Life Among the Mailgirls Ch. 03

Despite the abuse, however, the girls had turned a corner with Hooper relatively early on, and his derision and scorn was met with nothing more than mock horror and a sense of humor. Among the stories swapped back and forth at the Imperial on Friday nights, more than a few revolved around the horrible things that Hooper had hurled their way, shared with shrieks of laughter. They'd even begun to call him "Master Hooper" behind his back, embracing the absurdity that they were all now just slave girls in his little fiefdom. When one of the girls had slipped, and accidentally referred to him as "Master" to his face, Hooper took the title and ran with it; it was now expected that all the girls refer to him as "Master," rather than "Sir."

But if Thirteen got off light that afternoon, in terms of verbal abuse, Hooper had nonetheless found another way to torment her. She had tried to beg off a run to the 41st floor earlier in the summer, and he hadn't forgotten; there was little doubt that he'd called for her, specifically, to handle a lightweight package headed that way that day after lunch.

"Enjoy," he smiled at her cruelly, when she was beckoned over to take the package. No, he hadn't forgotten.

"Yes, master," Thirteen answered, with a lump in her throat.

It certainly wasn't the first time she'd been sent up to Investment Banking. In fact, given Hooper's memory, she was probably up that way more than most of the other girls. But repetition hadn't, in this case, made the deliveries any easier, and she suspected that this was what many of the other mailgirls felt when sent back to their old stomping grounds in the building. Thirteen hadn't worked at the Plaza prior to becoming a mailgirl; but she had gone to college with Drew Wagner, now an investment banker with USF.

She got into the service elevator with the package under her arm, pressed the button for the 41st Floor, and waited for the doors to close.

It was inevitable that people outside of USF would find out about how Thirteen had spent her summer. She had told a small handful of friends at Yale, fellow anthropology students who understood why she was doing what she was doing, even if they never could have done so themselves. She'd been forced to share her life with her sister earlier in the summer, when Mistress Zero had sent her home in a dog collar while Sophie was visiting. And, given that her mother still read every one of her papers and any potential publication, she'd have to share with Catherine Ryan sooner or later.

Thirteen absentmindedly massaged her nipples with her free hand, still sore from the clamps.

Hearing about Thirteen's life as a mailgirl or reading about it in a dry academic study, however, was different than witnessing her humiliation in real life. That honor belonged to Drew - with whom she'd gone to college, with whom she'd attended a fair number of classes, with whom she shared more than a few friends and acquaintances. They hadn't been close in Malibu, but they knew a good number of the same people - and Thirteen was well aware that there were now a handful of cell phone photos circulating out there amongst her former classmates. She hadn't seen the photos herself, but she knew they'd be awful based on the reaction of a handful of people she still kept in touch with. She received a couple of nasty emails from former friends accusing her of "selling out" their gender. And she'd gotten a number of supportive emails, as well, that still managed to focus on her naked body (for example, "The pictures aren't that bad - your ass looks amazing!"). The bulk of the reaction, however, came in the form of group emails and email chains that found their way to her, which did little more than laugh at her expense.

The service elevator chimed its arrival on the 41st Floor. Thirteen took a deep breath, and then set off at a good clip towards her intended mailstop, hoping against hope that Drew and his colleagues were in a meeting, and intending to get through with this embarrassment as quickly as possible.

Mailgirls knew better than to get their hopes up for anything working in their favor, however, and Drew was waiting for her - along with Nick McInnis, Jeff Jones, and Kim Kinney - in the bullpen he called home here at the Plaza. It was the woman, Kim, whose presence made Thirteen the most nervous; as physically threatening as being naked around fully dressed men could be, Thirteen had found that it was women who were often the most cruel. And, Kim Kinney was among the worst of them. The fact that the package was apparently hers, and the fact that Thirteen was greeted with a wide, ear-to-ear grin, filled her with dread.

Thirteen swallowed, and looked to Drew for support.

Drew Wagner was tall, muscular, and good-looking in a way that suggested men like him were printed out in a factory for models, teen soap actors, and romantic leads. His hair was ever-so-slightly tussled, a hairdo that was supposed to look casual and disinterested - but which Thirteen suspected he'd spent significantly more time on than she had hers. The Drew Wagner she'd known had been a jock in college; he hadn't been a "nice guy," per se, but he'd certainly never come off the way he did now, surrounded by jerks and bullies here in Investment Banking. No, Drew wasn't going to come to her rescue.

