Life Among the Mailgirls Ch. 04

No introductions were made. A mailgirl like Thirteen didn't merit introductions.

But Thirteen's attention was pulled from the mystery woman back to Barrow, as he spoke into the speaker phone on his desk. "Your thoughts, Doctor Schang?"

Thirteen was now even more confused. What was Gillian doing on the other end of the phone?

And, if Thirteen had expected her advisor to come to her rescue now, she was immediately disappointed. From the phone: "She's still yours."

Still his, Thirteen reacted bitterly. At least until seven.

Barrow met Mistress Zero's eyes, moved on to the Japanese woman, and then on to Thirteen herself. "A demerit is a demerit," he repeated, shrugging as if he had no control over the matter.

Thirteen swallowed hard. She'd hoped that the session over lunch had been her last. She wasn't, as it turned out, going to be able to escape so cleanly.

It was Mistress Zero who'd been tasked with the more routine oversight of USF's mailgirls - she was the disciplinarian, the enforcer, the tormentor. But it was Barrow to whom she reported, and Barrow who pulled her strings. Thirteen's mistress was every bit a part of the "mailgirl show" here at the Plaza as the mailgirls themselves. And it wouldn't have surprised Thirteen that, behind closed doors, Barrow owned Mistress Zero every bit as much as Mistress Zero owned Thirteen. But the cruel architect behind USF's mailgirl program gave none of that power or perversion away - he came across as kind, friendly, and easy-going. He was attractive - tall, dark hair, well-built - and still quite young, maybe mid-to-late thirties. He was intelligent, too; a Yale undergraduate and a Yale MBA, he always managed to come off as the smartest person in the room, but without rubbing anyone's nose in it. He'd apparently found his way into HR via a circuitous route through operations and logistics, which had somehow led to talent management and employee engagement. It had been a member of USF's senior management team who'd first proposed the idea of looking into mailgirls here at the Plaza, but it had been Barrow who'd been tapped to run with it.

Thirteen was attracted to him, despite herself. Even leaving his looks out of the equation, it was the power and confidence she was drawn to.

"Up against the desk," Mistress Zero instructed. "Turn around. Palms down."

It caught Thirteen off guard, but she complied. It wasn't the first time she'd received punishment outside of the locker room; that honor belonged to a session with Mistress Zero's riding crop in the office of one of the EVP's up on the 47th Floor. But it was still rare, and Thirteen found herself humiliated all over again at the idea that Gillian would hear the entire thing transpire from the other end of phone line.

"She's still yours," Gillian had offered in Thirteen's defense. Thirteen couldn't help but feel angry at and betrayed by the older woman. It was because of Gillian that Thirteen was a mailgirl in the first place. She'd done her best to beg out of it, to convince her advisor that she was capable of doing the research into the lives of mailgirls without actually having to be a mailgirl herself, to keep from suffering the embarrassment and debasement she'd been subjected to that summer. But Gillian had insisted that in order to understand what it meant to be a mailgirl, in order to make a name for herself in this particular field of research, Thirteen had to live among the mailgirls as a mailgirl. She'd gone so far as to threaten Thirteen with the idea of finishing her studies under Guy Dubuc, instead, and had begun fishing around among first- and second-year female grad students for other potential candidates. But Thirteen had caved, as she'd come to New Haven to study with Gillian, and she recognized that the research she was doing had the potential to catapult her into a faculty position at a top tier national university. And, with her summer of humiliations nearly over, Thirteen was willing to concede Gillian's point; she never would have truly comprehended the life of a mailgirl through interviews and observations alone. Even now, and even after everything she'd been through, she wasn't entirely sure that the short-term nature of her own contract put her in the same mindset of girls like Seven, or Fourteen, or Ten - girls who wouldn't be free for their own contracts until another full year after Thirteen had been award her PhD the following spring.

"She's still yours," Gillian had offered. And Thirteen was still his, at least for a little while longer.

It was a point that Mistress Zero recognized. "Would you like to do the honors?" The question was directed at Barrow.

The man seemed to contemplate the offer for a moment, and Thirteen found herself hoping he might accept. She couldn't help it. The thought of Barrow spanking her turned her on.

But, he declined politely, and instead ceded the opportunity to the stranger in their midst. "I think we should let our new mistress handle this," he answered. "Mistress Rei?"

