Mailgirl and More Ch. 01

Author's Note: This is my try at a story about mailgirls - a daffy and delightful subgenre of exhibitionist stories that started a few years ago. Some of what I've done in this story is new, but some of the concepts have been borrowed and/or adapted from the mailgirl stories that have come before mine. So, I wanted to give thanks and credit to Literotica authors that have explored this subgenre before me (and to recommend that you read their stories, too): Seahawk76, Lizstanton8181, Periculafabula17, CorbinC, and Nynah, among others. Their stories have entertained and inspired me. I hope you enjoy my contribution to this theme.

*****

"You could be a mailgirl."

Shanaya's jaw dropped. She couldn't believe what her best friend, Kimmy, had just said to her.

"What do you mean, I could be a mailgirl? Are you crazy? I didn't graduate with an honors degree in accounting to be a mailgirl. Come on, Kimmy. I'm desperate, but I'm not that desperate."

Shanaya and Kimmy sat in front of Shanaya's computer in her apartment. They'd spent the last hour searching the Internet for jobs for Shanaya. The economy was bad and job prospects were bleak. Shanaya had been laid off six weeks earlier from the accounting firm she'd worked at for the last two years. She'd been looking frantically for a new job ever since, but with no luck.

"I can't believe you suggested that," said Shanaya. "You're not serious, right? I'm not the mailgirl type. Look at me. I'm sure they want buxom, blond bimbos for that job. That's not me."

"From what I hear," said Kimmy, "That's not true. They look for all types, and right now they're looking for women who don't fit the usual stereotypes. You definitely do not fit the bimbo stereotype."

That much was true. Shanaya was no blond bimbo. She was the daughter of a half-Indian father and an Irish-American mother. She got dusky skin and long, luxurious black hair from her father, and piercing sky-blue eyes from her mother. The combination was arresting. Shanaya didn't look like anyone else she'd ever met, and even though she usually dressed modestly she often got double-takes.

"Come on, Kimmy," Shanaya said. "Be serious. I need a job. I REALLY need a job. You know I've got tons of student loans and I'm way behind paying them off. I've gotten, like, three debt collection letters in the last two weeks."

Shanaya's debts were huge. During her freshman year of college her father, sued by an unscrupulous business partner, had lost everything. Shanaya had to scramble to get loans to pay for the rest of her education at a prestigious, private university. She worked several jobs, too, but it wasn't enough. The debt piled up, and by the time she graduated she was buried under financial obligations to several creditors, some of whom were now aggressively pursuing her to get paid.

"Shanaya, you're my best friend," Kimmy said. "You know I love you. You're one of the smartest people I know. But you know something else? I know you don't believe this, but you're also beautiful. You're hot. Guys stare at you. You might not know that. From what I hear, this company is looking for mailgirls who are beautiful in a different way. And that's you.

"I'm not saying it should be your career. But the economy is bad and there aren't a lot of jobs, and - who knows? - it might be a way to make some money while things are bad. To get you through the bad time. Until you can get a better job. I have a friend named Emily who has a friend who did it for a while, and according to Emily she made a lot of money. Like, a LOT of money. You'd be surprised."

"Yeah, I would be surprised," said Shanaya. She paused. "So what do you mean by a lot of money?"

Kimmy gave her a number.

Shanaya's eyes widened and her jaw dropped, again. The number Emily cited was comparable to what she'd been making as an associate with the prestigious accounting firm she'd worked at before. She wondered how that was possible.

Nothing made any sense. Shanaya had worked her butt off her whole life, always getting straight As. She'd wanted to make her parents proud, and, besides that, she always had high standards for herself. From an early age, she was a math whiz. Accounting was a natural choice for a career. She earned her way into one of the best universities in the country, aced its accounting program, and graduated with offers from some of the best firms in the country. Her family had beamed with pride when she accepted an offer with Morton Leeds, one of the world's biggest and most prestigious accounting firms. For two years, things had gone great.

And then the economy tanked. Accounting firms like hers had been hit hard. Business dried up. People were being laid off. Shanaya had been a good employee, always meeting her hours requirements and pleasing the clients, but it did no good. When the shit hit the fan, the youngest employees bore the brunt of the shit. And Shanaya was still young. One day, she got called into the office of a senior member to get the bad news. She couldn't believe it. All that education, and all that hard work, and she was being shown the door.

She cried that night, and for a few days afterward, but soon she collected herself and looked for other opportunities. The problem was, there were no opportunities. Accounting firms like her former employer were firing, not hiring. There were no jobs to be had.

She widened the scope of her job search, sending letters to second-tier and third-tier accounting firms. No responses. She sent emails and left voice mail messages for different kinds of businesses, hoping they might have a place for someone with her impressive background. Still no responses. In the meantime, she earned no money. But rent came due, and bills piled up. And the student debt holders began coming after her. Shanaya was in a tough spot, and it was getting more and more difficult to see a way out of it. Her family was no help. Dad was broke and being sued. Her friend Kimmy offered moral support, but she was an elementary school teaching assistant and had no money to give.

