A Very Merry Mailgirls XMas Ch. 02

Mistress Rei smiled wickedly, and observed, "You are a naughty little slut, aren't you?"

"Yes, mistress," was all Erin offered in response.

"Just like your sisters," the Japanese woman purred.

Stepsisters, Erin said to herself.

"Once with Plaza Seven and Plaza Ten," Sarah said when it was her turn. "Fingers and oral. Fifteen minutes. Two orgasms. Five and five, both."

She went on. "Once with Plaza Twenty-One. Oral. Five minutes. One orgasm. It was another five, mistress."

But she wasn't done. "Once by myself. Five minutes. One orgasm. Another five."

Erin knew about the first. She'd witnessed the second. But she'd been with Sarah for the remainder of the night, and wasn't sure when her stepsister had had an opportunity to sneak that last one in. Could she have...no!...but, could she have...? Could she have gotten herself off on the floor last night, after they'd bedded down, with Erin sleeping just a few feet away?

Erin shuddered.

The revelations were far from over. "Once," Catherine answered next, and Erin stiffened. "With Visitor F. Oral. And...uh...fingers. Fifteen minutes. One orgasm." The older woman hesitated, but then offered, "Five."

No more wondering about why Catherine and Angela had turned in early last night. No more wondering if something had happened between Catherine and Mailgirl Fourteen's mother. It was all out there now.

It was more than Erin had ever wanted to know. Maybe she should have been upset at her stepmother for cheating on her father, even if it was with a woman. Erin didn't linger on this question, however - these were extenuating circumstances. Erin had no interest in breaking the news to Patrick Ryan. Erin had no interest in confronting her stepmother. Erin had no interest in thinking about Catherine and Angela going down on one another here in the locker room.

After all, was she really in any position to judge?

The girls were restricted from speaking during inspections. And so this news, this confession, hung out there awkwardly as Mistress Rei moved on to Mailgirl Number Three.

Most of the girls had something to confess, it seemed. There were a few - Mailgirl Seven, Visitor C, and Mailgirl Fourteen, for instance - who had nothing to report. But the vast majority had, at the very least, gotten themselves off on their own. And there was a tangled web of who had slept with whom that Erin tried to keep straight - even if the numbers, letters, and duplicates from the Plaza made it a difficult exercise. Mailgirl Six's number got called out more than once, though everyone in the room - everyone but Mistress Rei - knew that there was some artificial inflation in her sum total.

"Once, with Mailgirl Number Six," Mailgirl Five had lied, after first copping to the solo session earlier in the evening. "Fingers and oral. Ten minutes. Three orgasms. First was a Five. Second was a Four. Third was a Four."

"Once, with Mailgirl Number Six," Visitor B said when it was her turn. "Fingers and oral. Ten minutes. Four orgasms. Five, four, five, and five."

"You do get around," Mistress Rei cooed at Mailgirl Six.

"This girl is good at what she does," Six replied snarkily.

The night before, in the aftermath of the "race" between Plaza Twenty-One and Six, Erin overheard a snippet of conversation between Sarah and the mailgirl from downtown. "Don't beat yourself up - that was amazing," she reassured Plaza Twenty-One, consoling her for the second-place finish. "Six has had a lot of practice. A lot, a lot, a lot of practice. It was her way of making it up to the other girls, for putting them on her list of mailgirl candidates."

Whether or not Five and her sister had clued Six in on the lie ahead of time, Six covered for them. She listed each of their designations when it was her turn. Her own list was expansive, and Erin wasn't sure if she should have been offended that Six hadn't tried anything with her.

It was some time before Mistress Rei made it all the way down the line. Not only were there fourteen extra girls whom she had to inspect, but there were also fourteen extra girls for whom she needed to play confessor, and whose disclosures she needed to enter into the system for record-keeping. Erin doubted that this exercise usually took this long; last night had apparently been a wild one, even by Park Place's standards.

When they were finally, mercifully, let up off their knees, there was only one thing that Sarah and Sophie wanted to talk about. But detail into Catherine's confession would have to wait, at least temporarily. The Plaza girls were instructed to remain behind, but Mailgirls One and Two, and their other guests, were assigned responsibility for cleaning up the employee lounge on the 2nd Floor. A handful of others, including Mailgirl Fourteen (and by default, her mother), were to report to the gym, for being over their weights, even if only marginally so. Another few were sent back to the troughs for another serving of mailgirl chow for being under.