"Our new mistress," Barrow had called her. Thirteen wondered if the situation with Twenty-One a few weeks earlier had necessitated another set of eyes, another overseer, another mistress. Thirteen didn't envy the girls remaining behind at the Plaza.

Given the situation she now found herself in, as Mistress Rei rained down the first of a series of open-handed spanks, Thirteen wondered who should be sympathizing with whom. The Japanese woman was behind her, slightly to her left, and delivering the punishment with a strength and ferocity that belied her small size. It didn't sting quite so much as the paddle had earlier that afternoon, or as the riding crop had a tendency to. But Mistress Rei's palm stung all the same, and it felt more painful than anything Thirteen had experienced from Mistress Zero's bare hand. And it didn't help that being punished by someone new felt like an entirely new humiliation.

Thirteen had only just experienced one of the best orgasms she'd had all summer, courtesy of Seven's tongue on the 13th Floor. And yet she was already wet again, and could feel her arousal return with each spank she received from Mistress Rei. She felt broken, and damaged, that this was turning her on. And that Barrow's presence just a few feet away, on the far side of the desk, only heightened that arousal. They'd done this to her. He'd done this to her. She was a whore. She was a slut. She was some sort of twisted nymphomaniac. The nudity, the abuse, and the company's "allowance" of masturbation in the locker room (not to mention the acceptance and encouragement of the other girls) had transformed her, and turned her into some sort of depraved and corrupted deviant.

Or maybe this was who she'd been all along, and it had taken the day-to-day life as a mailgirl to let it loose?

Thirteen had long suspected it was more the latter, and she couldn't blame Barrow and USF for how she and the other girls had reacted when placed in their current roles. But the whimper and inadvertent whine from one of the girls by the window demonstrated that these two had yet to make that self-realization, and that at least one of them was suffering Thirteen's punishment perhaps more than Thirteen was.

She winced as Mistress Rei landed another smack, and the sound of bare skin against bare skin echoed off the drywall.

Her eyes were cast down upon the desk, but she could feel Barrow's close proximity nonetheless. She could hear the excitement in his breathing, the way he seemed to hold his breath just before Mistress Rei spanked her again. She had hoped it might have been him delivering this final punishment, but his presence was still very much felt, regardless. They were all a part of this ritual - Barrow, Mistress Zero, the two naked and hooded girls on their knees; it wasn't just Mistress Rei who had Thirteen excited in a complicated mish-mash of pleasure and pain. She was a naked mailgirl, whose purpose was to titillate and arouse, to inspire feelings of superiority and dominance. And the very fact that this was apparently affecting Barrow served as a feedback loop to Thirteen's own lust.

By the time the Japanese woman finished, Thirteen's whole body was abuzz and alive. She had longed for more time with Seven, to pursue a second (third? fourth? fifth?) climax. And, perhaps if she'd had that time and hit that climax, she might not have felt the carnal need she felt at that moment. Or, maybe it was the other way around? Maybe it was her session with Seven, and the fact that she'd been called into Barrow's office still in the afterglow of that intense and enormous orgasm, that had made this arousal now inevitable?

Mistress Rei had taken a step back, but Thirteen was still propped up against Barrow's desk, recovering. Barrow, for his part, seemed to be able to read her mind. "Do you want a moment or two? To..." He trailed off again, and Thirteen fought off the annoyance that he couldn't come right out and say it.

"No," she exhaled. Correcting herself, she said, "No, sir."

"Are you sure?"

He was Lucifer, handing her an apple. Of course she wanted to touch herself. Of course she now wanted to get off once again. But despite evidence to the contrary, she wasn't an animal with no self control - she could make it to the end of her shift.

Unless this wasn't an offer? Unless this was an instruction?

Barrow leaned closer to his phone, and seemed to underline that this wasn't entirely Thirteen's choice. To Gillian, he asked, "You have a few moments to wait, don't you, Dr. Schang? For our girl here to find some release and compose herself?"

"Of course," Gillian's voice rose into the room. "I think it'll help clear her head."

Traitor, Thirteen seethed. She didn't need, need to touch herself now, but she could admit that she wanted to. And her tenuous grasp on composure and self-control didn't need to be tempted and teased like this. But she chose to accept Barrow's offer for what it was, as an order. But, as an order that a good part of her was thankful for.

