A Very Merry Mailgirls XMas Ch. 02

"Stand and wait like a mailgirl!" Mistress Rei ordered. "Legs apart! Shoulders back! Titties out! Eyes down!"

Erin was far from the only naked girl "out of position" as she waited to be unlocked. But, apparently, it was just her turn to receive attention from her new mistress. She winced as the Japanese woman cocked her wrist once more, but she did as she was told, all the same. She fought back a tear and braced for another kiss from the whip, though it didn't come. Not yet, at least.

Instead, Mistress Rei reached out and grabbed her violently and viciously by her left nipple, tugging her whole torso downwards and towards her, so they were face-to-face. Even with the other woman in heels, Erin still had a few inches on her. Without releasing her grip, Mistress Rei proceeded to lick Erin's cheek from jaw to temple, and whispered in her ear, "Have you been nice? Or have you been naughty?"

"Naughty," Erin whimpered softly. "Naughty, Mistress Rei."

"Louder!"

"Naughty."

"Louder!"

"Naughty, Mistress Rei! This girl has been naughty!"

"I knew it," the woman hissed. "I know what you are. I could smell it on you yesterday."

Erin willed Mailgirl Thirteen to hurry with the keys.

"I could smell it. Smell your dirty, naughty cunt. You don't fool me. You're not a visitor. You're a mailgirl." She leaned back in to Erin's ear, so that only Erin could hear her. "Tell me what you did. Tell me how you were naughty."

"I...I...I..." Erin began, and was treated to increased pressure upon her nipple between her mistress's finger and thumb.

"'This girl...'" Mistress Rei corrected.

"This girl..." Erin parroted back. "This girl...touched...touched herself in an empty cubicle."

"'This girl fucked herself.'"

"This girl fuh..fucked herself."

"'This naughty girl finger-fucked her wet, dirty pussy.'"

"This naughty girl finger-fucked her wet, dirty pussy."

"'This naughty girl finger-fucked her wet, dirty pussy the first chance she got.'"

"This naughty girl finger-fucked her wet, dirty pussy the first chance she got."

"Louder."

"This naughty girl finger-fucked her wet, dirty pussy the first chance she got!"

"Louder."

"This naughty girl finger-fucked her wet, dirty pussy the first chance she got!!" Erin yelled out. Catherine would know about it now.

Mistress Rei released her grip, and Erin did her best to catch her breath.

"Were you alone?"

"I...I...I..."

"Crack!" Erin felt the sting of the bullwhip once more. It stung. It was painful. But Mistress Rei exhibited enough control that it didn't out-and-out hurt so much as Erin might have expected.

"This mailgirl was with her!" Sophie called out, coming to her rescue. Erin would have lied, and said she was alone. Sophie knew the consequences for lying.

Mistress Rei cocked an eyebrow. She looked to Sophie, and then back to Erin. "'This naughty slut finger-fucked her wet, dirty pussy with her sister.'"

Step-sister, Erin corrected her mentally. The distinction, though, didn't seem to matter in the here and now.

"This naughty slut finger-fucked her wet, dirty pussy with her sister!" she yipped. A tear streamed down her face.

"No need to cry," Mistress Rei assured her with mock comfort. "We've got nothing but naughty sluts here. Santa still made his rounds." She laughed. "Tell me. What is it that you want from Santa? More than anything in the world?"

Diamond earrings, she told herself. A pearl necklace. A new car.

"This girl wants to be a mailgirl," she mewed.

"That," Mistress Rei smiled appreciatively, "we can do."

Panic set in. What had she just done? What had she just said? Was that how this began? She had just blurted it out. She thought that was what Mistress Rei wanted to hear. Whether it was true or not...

"But not here," the woman went on, and gestured to her hip. "Tattoo. And -" she added, emphasizing, "too slutty. Too much of a slut even for us. You want this too bad. You reek of it."

Too slutty for a room full of girls finger-fucking themselves and each other for the better part of the last twelve hours. Mistress Rei's dismissal stung her more than the whip.

"I'll see what Santa can do," Mistress Rei said. "We have friends."

Erin shuddered. She screamed inwardly at herself. She wanted to beg and plead to take it back. She wanted to pull out her hair. She wanted to run screaming from this room, and back into Ben's waiting arms.

"Thank you, Mistress Rei," was all she offered in response.

The horror she felt was reflected in the faces of Sarah and Sophie, when Mistress Rei walked away and Erin finally dared to look up from the floor.