As Thirteen handed the package to Kim, the other woman's smile broadened, and she handed the package back. "This is actually for you."

Thirteen was confused, but she took the package back, unsure of what to do next.

Kim Kinney was about her age - maybe a year older, or a year younger - and would have fit right in among the perfect tens that populated the mailgirl stable. She had dark, raven black hair that hung at chin-length, penetrating blue eyes, and a smile that always hinted at a mischievous sort of intelligence. Her breasts, hidden beneath a white blouse and a just-visible black lace bra, were admittedly on the smallish side, but they complemented a slender, girlish figure that had the power to turn heads even when fully dressed. Today, she wore a dark, tight-fitting pencil skirt and a pair of heels, and seemed very much as at home as the three suited men around her.

"Go on," Kim told her, nodding at the package with her chin. "Open it."

"Yes, Ms. Kinney," Thirteen answered. She wasn't sure what was inside the box, but she knew it would be awful. But she steeled herself, knowing that all this would be over soon, and that it would go easier if she didn't fight.

"Wait," the woman stopped her. "Open it on your knees."

"Yes, Ms. Kinney," Thirteen answered again, and dutifully got down on the floor. She began removing the brown parcel wrapping, trying to guess what sort of horror awaited her based on the weight. The box was too big, but light, to be any sort of sex toy. If anything, it felt like a shirt box, with clothes inside. But, of course, that certainly couldn't be the case.

But, of course, it was. With Kim, Drew, and the two other men looking on and laughing, Thirteen removed the top of the box, and knew instantly what it was. White, with orange and blue stripes, and the word "Waves" printed across the chest, Thirteen recognized it as a call back to her alma mater - a cheerleader's outfit from Pepperdine. What she was supposed to do with it, however, was beyond her.

It seemed that Kim had ideas, though. "Jeff, you have a few chits. Keep her here for a couple of minutes so that she can try it on."

Thirteen blushed all over. She looked to Drew, and then back to Kim, still not fully understanding. She stammered, "I-I-I can't put this on." Then, immediately catching herself, amended her protestation with a "Ms. Kinney."

Jeff had his smartphone in his hand, and was obediently spending a few of his delivery chits. But so did Kim, and Thirteen could feel the vibration of a demerit hitting her own unit without having to look to confirm.

"I can't be out of uniform, Ms. Kinney," Thirteen stated. Mailgirls were strictly forbidden from wearing clothes at the Plaza.

Kim didn't even bother responding. Instead, she tapped her phone, and Thirteen felt the unit on her arm vibrate once more.

Thirteen found herself trying to think of a loophole, an out. There'd been that day she'd been forced to wear heels. There was the time she'd been called on to play the part of a waitress in the Executive Dining Room, and been given a lacey pink headband and a short, matching gingham-print apron that just barely covered her sex. There was when Nine had been told to make deliveries in fishnet stockings, or when Eighteen had worn black leather gloves, or even the time that Four - during her "time of the month" - had actually been allowed to wear a pair of red panties. So, there were exceptions, but this seemed to be entirely different...

Another vibration. Another demerit. Another vibration. Another demerit. Thirteen's hesitation was getting costly.

She was in a damned-if-I-do, damned-if-I-don't situation. She could be punished severely if Mistress Zero caught wind of her in clothes, but she could be punished just as severely if she picked up too many demerits too quickly - at the rate that Kim was logging them, Thirteen's lunch-time paddling might not have been her last of the summer. She was in trouble either way, and so she decided to give in; the possibility of being punished later for donning the cheerleader's outfit was outweighed by the guarantee of a punishment if Kim kept logging demerits.

Thirteen met Kim's eyesight momentarily, just long enough to signal the surrender, and then turned her attention back to the uniform. It was in two pieces - a white tank, with a thick orange stripe and two blue stripes running down either side, and a matching white skirt beneath it. The outfit looked two or three sizes too small, but she supposed that had been the intent. As she wriggled into the top, she felt it flatten her chest, even as it stopped at her mid-riff just above her belly button.

The vibration of the demerits on Thirteen's arm had stopped, but Kim hadn't put her cell phone down. Instead, she had it pointed at Thirteen and was snapping away. And she wasn't even the only one - Drew's was out, as well, and Thirteen knew full well that these pictures would soon be making the rounds, too. But again, Thirteen recognized that that had most likely been the intent all along.