"Okay," she sighed. "Yes, please. Yes, please, sir."

"Good," Barrow clapped. Gesturing to the center of the room, he added, "Just not on my desk."

Thirteen turned, and caught eye contract from Mistress Zero. The dark-haired woman jutted her chin towards the carpet, and said simply, "The floor." There was no judgment in her voice. For once, maybe Mistress Zero was letting her own past bleed through - maybe Thirteen didn't need this, but there was little doubt she'd get off on it nonetheless.

Just get through this, Thirteen told herself. Get there. Get off. Get on the other side of this. No need to linger, no need to hesitate. It wouldn't take long.

She got onto all fours, and then dropped her forehead to the rug. She propped herself up with her left arm, her entire forearm resting on the floor beneath her, and reached between her legs with her right.

She heard a single sob from one of the two girls by the window, and it struck Thirteen once more how familiar she seemed. Mailgirls didn't cry - Seven had taught her that - and as much as this new girl now tried to control it, it was a lesson she'd need to learn better.

Her buttocks still stung from the abuse Mistress Rei had bequeathed upon them, and she wondered how many little red handprints now speckled her ass. As with the spanking, Mistress Rei, Mistress Zero, Barrow, Gillian, and the two naked girls were all just as much a part of this now as Thirteen was. She was touching herself, she was fingering herself, she was rubbing herself. But it was their presence and passive participation that made this much more than Thirteen masturbating alone.

She was out-of-breath, and she gasped for air. She was working furiously, violently, upon herself. Her middle and ring fingers were buried inside of her, and she used the butt of her palm to grind against her clit. The quick rinse she'd given herself by the elevators was now all for naught - she was wet and warm from the inside out, and sweating once more. As her head bounced back and forth along the carpet, one of her pigtails finally gave up the good fight, and fell loose. And, entirely out of control, she let forth a low, bleating moan that carried all the way to Gillian's office in New Haven.

Behind the desk, Barrow now stood, and joined the rest of Thirteen's audience for a better vantage point. He'd undoubtedly seen her do this before, but from a distance - through the mirror glass on the 2nd Floor, or over one of the closed circuit cameras that were constantly spying upon the girls. He stood above and beside her, leaning back against his desk, and watching the show from only a foot or two removed. Thirteen half-wondered if he could feel the heat from her pussy at that proximity.

This couldn't have been much of a show - more an act of lewdness and desperation on the part of a frantic and frenzied beast. Mailgirls One and Fourteen, more than any of the other girls, had accepted their fate and turned their daily routines into stagecraft; they were actresses in performance piece, celebrities and stars in their own minds. Thirteen had watched, and heard, Fourteen get off on any number of occasions, and she'd often wondered how much of high-pitched whining and whimpering was for her own benefit, and how much was for her audience.

Thirteen had become, through her presence in the locker room, somewhat of an expert in the sounds of the female orgasm. The shrieking and screaming she saw in pornography (and, yes, she'd picked up a mild porn addiction over the course of the summer) was entirely fake, but she'd heard some of the girls play it up anyways. Nineteen, for her part, swore like an angry sailor, and it was a habit that Seven had apparently picked up from her; the "fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..." coming out of Seven's mouth, from elsewhere in the locker room, had irked Thirteen in recent weeks. There were "oohs" and "ahs" and "ohs," that ranged in octave from Thirteen's own deep, guttural exhalations to the near ultrasonic pitch of Twelve's squeaks. And a couple of the girls - Two and Three, for example, but also Fifteen - had the habit of sharing the fact they were cumming to anyone and everyone in earshot; "I'm cumming, I'm cumming," Fifteen would often declare as softly as she could, to no one in particular, an announcement she'd confessed she hadn't even known she was making at the time.

There was no need for Thirteen to hold back now, though. She wasn't going to play up her climax like Fourteen or One might have, but she wasn't going to try to stay quiet. She had no shame anymore. This was for her benefit, not for theirs, and so she might as well enjoy it to the full extent she was allowed. An "oh..." escaped from between her lips, and was soon followed by a series of "ohs" thereafter. Within a minute or two she'd already begun to crest.