"No!" Sarah whispered at her angrily. "You don't want this."

"I...I...I..."

"No," Sarah repeated forcefully. "Ben."

Ben. Erin began to whimper, and she knew more tears were coming.

"Mailgirls don't cry," Sophie said, and grabbed her by the hand. "Don't let them see you cry."

"You don't want this," Sarah insisted. She looked away, and then back to her stepsister. "Don't do this."

Erin sniffled, and held back a sob. "I just don't know..." She trailed off.

"They'll fuck you. I promise. They'll fuck you," Sarah said through clenched teeth.

"Don't sign anything," Sophie added.

"They might not need her to." This from Plaza Seven. "I'm sure there's something in the agreement she already signed."

There wasn't. Erin knew the visitor's agreement forwards and backwards. She'd been through it over and over and over. Ben had even forced himself to read through it, to make sure. He had started and stopped three times, getting too angry to finish, before finally buckling down and barreling through. But...maybe...maybe she'd missed something. Maybe she hadn't understood something. Or - she gasped - maybe they'd slipped something into the agreement she'd re-signed at the security desk yesterday?

"Whatever they put in front of you, don't do it," Sarah went on. "Whatever it is. Promises to pay off your mortgage. Promises of some big payday."

"Threats," Sophie said.

"Threats," Sarah agreed. "Whatever they say. You've got Ben. You'll be alright. You don't want this."

"You don't want this," Sophie echoed.

You don't want this, Erin told herself. Do you?

Mailgirl Thirteen arrived at that very moment, looking as pale over the exchange as Erin was sure that she herself did. She reached out, and gently unlocked the leash from Erin's collar.

"Thank you," Erin croaked.

To say that the back-and-forth with Mistress Rei had been a mood dampener was an understatement. This all suddenly felt too real. Too much like a nightmare, whereas before it had been only fantasy. There was now a very real possibility that she wouldn't be flying home to LA tomorrow.

But spirits seemed low, all around. Gone was the unbridled exuberance Erin had witnessed when the mailgirls got through with their shifts yesterday. Gone was the wildness and sexiness and over-the-top orgy atmosphere that had defined the mailgirls' Christmas party. All around her, the locker room was calmer and quieter than it had been before. Even the handful of girls Erin saw masturbating in the shower did so joylessly, more utilitarian and reluctant than as an outlet for pent-up sexual energy. They were all hung over, Erin supposed, and suffering from a lack of sleep; if it was five-and-change now, Erin doubted that she could have gotten more than three hours of sleep last night.

Erin's head was spinning, but she knew it wasn't just the peppermint schnapps and cherry liqueur.

Though they all were to experience the first-of-its-kind "day off" here at Park Place, the reality of the mailgirls' normal morning routine had a sobering affect upon them all.

There were just six showerheads for a sum total of thirty-three naked girls, and so there was a bottleneck in the girls' efforts to be ready in time for "inspection." They improvised, though, by often doubling up and hurrying along to the best of their ability. Erin, for one, had no interest in lingering beneath the ice-cold water the girls were allowed for their morning showers, but she was forced to remain there for a good duration all the same. Though she and Catherine both, independently, had gone and gotten waxed before their trip to New Jersey, Sarah insisted that Erin still needed to "make a show" of shaving her pubic region before submitting herself to Mistress Rei.

"I'll do you. You do me," Sarah suggested, almost apologetically. "It's faster."

What was Erin going to say? As awkward as her stepsister's hands between her legs might have been, it was no more or less awkward than anything else Erin had submitted herself to since arriving at Park Place. And, it appeared that this was a more common practice among the Park Place mailgirls than was going it alone.

"I'm sorry," Sarah offered quietly under the shower. She was down on one knee in front of Erin, at crotch-height, and gently sliding a razor across the inside of Erin's thigh.

"Sorry for what?" Erin asked. Had Sarah accidentally cut her with the blade?

"For everything," Sarah answered. It was heartfelt. And intimate, in a way that was only somewhat diminished by the fact that there were other naked girls on either side of them. "I didn't mean to come off that way, so judgmental, just now." She swallowed. "And I'm sorry about...about...last night. I just got carried away."

Oh, so they were acknowledging it now? The eye contact, that is. As Sarah had climaxed and locked eyes with her stepsister.

"It's okay," Erin replied meekly. "It's okay."