The bottomless blonde had to stand to put on the skirt, but wasn't allowed off her knees without someone's permission. Kim, laughing, granted this to her, and Thirteen rose to her feet. She bent at the midsection, aware that someone else's camera was clicking behind her, and slipped the skirt up over her knees and up her thighs. Thankfully - and Thirteen recognized that this was an odd thing to be thankful about - there were no "lollipop" briefs to go along with the skirt; her pussy would still be bare. The skirt hung to mid-thigh - there'd be no modesty to fret over if she were asked to do anything but stand.

If Thirteen had expected Drew to come to her rescue, she was severely disappointed. As he snapped another picture of her, now in full cheerleader regalia, he called past her to Kim, "Give her your boots!"

The dark-haired girl laughed with a shriek, but shook her head. "No," she said. "You've seen the bottom of their feet. They're filthy."

Nevermind that, having just taken a shower at lunch, Thirteen's soles were perhaps cleaner than they'd be all day. But the uniform was humiliating enough - she didn't need Kim Kinney's boots to complete the ensemble.

Drew shrugged off the idea, and snapped another couple of quick pictures. It was Nick, next to him, that suggested, "Have her lift up the front of the skirt." To Thirteen, he repeated, "Lift up the front of your skirt."

Now that they'd gotten her fully clothed, they were having her expose herself all over again? Thirteen didn't protest, and obediently lifted the front of her skirt to show her pussy. But she did wince as Drew took another shot, and she knew instantly it would be that one that would get the best circulation among her former classmates.

"Mark Agnew," Drew said aloud, and Thirteen cringed once more. "You dated Mark Agnew, right?"

"Yes, sir," Thirteen answered. She'd lost her virginity to him, as a sophomore. Not that Drew was asking. She dumbly stood there, holding up the front of her cheerleader's skirt, as Drew snapped yet another picture.

"And he ended up marrying...?"

It was a leading question. Mark hadn't exactly cheated on her, but he'd broken up with Thirteen to start dating someone else. "Steph Thomas," Thirteen replied. Mark had broken up with her for Stephanie Thomas, from Arizona, who he'd later gone on to marry.

Drew chuckled to himself cruelly. "Turn around," he told her, "and lift the back." As she complied, Drew added, "Jesus. Wait until they see this."

It was enough to almost bring tears to Thirteen - the thought of Mark, with his now wife, laughing at her, laughing at the situation she'd found herself in, laughing at the decisions she'd made. But mailgirls didn't cry - Thirteen choked it back, and suffered her humiliation in silence.

For all the petty rules and regulations that girls were supposed to live by (how to stand, how to eat, how to address their superiors, and so on), there wasn't any specific prohibition against bawling in public. It was a common enough occurrence in a girl's first day or two, as she was embarrassed and beaten up in her new life. But the older mailgirls - that is, those girls who'd been mailgirls longer, regardless of their actual age - took them under their wing, and made clear that this reaction was forbidden by the mailgirls themselves.

Seven had joined the roster of USF mailgirls only a week prior to Thirteen and her particular cohort, having replaced the prior Mailgirl Number Seven. But it had been Seven who'd wrapped her arm around Thirteen in the showers on Thirteen's second day, and told her to never let anyone at USF see her cry again. Masturbation was allowed - almost encouraged, in fact - among the mailgirls; the girls were allowed to give in and give away how much their current situation turned them on. But they weren't allowed to cry, they weren't allowed to show Mistress Zero or Will Barrow or anyone else at the Plaza how much the abuse and humiliation affected them in that way. On a daily basis, there were any number of times that Thirteen could have broken down, sobbing, but she took that wisdom to heart.

"Bend over," Jeff spoke up now, rolling his chair over closer to Drew and Nick so that he could get a better look."

"'Ankles,'" Kim corrected.

Thirteen spread her legs, and clutched her ankles. Her legs were spread, and the cheerleader's skirt was now nothing more than a belt around her midsection. Her pussy was fully exposed to the three men behind her. The camera phones continued to click, click, click, click.

"You know your positions," Jeff teased Kim. Even upside-down, Thirteen could see that he'd cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe there's a future in this for you."

