A Very Merry Mailgirls XMas Ch. 02

Her hips bucked violently and she arched her back. Her left hand now joined her right on top of her pussy, as if she was trying to hold onto the orgasm as long as she could, as if she could keep it from escaping. Her leg muscles tightened, her heels lifted off the ground, and she rose to the balls of her feet.

And, through it all, she heard Sophie giggle in a hoarse, out-of-breath voice, "...this one's occupied, too!" Apparently, Erin's visitors had simply tried to move on to the next cubicle over.

One orgasm would never be enough for Erin. It had never been, when she was alone. More recently, it was at least three before she was ready to be done. Certainly, here and now, one wasn't going to cut it. Before the entirety of her first had even passed, her right hand was back at work, coaxing out a second.

She was embarrassed, of course, at being caught in such a compromised state. By that point, however, she'd lost count of the number of girls she'd witnessed getting themselves off since the mailgirls had returned to the locker room. She told herself that she was just one more girl among many. She wasn't sure if that was her brain rationalizing it or reasoning with her sense of shame, or if it was her crotch - willing to make her believe anything in that moment, so long as she didn't stop. Being caught, even as briefly as she had been, and even if her witnesses hadn't seen her face, was humiliating. But humiliating in an oh-so-delicious way.

In that moment, as orgasm number two now began to announce it was coming, Erin felt a few brief seconds of clarity. If it weren't for her tattoo, none of the girls back at party would ever have been able to single her out, or identify that it was Erin O'Neill - sorry, Visitor D - writhing on the floor of that cubicle. But, whoever they had been - Park Place mailgirls, Plaza mailgirls, other visitors, or even Sarah and Catherine - they'd know full-well who she was and what she'd done to herself when she returned to the employee lounge. They'd seen her transformed, and they'd witnessed her become sex incarnate, arousal realized. They'd seen her at her most vulnerable and most honest, singly focused on nothing more than sexual pleasure.

She climaxed again.

***

As her obsession with all things mailgirl began to take hold over her that Fall, Erin increasingly took a more circuitous route back from work. Capstone Partners was downtown, as was Donovan Runnels. Capitol Pictures had a program, but was all the way over in Hollywood. Okajima Heavy Industries was down in Long Beach. Fabrikam, though? Fabrikam wasn't unreasonably out-of-the-way, and Erin could take the long way home, pass by their suburban headquarters, and still get in the door before Ben.

Erin knew it was unlikely she'd get a peek at one of Fabrikam's mailgirls, especially at that time of day. The company's offices weren't terribly exciting from the outside - just the usual bland, modernist glass and concrete structure, with its neatly trimmed grass and manicured hedges that could be found anywhere in the sprawl of Greater Los Angeles. She knew, from her research on the Post Office, that the Fabrikam girls were all picked up at home by a company shuttle bus with tinted windows. That they wore formless white shifts that they were expected to surrender to the driver the moment they boarded. And that they were unloaded each morning inside the building's parking structure. The chance that Erin would catch a glimpse of one of these naked slaves was slim to none. The only outward sign that Fabrikam even had a mailgirl program was the presence of a Whitestocking encampment across the street, protesting its existence.

And yet passing by the building became a part of Erin's daily routine all the same. There was something exciting about being so close to the action, about just being in the vicinity of the mailgirl world, that kept her from her more normal commute. Back in October, and in early November, that had seemed almost enough.

She imagined herself as one of them. Rising each morning before dawn, with Ben still asnooze in bed, and stripping out of her nightie. Slipping on her shift, with nothing beneath it, and waiting at the end of her driveway for the short bus to come. Stripping again once aboard, with her covering - such as it was - deposited into a communal box at the front of bus, and knowing full-well that the shift she wore home at the end of the day might have been on another girl entirely that morning. Getting unloaded in the garage with her fellow naked mailgirls, and being roughly hustled out to the courtyard that served as Fabrikam's take on the mailgirl locker room. Showering outdoors. Shaving her intimate areas while the muggles all watched from inside. Getting collared, getting leashed, and getting inspected before being put into circulation.

It wasn't the humiliation that appealed to her; the embarrassment and dehumanization of it all was secondary, a product of what the real allure was. It was control. It was surrender. It was playing the part of sex object while someone else called the shots.

How could she ever have expected Ben to understand that?