"Ten o'clock," Mistress Rei barked, and punched the deadline into her tablet. The smartphones affixed to the mailgirls' arms all came alive at once, registering the assignment. "1st Floor atrium, by the Middlesex Courtyard. For gifts. Don't be late."

It was nice, in its own twisted way, to get time alone as a family, away from the rest of the mailgirls. Even if that time away was spent mop in-hand, cleaning up the excesses of the night before. Sarah and Sophie led the way, sprinting up to the 2nd Floor. They didn't have a deadline to meet - not for this exercise, at least - but it was almost a force of habit. Sarah would later explain that if she didn't get a jog in, she'd start going a bit stir crazy.

The smell of sex - of pussy, more accurately - was overpowering when they first entered the employee lounge. The girls hadn't trashed the room completely, but there were empty bottles of booze and half-drunken cocktail glasses everywhere. The mailgirl mats needed to be collected and redistributed throughout the building, and the furniture all needed to be put back in its proper places. What remained of the hors d'oeuvres and desserts would be trashed, and what little remained of the liquor needed to be boxed up and brought back down to Mistress Rei's room on B2.

First, though, Sarah poured a shot glass full of the vile cherry liqueur. She slid it across the bar to her mother.

Erin, along with Visitor H, had each been awarded such a drink. It was a ritual the mailgirls celebrated, for when a girl "popped her cherry" and masturbated in public the first time. Erin had played with herself in a far less public setting than had Visitor H; but she'd done so all the same, and it seemed impolite to protest and point out the difference.

"Be careful," Sophie had warned her. "The first time is a gateway diddle."

"To the slightly less embarrassing nature of subsequent sessions of self-pleasure!" Sarah had cheered, toasted, and slugged back a drink of her own, to the roar, applause, and participation of the rest of the room.

Now it was Catherine's turn.

"It's seven thirty in morning," she protested.

"Do the crime..." Sophie began.

Knowing she was licked, Catherine grimaced and took the glass.

"It'll help wash the taste of breakfast out of your mouth," Erin offered helpfully.

Catherine shot her stepdaughter a skeptical look, and then knocked the drink back. She scrunched up her face, stuck out her tongue, and coughed. "I think I prefer the taste of the mailgirl chow."

They all laughed.

"So..." Sophie teased. "...Visitor F?"

Catherine smiled, and said demurely, "She was gentle." She chuckled to herself, and then went the other way. "No, she definitely wasn't."

"Ew! Ew! Ew!" Sarah came back. "No, let's not do this!"

"You're one to talk!" Catherine replied. "Anyone here you didn't sleep with last night?"

Sophie raised her hand. Erin, too.

Catherine hinted around the details. And though Sarah and Sophie both - but Sarah, in particular - made a show of recoiling and acting weirded out by their mother's admissions, neither could help herself from asking follow-up questions.

"You know there are cameras in the locker room, right?" Sophie asked at one point, while stacking the mailgirl mats by the door. Erin hadn't noticed the cameras, herself, but it didn't surprise her in the least. She'd seen pictures of the Park Place locker room online, but they were all amateur-style shots, taken through the mirror glass. Human Capital, though, likely had thousands of hours of footage stored away somewhere, perhaps for the purposes of contract renegotiation somewhere down the line. "The stairs. The hallways."

"I'm sure they're in here, too. This place is probably crawling with hidden cameras and bugged to shit," Sarah added. She looked up from the box she was squatting in front, where she was gathering half-filled bottles of liquor. Addressing the room, and asked, "Isn't that right, Will?"

"The bathroom. Or one of the cubicles. That's where you should have gone," Sophie went on.

The revelation didn't seem to bother Catherine all that much, however. "We didn't leave the party thinking anything was going to happen."

"Maybe you didn't," Sarah replied. "Fourteen's mom is here every couple of weeks. It's like a fetish she and Fourteen's dad have."

"But maybe better you than one of the other girls," Sophie offered. "She lured Seventeen back here once, back before Seventeen and Eighteen were a thing."

"Thirteen, too," from Sarah. "I think she's got kind of an Asian thing. Usually."

"Alright, alright," Catherine said, throwing up her hands. "Not important. But I didn't leave the party thinking it was a foregone conclusion. I just wanted to give you girls some space, some privacy. And, honestly, I was tired - it was a long afternoon."