Sarah hesitated, and ran the razor through the shaving cream on Erin's groin once more. There wasn't any stubble to be found, but Sarah was meticulous all the same. "It's not. It's my fault - all of it. None of you would be here now, forced to do any of this, if it weren't for me. Not you. Not 'Mailgirl Number One.' Not 'Visitor E.' I feel like I infected you all with this."

"You didn't force me to do any of this. In fact, you did your best to tell me to stay away. But I wouldn't listen."

"But if it weren't for me..."

"If it weren't for you, I might have gone barreling headfirst into all this, anyways. I mean, it's kind of a thing. Kind of an obsessed thing. Kind of an obsessed thing that I can seem to shake. I needed to do it, and see it for myself. If it weren't for the 'visitors' program here, I might have already signed a full-on contract back home. I'm not sure I would have been strong enough to resist it."

"Come on..."

"I'm serious. Seriously serious. You heard Mistress Rei. She can smell it on me."

"A: I'm pretty sure she was fucking with you. And, B: I'm pretty sure it was your vagina she was talking about..." She paused in what she was doing, inspected her work, and then looked up at Erin. "Which..."

"Shut up!" Erin laughed.

"You can rinse," Sarah instructed. "I'm pretty sure were fine beforehand, but they're pretty strict about this."

"Okay." Erin stepped back under the ice-cold water, and used her hands to wipe the remainder of the shaving cream away.

"You don't have to do me," Sarah said to Erin, standing and asking Mailgirl Seventeen to pass her the can of shaving cream. "I've got a little more going on. And I'm a little more practiced at this."

Erin didn't necessarily want to get so up close and personal with her stepsister's crotch. But they'd had a tit-for-tat deal, hadn't they. "Are you sure?"

"Uh-huh. It's fine. I know what I'm doing." Sarah squeezed a liberal amount of shaving cream into her palm, and began lathering herself up on either side of her slit, and up above. She got back to her knees, and then down her backside, before spreading her legs wide open and beginning her routine. Two showerheads over, Mailgirl Eleven and Visitor I were in the same position, doing the same thing.

Sarah's stubbly pussy didn't need the entirety of her attention, however. "Alright, well, I'm sorry for jumping all over you just now, then. I don't know what's going on with you. I can't see inside your head. And I'm the absolute last person to judge you if this is really and truly something you need to do. You know, long-term."

"You're looking out for me."

"I'm looking out for you," she agreed. "This," - meaning Erin's visit - "isn't what this is like most of the time. Last night? We get that once a week. And it gets taken away from us if the demerits start piling up, or if they just want to fuck with us. No food, either. Not real food. If we're hungry for something to eat, it's just more chow."

"I kind of figured..."

"It's hard. It really is. We have an EVP here, on the sixth floor, that the girls all call 'Captain Buttplug.' He's got a toy - a couple of them, in fact - that I think has made the rounds, into each and every one of us."

Erin blanched. "I thought that USF didn't..."

"It gets a little more gray the higher up the food chain you go."

"Ugh."

"Ugh," Sarah agreed. "There's also this absolute, fucking bitch in Clearing who likes to decorate us with binder clips."

"Jesus."

"And I think you saw what they did to Six? When you first got here?"

"I did. We did."

"It gets worse. I got left upside down in a St. Andrew's Cross - don't ask - and ended up passing out. Outside. In November."

"Were you okay? I mean, obviously..."

"Yeah. No. I mean, I was fine, in the end. But, what I'm saying is that this all can feel exciting. And exploratory. And, fuck, I mean it is. But there's this thin line between sadomasochism and just out-and-out sadism. Sociopath shit. And, honestly, I'm worried that that line keeps getting blurrier." She paused. "You don't want to do this."

Erin just nodded.

Sarah was almost done now. She rinsed. She inspected herself. She went back one more time for a touch-up.

"Last night," she began. "With Twenty-One. And then you were there..."

"It's okay."

"Okay. I just, I don't know, I got caught up. And having you and my mom here? It's just, like, I don't know, like all of this on crack."

"It's okay," Erin assured her. "I promised I'd give you space. It's my fault."

"No, no. It's not. I can't promise you that it won't happen again. With the other Seven here, I'm not sure that I can...I'm not sure that I want to stop. You don't need to disappear, is what I'm saying. It is what it is."

Sarah finished, stood, and rinsed. Erin reached for the knob, and turned the water off. Both of them wrung out their hair. As they stepped from the shower block, bodies dripping with cold water and skin covered in goose bumps, Erin asked, "Are you going to stay?" That is, would Sarah stay with USF, even after her contract was through.