She'd met Ben O'Neill shortly after college. He was tall, good-looking, and - above all else - kind. Their marriage was one of those modern, 21st century ones where they took turns making dinner, folding the laundry, shopping for groceries, and all of that. Ben brought home flowers for her every Friday afternoon, and sometimes just because. They went on hikes together, trips up the coast together, and out to dinner for "date night" every other Saturday. They communicated well, telling each other everything - every dream, every fear, every hope for their life together. Because of this, Erin had felt guilty keeping her online exploration of Mailgirls Exposed and the Post Office from him.

Erin's preoccupation with idea of mailgirls was very likely a reaction to fact that she and Ben had been talking about kids more and more over the last year. She was thirty, and Ben had a couple of years on her. They both had good, stable jobs. They owned a house in the suburbs, in a neighborhood they'd chosen in large part due the quality of the school district. And Erin wanted kids. She did. She really did. She just wasn't sure she wanted them quite yet. She liked being the hot, young schoolteacher the eleventh-grade boys thought about in the privacy of their own bedrooms, the young-and-fun girl still in her twenties. She wasn't ready to become someone's mom. She wasn't ready to sacrifice her body, and be that woman with saggy tits and a muffin-top. Ben wasn't pressuring her. It wasn't his style. But Erin had felt the pressure all the same.

Sophie had called a couple of times that previous summer, panicking over her own impending life events. Though never quite as buttoned-down and conservative as her older sister Sarah, Erin had always thought of Sophie as someone who knew who she was, and knew what she wanted, from an early age. Even as a teenager, Sophie seemed to be one of those people who had it all figured out - certainly more so than Erin ever did. But Sophie was increasingly on-edge about her wedding to John, fretting over whether she was too young to settle down. From high school to college, from college to dental school. From Patrick and Catherine's house to the dorms, and from the dorms directly into an apartment with her fiancée. House, job, pets, kids, graduations, retirement, death. It all seemed to be planned out too soon, too early, too neat.

Erin wrote it off as nothing more than cold feet - at least initially. But it caused her to reflect on her own life, and her own life choices. If Sophie, at twenty-three, was worried that there were no more big adventures out there for her, what did that mean for Erin at thirty?

John had been outraged when Sophie called off the wedding, and informed him that, instead, she'd been spending the next two years as a naked mailgirl in New Jersey. He just couldn't understand it, and was furious that Sophie would do this to him. Ben, in contrast, had been concerned and empathetic - it was his nature. He even offered to Catherine that he could look over the contracts Sarah and Sophie signed to find some sort of loophole; he wasn't a lawyer by training, but he worked in Procurement, and knew enough that he might be able to parse the legalese. Catherine had thanked him, and shared the contracts with him, but nothing had ever really come of it. After all, both Sarah and Sophie had volunteered for this, whatever their individual reasons had been.

"I'll wait for you," Ben had told Erin that morning in bed earlier in the month month, surrendering to her need to go visit her stepsisters and everything that that visit entailed.

"I'll wait for you," he'd repeated, when he'd dropped her off at LAX.

"I'll wait for you," she imagined him saying, when she'd quit her job and put in application at Fabrikam.

***

"Fire alarm!" Erin thought to herself, waking with a start.

The world was dark around her, and the floor hard beneath her. She panicked, and grabbed at the collar on her neck, knowing it was connected to a short, metal leash, which in turn was connected to a metal eye-hook in the floor. If there were a fire, there'd be no way to get free; inebriated as she may have been the night before, she hadn't forgotten the sound of the "click" as she'd fastened the leash to her collar. It would take one of Mistress Rei's keys to get free.

She could, however, remove her eye mask, and did so. She was greeted immediately by the bright, fluorescent lighting of the locker room. She squinted, and rubbed her eyes, the light assaulting her just as much as the ringing was assaulting her ears. The eye mask - a blindfold, in essence - had been a necessity. The mailgirls locker room was bathed in light twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Shut-eye required the aid of a staple from the world of bondage and discipline.

Around her, thirty-some-odd naked girls were all pulling off their own masks, and rising from the floor, but only the visitors seemed shaken and confused by the clanging of the alarm bell. This was, apparently, routine.

"Good morning, pets!" Mistress Rei sang out from the center of the room in heavily-accented English, her back to the squat toilets. "Merry Christmas!"