"Fuck," she cursed, inadvertently at first. She hardly ever swore, and had never done so during sex. But she had been thinking about Seven, and so was channeling her now. She had blurted it out without thinking about it, without reflecting upon it, but now couldn't deny the power the utterance had. It was the perfect, dirty declaration of what was happening to her, and so she committed. "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

She felt her body tighten, her toes curl, and her jaw drop open. With one final, deep, "Ohhhh...," she hit her climax, and did everything in her power to keep from collapsing into a puddle on the floor.

But she wasn't through. Not yet. Her right hand slowed to a more deliberate and less frantic pace, but it didn't stop. And what she lost in speed she made up for with power. She called out, to anyone who would answer - be it Barrow, Mistress Zero, Mistress Rei, or even Gillian - a pleading, "Please, please, one more. Please, one more."

There seemed to be a brief, unspoken discussion between Barrow and Mistress Zero, during which time Thirteen didn't wait for permission to be given. Until finally Mistress Zero spoke up, in an understanding but condescending tone, and answered, "Two minutes."

It would be more than enough. Thirteen had never had to beg for sex before, never had to plead for the opportunity to keep touching herself. But that one last act of submission and surrender was undeniably and inescapably hot, and Thirteen began to cum almost immediately. The coming and going of her first and second orgasms bled together, and now she truly couldn't help herself; "FUUUCK!!" she barked, loud enough that any of the analysts still in their offices down the hall would have no questions about what she was doing, what she'd just achieved.

In the aftermath of the orgasm, Thirteen grabbed her right nipple between the index and ring fingers of her left hand, and pressed her entire face into Barrow's rug. She pulled her right from her pussy, and now wet and sticky, she pressed it, too, against the floor. She worked to catch her breath, and each exhalation came out with a satisfied mew she didn't attempt to control.

The satisfaction was momentary, however, and the shame washed over her soon thereafter. She'd just fucked herself, in Barrow's office, while Barrow watched from above. She'd given in, and then even begged for more, while Gillian had listened. And, as many times as she'd gotten herself off in front of Mistress Zero in the locker room, she didn't know Mistress Rei, and didn't know these two naked girls.

Thirteen looked up at the two girls now. The one on the left was shaking visibly, if ever so slightly. The one of the right had straightened up, at attention, considerably, and Thirteen could see the stiffness in her body in the way her bare backside had tightened. Like Gillian, they hadn't exactly seen Thirteen's little show, but they'd witnessed her cumming - twice! - all the same.

"Knees," Mistress Zero demanded, and she complied. Thirteen would have to continue to recover in that position; after she'd placed her hands behind her back, she was acutely aware of how her chest continued to heave, how her breasts continued to rise and fall with each labored breath.

Barrow remained cool, calm, and collected. Without missing a beat, without giving away any arousal he himself might have been feeling, he reached behind him and produced a piece of candy. And not just any candy. "Lollipop?" he asked, and offered Thirteen a big, cherry red sucker, the exact brand that Kim Kinney had forced her to insert into herself earlier that day.

Thirteen blanched. What did he know?

"For your mouth, this time," he continued on. Everything, apparently.

Barrow didn't wait for Thirteen to respond, to grant permission. Instead, he just pressed the unwrapped lollipop directly into Thirteen's mouth, and she was forced to accept it. She would have been a sight to behold - one pigtail still in and the other out, panting to catch her breath, covered in a light sheen of sweat, and sucking childishly on a big, bright red lollipop. It was too bad Gillian wasn't here to see her now.

Gillian had been with her on Thirteen's first day, when Thirteen had first stripped naked in this very office. She'd accompanied her down to USF, to get her "settled," and to visit with Barrow at the start of this little experiment. Thirteen's clothes had been stacked in a neat little pile on Barrow's desk before the clock had even struck nine, and the next time she saw that white lace thong it was hanging in the hallway.

But that morning hadn't even been the first time Gillian had seen her naked. Gillian been copied on the naked selfies that USF had required Thirteen to submit as part of her "application" to join the program. She'd also asked Thirteen to strip during office hours a few weeks earlier. Once Thirteen had submitted to Gillian's will, and had agreed to become a naked mailgirl in New York, Gillian had felt it important that Thirteen "accustom" herself to the exhibition that'd be expected of her at the Plaza. That first afternoon, Gillian had even undressed with her, and Thirteen could only hope she looked that good when she was in her fifties. But, in the following weeks, it was Thirteen alone in the nude, seated across from her advisor, atop a towel draped over one of Gillian's office chairs.