"So...who knows if I even have a choice in the matter," she answered glumly. "But, no, I want to go back and finish my PhD."

The two girls helped themselves to the scratchy white hand towels and began to dry off. "And then?"

"And then, I don't know. The paper I wrote is getting a good amount of attention. Good and bad. But I'm in this niche now, one that no one is really looking at from an academic standpoint. And certainly not from an insider's perspective. I mean, my reputation is just completely and totally trashed now. The mailgirls thing is just absolutely radioactive on college campuses, so I'm not sure I'm going to get the faculty position or the fellowship I might have wanted.

"Which sucks because it's good work. And work that the field - Sociocultural Anthropology, that is - really should be doing. And maybe, in a couple of years, if and when mailgirls as a concept really and truly goes mainstream, and assuming Congress doesn't pull the plug on the whole fucking thing next month, maybe I'll get the sort of opportunity I thought I'd get - that I talked myself into thinking I'd get - before I got undressed that first time back in June.

"Until then? I don't know. I've really only got my experiences here at USF to speak to. I've been thinking that maybe I need to go somewhere else. Somewhere where they do all of this a little differently, and in their own way. Maybe some place that's, I don't know, maybe even a little rougher?"

This startled Erin. "'Rougher'? Like, 'providing relief' sort of rougher?"

Sarah shrugged. "Maybe. In for a penny."

"You'd do that?"

"Like I said, my reputation is shit anyways. No one's going to think any less of me. What's the harm in getting my rocks off, and really going deep? Really going all the way? If I'm going to get called a 'slut' and a 'whore' no matter what I do, why not drop the whole 'look-but-don't-touch' shit and own it. Really and truly. And, afterwards? Let the world catch up, and accept me for who I am."

"Wow," Erin said. She took the already soggy towel, and did her best to dry her hair a bit more. She hesitated, and then asked pointedly, "But not me?"

Sarah met her stepsister's eyes. "You have Ben. Who loves you. I'm sure if you asked, he'd be happy to spank you and whip you and do whatever else it is you think you're missing out on. There are people who are into this sort of thing, without having to become full-on mailgirls."

"Enough chit-chat," Mistress Rei bellowed in their direction. "Kiss and say 'I love you' later. Hair and make-up. Weigh-ins. And then back your spots."

It was gross to share underarm deodorant. It was grosser still to share a toothbrush. But Erin still dutifully readied herself for inspection. She'd choked down a healthy serving of mailgirl chow before her shower, hoping to quell the churn of a stomach that had been treated to too much alcohol the night before. But she discovered that doing so before weighing in was a rookie mistake; the girls were all measured to within a tenth of a pound, and the difference between a full stomach and an empty one could potentially lead to demerits. As the scale synched with Erin's profile on Sophie's phone, she noted that she registered a little heavier than the night before - negligibly so, and within such a margin that she might never have noticed it at home. But an uptick all the same.

While the visitors had been allowed the freedom - such as it was - to choose where to bed down the night before, inspections were a little more formal, and visitors were expected to secure themselves with their hosts. The Plaza girls were directed to distribute themselves between the two empty eye-hooks on the other side of Nineteen, however, and so it was just Sarah, Sophie, Catherine, and Erin locked in together on this side of the room. One big, twisted, happy family.

Inspection was one thing. Though it wasn't particularly pleasant to be up on her toes, with her hands behind her head, as Mistress Rei ran a finger over her body to check for stubble, Erin had already been through this once before, the previous afternoon. The "confessional" portion of the exercise, in which the girls were required to report any and all instances of sexual activity that had occurred the night before, was a new and fresh hell. While Mistress Rei stood before them with her tablet, tapping it all in and saving it for posterity, each of them confessed their sins.

"Once, by myself," Sophie offered, starting it all off. "Ten minutes. Two orgasms. Three, and then a two." Session. Duration. Count. Intensity of each.

"Once, by myself," Erin stated flatly when it was her turn. "Ten minutes. Five orgasms. Four, maybe, on a scale. Three? And then two, two, and two." It might have been fifteen minutes; Sophie was finished before her, after all. And it might have actually been six orgasms - Erin wasn't sure - but she thought it preferable to low-ball the number. Same with her guesstimate on the intensity of each; her first, when she'd been caught in the act, was decidedly a five. Three's and two's were on the low side, as well - Erin couldn't remember having cum like that before last night. The need. The desperation. The release.