True to Sophie's word, Mistress Rei had given up the pretense of being anything more than a full-fledged dominatrix. She was dressed in a black leather corset, laces cinched tight at the mid-section, with garter straps connected to a pair of white fishnet stockings with scalloped lace around each thigh. This was apparently Mistress Rei's holiday outfit, though, as the cups of the corset were a bright red, with a big, black bow between them. The edges of the corset itself - at her chest, at her waist - were trimmed with snow-white fur. She wore a pair of red panties, which Erin would later realize was a thong that left her backside nearly fully exposed. On her feet were platform heels, the same shade as her underwear and the corset's cups, with five-inch stilettos, a bit of fake mistletoe near the toes, and more of the white fur at the ankles. In her right hand was a black-and-red leather bull whip, maybe four feet in length, that ended with a small tuft of black leather tails.

Erin's jaw dropped.

"Up, up, up!" Mistress Rei sang out, and cracked the whip against the backside of first one, and then another, of the two girls closest to her - in this instance, Mailgirl Eleven and Mailgirl Thirteen. Visitor G (Mailgirl 12's aunt, Erin had learned last night) got the next kiss from the whip, and she yipped out in a mixture of pain and surprise. Mistress Rei wasn't swinging the instrument with any particular ferocity, but the "crack!" each time it landed sounded vicious all the same.

"The rest of the visitors will be arriving at noon," Mistress Rei called out. The male visitors, she meant. "Today is a holiday. Even for little sluts like you. But before we do presents, I expect you all in uniform. Inspection is at six-thirty. Wash. Shave. Shampoo. Food. Water. And then back on your knees."

She unlocked Mailgirl Thirteen, freeing her from her leash, and then handed over her keys for Thirteen to do the same for the others. With a few quick taps on her tablet, Mistress Rei brought a merciful end to the ringing of the alarm bells, and then began to pace menacingly down the line of naked girls in the direction of Erin and the Scott sisters.

Erin drank in her surroundings. Park Place's mailgirls had all secured themselves to their usual spots. Sophie and Sarah, as Mailgirls One and Two, were on the end, closest to the door that Erin, Catherine, and the visitors had all first entered the previous afternoon. At the next eye-hook over were Mailgirls Three and Four, and then Mailgirls Five and Six at the next after that, and so on down the line. The visitors - the Plaza girls and the outsiders - had been given more freedom to choose where they'd bed down for the night. For the most part, they'd chosen to secure themselves with their hosts, as Erin had with her stepsisters. Visitor B was with her sister, Mailgirl Five. Visitor G was with her niece, Mailgirl Twelve. Visitor A was with her girlfriend, Mailgirl Sixteen. But, as there were only nineteen regular mailgirls distributed among twelve eye-hooks in the floor, Visitors H and I had opted for the last hook, unoccupied, on the far side of the room. Catherine and Angela - or, rather, Visitor E and Visitor F - had taken the other empty hook beside them. Plaza Ten, Plaza Seventeen, and Plaza Twenty-One were all with Park Place Nineteen, Plaza Eighteen had cuddled up with Park Place Six, and Plaza Seven had joined Erin, Sarah, and Sophie here on this side of the room.

Erin had been spared the embarrassment of having to face her stepmother when she'd returned to the party with Sophie last night. As things began to get a bit more out of control, Mailgirl Fourteen had escorted her mother and Catherine Ryan back to the locker room for an earlier bedtime than the rest of the girls. Erin doubted that anything had happened between them. At least, she liked to tell herself that nothing had happened between them. But, even if they had paired off, a lesbian tryst between the two oldest visitors couldn't have held a candle to the other pairing that had the party tittering over and whispering about. No, it was what Mailgirl Five and her sister had done that had scandalized and shocked a group of girls who were most likely difficult to scandalize and shock.

Erin risked a glance in their direction. If either Mailgirl Five or Visitor B felt any shame in what they had done, there didn't seem to be any evidence of it. They were standing close together, holding hands, and whispering secrets in one another's ear, giggling and smiling back and forth. In a room full of goddesses and supermodels, these two were on another level. Big round tits, the both of them, with long, blonde hair and bright smiles. These two would have been the stuff of masturbatory fantasy even fully-dressed. That they'd been caught together in the men's room, with Mailgirl Five's tongue buried deep between her sister's legs, was so twisted and warped and wanton that Erin couldn't even fathom the decision-making that had gone into such an incestful pairing. That they'd carried on even after being discovered - and even switched giver and receiver - signaled such a complete and total lack of shame that Erin couldn't wrap her head around it.