Whatever Angela Giannini's game had been, and however much she might have preyed upon Catherine, it had been a slow and subtle pursuit. They'd gotten ready for bed, used the bathroom one last time, and chosen to go to sleep on the far end of the room, leashing themselves to one of the empty eye-hooks as far away from Sarah and Sophie's usual spot as possible. Neither had been able to fall asleep. Both complained about the hardship of their older bodies trying to get comfortable on the tiled floor. Both confessed to being excited and aroused from their exposure, of being seen as objects of sexual desire to people other than their own husbands. Somewhere along the way, Angela had cuddled up to Catherine. Somewhere along the way, Catherine had begun caressing Angela's hip. And then, before any of the other girls had returned from the party upstairs, something else had happened, and Catherine hadn't been able to slow it down. She hadn't wanted to.

She had no regrets. Of Erin's father, she offered, "Even if I told him - and I'm not going to - I think he'd forgive me. For being with another woman, at least." In Erin's direction, she added, "Ben would, too."

Erin didn't bother turning around. She continued scrubbing the counter with a sponge. She deflected, joking, "I don't want to sleep with Fourteen's mother."

"You know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," Erin conceded. Ben didn't have a single jealous bone in his body, a virtue that Erin had twisted into a fault on more than one occasion. A virtue that she was taking advantage of, undressing in a lobby full of strangers and parading around naked in an office building on the far side of the country.

She was curious, of course, about the idea of being with another girl. She didn't know any of her friends who hadn't confessed to that same curiosity, and she knew of a few of her sorority sisters who'd realized said curiosity at one point or another before graduation. Soft skin. Soft lips. Soft touches. Sure, it was a fantasy. But, though Ben might very well have been perfectly fine with the idea, and might have even been turned on if she'd confessed to such a dalliance when she got home, it wasn't something she was going to act on today, tonight, tomorrow morning. She'd already given in and masturbated here once. There was a begrudging certainty that she'd do it again, before this little adventure was through. But she didn't need to add to her sins by getting hot and heavy with Mailgirl Six, or Mailgirl Fourteen, or one of the Plaza girls.

"I think Ben will just be happy to have me home, with all this out of my system," Erin said, finally.

If she were allowed to go home.

If Mistress Rei didn't help her make that morning's Christmas wish come true.

If there were any chance that "all this" would ever be out of her system.

She swallowed hard, and continued to scrub.

Catherine wasn't through, however. "I think he'd surprise you," she told her stepdaughter. "I think he knows you better than you think he does."

No, Ben didn't have a jealous bone in his body. When she'd told him about Ethan Weiland - an 11th grader in her second period class last year - and how she'd caught Ethan trying to look up her skirt one particular morning when she crossed her legs in front of the class, Ben had just laughed and offered the boy praise in absentia for his boldness. Erin hadn't confessed that she had been more excited and aroused than creeped out by the violation. But she had scolded Ben for not being more jealous, all the same. How could he not be jealous?

"Let him look. Let him fantasize," Ben had laughed. "It's me that gets to sleep with you when the day's all through."

Would sleeping with another girl violate that laissez-faire attitude?

"I'll wait for you," Ben had told her at the airport.

Sweeping and vacuuming was one thing. Cleaning up empty glasses and collecting the assorted porno mags was fine. As Erin scrubbed the counters, however, she found herself wondering how much of the sticky mess was spilled drinks, and how much it was pussy and sweat. She wondered what Ben was doing that morning. She wondered why she had insisted upon spending Christmas morning this way, doing this, away from him.

Erin needed to pee at one point, and needed Sophie to escort her. Or, more accurately, needed the smartphone on Sophie's arm to let her through the locked doors and out to the men's room. They passed by Erin's cubicle from the night before, and Erin couldn't resist a peek in, to see it in the full light of day, and to make sure she hadn't left any sign of her own bodily fluids behind. There was no sweaty outline of her bare behind on the rug, and any imagined whiff of pussy could very well have been coming from either her or Sophie here and now.

In fact, it struck Erin how mundane and boring the site of her crime was. How regular. The office chair was still scooched over to one side, leaving just enough room for a fully-grown girl to lie down on the floor beside it. But it was like any other cubicle anywhere else in the world - a stack of print-outs piled neatly in one corner, a pair of pens lined up alongside the mouse pad, a phone and a computer and a keyboard. A picture of a couple was tacked to one wall, as was a comic strip Erin didn't recognize.