"Har, har," Kim laughed back sarcastically. To hear Twenty-Two tell it, Kim Kinney was as good a mailgirl candidate as any, but simply made the Investment Banking division too much money for them to strip her and shackle her up on the 2nd Floor. "I'm not sure I can take it the way this little cunt can." With that, she smacked Thirteen's naked ass with her bare hand; Thirteen's skin, still sensitive from the paddling she'd only just received, was on fire.

"Stand up," Kim instructed her. "Turn around. Fix the bottom."

Thirteen did as she was told. "Yes, Ms. Kinney."

"Now here," she said, stepping closer to Thirteen, and hooking her thumb into the waistband of the skirt. She gave a tug, and pulled it down just so, so that Thirteen's pussy was still covered, but the black ink number thirteen was now fully exposed. "Hold it that way."

"Yes, Ms. Kinney."

Turning to her coworkers, Kim pointed at the number on Thirteen's hip. "That's the shot you want." She turned back to Thirteen, even as she continued to address the others. "I bet she's more embarrassed about that than she is about her pussy."

It was true. As embarrassing as any crotch shot or exposed nipple might be, the mailgirl number spoke volumes about Thirteen's life at USF. She didn't need to be bent at the midsection with her ass cheeks spread to be truly humiliated - the mailgirl phenomenon had now become common enough that the number alone represented a life choice that Thirteen had consciously made, one that undoubtedly meant public nudity, public masturbation, and an embracing of the life of a slut.

Thirteen bit her lip.

As another round of pictures were snapped, Kim eyed her up and down like a predator. "I bet you're wet," she whispered to Thirteen, just softly enough that she couldn't be heard over the sounds of the three men laughing amongst themselves. "I bet you're going to go back downstairs and get yourself off."

Thirteen said nothing.

Kim glanced down at her phone, and then back to Thirteen. She looked over the blonde girl's shoulder, and made sure that no one else was watching, that no one else was coming to interrupt. "I've got one more present for you, seeing that it's your last day." This, now, was spoken loud enough that it was clear it was intended more for the audience than for Thirteen. She bent down, and reached into her purse.

While still crouching, Kim used her other hand to lift the front of Thirteen's hemline. To Drew, she asked, "Are you sure you don't want a quick taste? Now's your last chance."

Thirteen's back stiffened.

Drew, however, was not going to rise to the challenge. Instead, he looked back at Kim defiantly and answered, "You first."

It was at that point that Kim produced a decent-sized round lollipop from her bag, and showed it off to the three men. "Are you sure?"

Jeff guffawed, and Nick laughed. Drew, however, glanced nervously down the corridor, and then back to Kim.

To Thirteen, Kim ordered, "Put this in your pussy."

There was no question that Thirteen was willing to do it - Thirteen knew that, and she knew that Kim Kinney knew that, as well. "I can't," Thirteen stammered, however. "I can't. I can't do that."

Kim stood, and reached for her phone. Thirteen gritted her teeth and closed her eyes as the smartphone on her arm vibrated with a new demerit.

"Take off your top," Kim now added. "And put this in your pussy."

Kim's thumb touched her phone again. Another vibration. Another touch. Another vibration. Another touch. Another vibration.

Thirteen peeled the tank from her body, over her head, and let her breasts pop free. She tossed it, carelessly, so that it hung over the side of Kim's cubicle. And, though she was now complying, she apparently wasn't complying fast enough - Kim charged her with another demerit.

Topless, but still clad in a tight-fitting white cheerleader's skirt, Thirteen grabbed the lollipop from her tormentor's grip, and tore off the wrapper. It was cherry red. But it wasn't for Thirteen to taste; even as another demerit registered against her arm, she plunged the candy inside of herself.

There was no resistance. Thirteen was every bit as wet as Kim had suspected, and her pussy was every bit as hungry for the lollipop as it might have been for Drew himself - or for Jeff, or Nick, or Mark Agnew.

"How much time?" Kim asked Jeff, and jutted her chin towards his cell phone.

Jeff shook his head. "She's got to go." When met with exasperation and accusing looks from his coworkers, he put it hands up, "Sorry, I don't rate more chits. If you guys had any of your own..."

There were moments throughout the day that Thirteen teetered on the edge of an orgasm, where just about anything might have set her off. This wasn't quite yet one of them, but she felt relief at Jeff's answer nonetheless; if she had to stay here as their plaything for a few more minutes, there was no telling what might happen. No, she told herself - she knew exactly what would happen.