Not that Erin was really in a position to judge. She'd masturbated with her own stepsister, after all, with only a few feet and a flimsy partition between them. When she'd finally finished and sat up, she'd been greeted by a big, sly smile on Sophie's face, peering over the cubicle divide. Sophie had wrapped up a few minutes before Erin had fully satisfied herself, and had played witness to at least Erin's last body-shaking, spasm-inducing orgasm on the floor.

"Better?" was all Sophie had asked of her.

"Much," Erin had answered, while simultaneously wondering if the dim lighting of the surge protector and the scattered exit signs gave away just how furiously she was blushing.

If Sophie had felt any shame of what they'd done more-or-less together, she showed no more sign of it than the other pair of sisters a few eye-hooks down. She smiled at Erin when their eyes met, as Erin took in her fellow "hook-mates."

Sarah and Plaza Seven were still making googly eyes at one another, and it was clear that - Ten's presence in their reunion yesterday evening notwithstanding - there was something more than just purely physical between them. It made sense. Erin got it. She understood it. They had a history together at USF Plaza downtown, a shared experience that made their relationship deeper than just a desperate pussy and a willing tongue. Erin had witnessed such connections last night, beyond just Sarah and Plaza Seven, beyond Mailgirl Sixteen and her girlfriend. Mailgirls Seventeen and Eighteen appeared to be very much an exclusive couple. And Mailgirl Twelve had introduced her aunt to Mailgirl Three in such a way that signaled Three was someone very important in Twelve's life. "Letter-carrying lesbians," all, who'd found love and affection amid enslavement and abuse.

That said, whatever Sarah's relationship was with Plaza Seven, it wasn't a monogamous one. The race Erin had witnessed between Plaza Seventeen and Park Place Fifteen earlier in the evening, to see who could masturbate to climax first, escalated towards something else entirely towards the tail end of the night. And it was Plaza Twenty-One who had her tongue buried deep in Sarah's pussy, while Sarah sat up atop the bar. Beside her, Park Place Six was similarly engrossed in a similarly situated Plaza Eighteen. Plaza Eighteen sung out the redheaded mailgirl's victory loudly, to cheers and laughter and applause around the room, when Park Place Six got her over the crest. If Sarah was disappointed in her-and-Twenty-One's second place finish, though, she got one hell of a consolation prize all the same.

It was one thing to have her stepsister excuse herself, to hang back at the loading dock to greet old friends. It was another thing entirely to watch her cum in a crowded room full of naked mailgirls, on the losing end of a cunnilingus race. Though she was currently re-assigned to a bit of forced time off here at USF, Sarah Scott was still technically a doctoral candidate at Yale.

"Oh!" Sarah had called out, her eyes wide open and her chest heaving. She held tight to the back of Plaza Twenty-One's head, and refused to let go - even though the race was over. "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

"...stare, if you want to," Sophie had told Erin earlier in the evening, in reference to Nine masturbating under the shower. "She doesn't care. Some of us like the audience." Sophie might very well have been referring to her own sister, apparently. Erin and Sarah locked eyes as Sarah peaked. Gone was Sarah Scott, the PhD-to-be. In her place was only the wild, desperate, animal lust of Mailgirl Number Two.

Now, though, Sarah seemed be feeling a little more shame than Mailgirl Five and Visitor B were exhibiting. She caught Erin's eyes again this morning, and then quickly looked away. Plaza Seven squeezed her hand, kissed her lightly on the lips, and waited with her to be unlocked. Erin wondered if things would ever be the same between her and Sarah again. She didn't see how they could be. Thankfully, she was distracted by the arrival of Mistress Rei and her whip.

"Crack!"

With barely a flick of her wrist, Mistress Rei had snapped her bullwhip and landed it perfectly upon Erin's right buttock. Erin barked in pain, the sting more surprising than painful, and she instinctively put her hands out in front of her as if to stop another blow. She'd been spared the riding crop last night, but she wasn't so lucky that morning.