeks since the last time she wore clothes, and she seems to think it's easier -- not having to get undressed every morning and living half-in and half-out of the mailgirl thing. And she's still angry about the way her sister got roped in. But you should see them -- they're super close, closer than they've ever been, apparently."

"They haven't...?" Eighteen began to ask, but trailed off.

Seven cringed a little, but nodded reluctantly. Seventeen wasn't entirely sure what the exchange meant, but wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Eighteen made a face. She shifted topic slightly, and asked, "What about the HR girl? The redhead?"

"Park Place Six," Seven offered. "What about her? Did she leave an impression?"

"She spat in my asshole!" Eighteen guffawed, to a round of horrified jeers and laughter from the table.

Once she'd composed herself, Seven answered, "Yes, she's there. She had a hard time at the beginning, too, because the other girls blamed her for trapping them. But, if it hadn't been her, it would have been someone else. And however they all got there, she's in it tits-deep right there with them." She nodded in the direction of their replacement Mailgirl Number Thirteen, with whom there was some sort of history Seventeen wasn't privy to. "We're all in this together."

"I heard they don't even have toilets?" Seventeen asked.

"Squat toilets," Seven corrected her. "And they're coming our way at the start of the year. Eighteen's little friend is still plugged into HR and Human Capital somehow, someway, so she's got all the best gossip. Barrow's using Park Place as a testing ground for all sorts of stuff before he rolls the program out to the regional offices. You know, like 'seeding' a new program with an existing mailgirl. Or putting up stockades in the lobby."

Eighteen looked nervously at Seven. "Does that mean we're going twenty-four/seven?"

Seven shook her head. "No. Barrow's not really a fan. He likes watching us undress in the morning. He only agreed to test it out in New Jersey to placate someone in senior management. So, no dorms anytime in the near future."

"You do know that you can still spend the night in our locker room, right?" Fourteen offered.

"Sure," Seven answered. "We've all done that. Together, remember?"

"No, by choice," Fourteen replied.

"Why would you stay there by choice?" Mountbatten-Two asked.

"Fuck," Fourteen said, "I've got to be back there tomorrow morning before seven, and we're going to be here until three. I don't want schlep all the way home and then just turn around."

"You live in Brooklyn Heights," Seven mocked her.

Fourteen ignored her. "You have to sleep on the floor, but we've all done that before." She turned to Seventeen, and offered, "Don't worry. You will at some point, too. In fact, you're welcome to join me tonight?"