"Heidi Pomeranz," the nameplate by the entrance read. A woman's cubicle, after all. Erin wondered who Heidi Pomeranz was. What she did. How she'd react if she knew a naked mailgirl - a naked mailgirl wannabe - had gotten herself off at her workstation over Christmas break.

"We're going to have to clean in here, too," Sophie remarked glumly as they entered the men's room. There was a plastic party cup, still half-filled with booze, on the counter. There was another that had spilled by the trash. One of the urinals was unflushed, and had been very obviously been put into use by one of the girls last night, in a feat that Erin wasn't sure she understood the mechanics of; a few splashes on the floor signaled it hadn't been done completely without error.

Erin glanced at the counter. She hadn't witnessed the incident herself, but it had been the source of gossip and whispers all night. And Visitor B had been cheered and toasted, and treated to her own shot of cherry liqueur, for the heinous act with her sister. So it wasn't exactly a secret, even if Mailgirl Six had been inserted into the story when they had recounted it to Mistress Rei that morning. What could have possibly possessed Visitor B and Mailgirl Five that they'd crossed that line? How did such a thing even happen?

Erin propped her stall door open, like a good mailgirl, and sat down to pee. Sophie did the same in the handicapped stall beside her.

"So...Mailgirl Five?" Erin asked. She wasn't sure what she was even asking. She supposed she just wanted to gossip with Sophie about what had happened.

She was greeted with silence.

No, Erin told herself.

No, no, no.

No.

No!

No!!

What?!!

Sophie's silent pause spoke volumes. The pause said more than Sophie ever could have. The pause spoke to something vile and unthinkable.

Sophie cleared her throat. "It's..."

Another pause. Another silence. Another moment for Erin's brain to explode.

They met each other at the sinks, and Sophie made a show of washing her hands, and collecting the errant cup. She wanted to tell Erin, but she didn't. She wanted to explain herself, but she couldn't. At this point, she knew that Erin knew, and that her reaction had been awkward enough that Erin knew the whole thing, even if she didn't know the details. Sophie needed to explain herself.

"Don't tell my sister that I told you," Sophie warned. "And don't breathe a word of this to my mother. "

"Sophie," Erin replied, "I'm not even sure that I want to know." She went un-corrected for her use of Sophie's proper name.

Sophie took a deep breath. "It's just that you spend your whole day, hour after hour, getting called a slut and a whore. And, honestly? I'm kind of a slut and a whore. No, I am a slut and a whore. I'll own it. This exhibitionism thing, this submission thing, this control thing - it's dirty, it's depraved, it's 'naughty.' And one you're already in that place?"

She went on. "You have to understand. Whatever the mailgirls are to people, the idea of sisters is on some other level. We're like a fucking circus act. We're not allowed to touch each other - you know, intimately - outside of the locker room. And, even inside, it's...like...just seven until nine. Saturdays, too, I guess. We're not allowed to touch ourselves, either, when we're on duty. So there are limits. We can't do it. And they can't tell us to do it."

"Right," Erin nodded. She understood that much.

"But there's a lot of wiggle room, and a lot of freedom, in what you can ask a mailgirl to do, right up to that line. A lot of the time, it's just mean shit - sadistic shit - without it being sexual or sex-related. Playground shit. Number Seven had to eat dead fly once. But a lot of the time, most of the time, there's an element of testing the limits. Like, 'Suck on her nipple' or 'Touch her pussy' or 'Kiss her' type stuff. Every single one of us has done that sort of thing with one another. We've been forced to do that sort of thing with one another. With sisters, though? It's that, on steroids."

Sophie avoided Erin's eye contact. Instead, she looked only at her own reflection in the mirror.

"So, Sarah and I... Two and I. Don't slap me. We get dared and ordered and blackmailed into all sorts of nonsense. It is what it is. Nipple-licking, pussy-touching, tongue-kissing, and all that. And it's just - I don't know - we hit a point one night, when it was just the two of us, and we were both horny as shit, and both going to touch ourselves anyways, and it just sort of happened. We've touched ourselves next to each other like hundreds of times now, and been there in the room when the other one got off. But this time, it was different, and it was like a 'I don't care how dirty this is - I'm just going for it" sort of thing. It was a Saturday night. We were alone. We'd snuck off, just like you and I did last night, but into one of the supply rooms. And, fuck if it wasn't the dirtiest shit I'd ever done. But, like, dirty in a way that was hot."