Kimmy tried to encourage Shanaya, telling her how talented she was and how she was sure to succeed but that she had to think outside the box to get through the hard times. In the back of her mind, though, Shanaya couldn't stop worrying about her dire predicament. If she couldn't earn some money and pay rent, she'd be evicted soon. She couldn't imagine that. Her only recourse would be to live with her parents. To a smart, ambitious young woman like Shanaya, that would be as good as admitting she'd been defeated in life. She couldn't bear the thought of that.

Shanaya's reverie was interrupted when she realized Kimmy was saying something.

"What?" Shanaya asked.

"I said, let's get some information," Kimmy said. Kimmy's fingers tapped at the computer keyboard. She went online and researched "mailgirls." Together, Shanaya and Kimmy gathered what information they could about the mailgirl program.

Shanaya discovered that the mailgirl program had started in Japan, the brainchild of an offbeat entrepreneur named Yakuso Wakisame, a self-proclaimed expert in the field of employee productivity. He was 40-something, an out-of-the-box thinker looking to strike it rich with the next big thing. He came up with the idea that corporate productivity could be enhanced by spicing up the work environment with erotic stimulation - specifically, with attractive, skimpily dressed women delivering the mail and performing other, assorted mundane office tasks that no one ever noticed before. He assembled a team of academics from elite universities across Japan. They conducted surveys and tests, and to everyone's surprise the tests proved Wakisame was right: the presence of skimpily dressed women carrying mail and performing similar tasks significantly raised office productivity. The mailgirl program caught on, and it was adopted by many companies in Japan. Wakisame became a rich man.

The program was still new in America, and the results of the program were still uncertain. In Shanaya's city, the program was dominated by Intex Corporation, a corporate personnel services firm with offices around the country. Intex hired mailgirls and contracted with companies throughout the city to have their mailgirls perform their tasks while dressed in outrageously skimpy outfits.

It seemed weird to Shanaya that the program was even legal, let alone tolerated. She couldn't understand how the mailgirl program could survive challenges from sexual harassment attorneys and feminist advocates. But, somehow, it had. So far, anyway. The bad economy had something to do with it, no doubt. With unemployment rising and jobs scarce and profits falling, both business and political leaders were willing to adjust their thinking to accommodate unusual programs to boost the economy in any way possible.

"Let's see if they have any job openings," said Kimmy.

"Kimmy, come on," Shanaya said. "There's no way they'd want me, and there's no way I'd do it even if they did. Which they don't. This is pointless."

"You don't know unless you search," Kimmy said.

Kimmy pulled up the intex.com web page. She clicked on the page for "employment opportunities." There it was: a subheading for "mailgirls."

They scanned the web page in front of them. Intex was hiring. They had a few slots open for new mailgirls. The hiring page promised "outstanding compensation", although it didn't say just how much that was. At the bottom of the page was a link to an online application form.

"Let's fill it out," said Kimmy. "Come on. You have nothing to lose."

Kimmy started filling out the form for Shanaya, inserting all the information about her friend she knew: name, address, birthday, etc. It asked for her body measurements, too, something she'd never been asked for before.

"Kimmy, this is such a waste of time," Shanaya said.

"Maybe, maybe not," Kimmy said. "You might as well try."

"If you like this idea so much, why don't you apply?" Shanaya asked her friend.

"Well, number one, I'm not as hot as you, and, number two, I'm a teaching assistant, trying to become a full-time teacher at a Catholic school. They're not going to hire a mailgirl."

That was a good point, Shanaya thought. But, for that matter, she worried that any future employer, including another accounting firm, might look askance at seeing "mailgirl" on her resume. What would it do to her career? Probably nothing good.

At the moment, however, Shanaya had no options.

Reluctantly, Shanaya worked with Kimmy to fill out the application form, inputting information about herself.

"It says we need to submit a photo of you," Kimmy said. "Do you have a sexy photo?"

"Sexy?" Shanaya asked. "What's sexy? I don't think so."

"Oh, come on," Kimmy said, trying to encourage her friend. "How about that photo of you at the Solstice party last summer? Where's that?"

Embarrassed, but feeling pressured by her friend, Shanaya opened a folder of photos from the previous summer. She clicked on the one she thought Kimmy was referring to - a photo of her in a short, form-fitting white dress, which showed a lot of leg.

"They'll like that!" Kimmy said. Kimmy uploaded the photo over Shanaya's weak protests.

They scrolled down to the bottom of the application form page. Kimmy's finger poised over the Enter button.

"Here goes," Kimmy said.

Shanaya almost called out to stop her, but she was too late. Kimmy's finger hit the keyboard button, and away the application went.

There was nothing more to do. Shanaya and Kimmy finished their glasses of wine and conversation, and then Kimmy left. It was late.

Shanaya stared at her computer screen.

"I can't believe I just did that," she said to herself. "They're going to laugh at me."

Shanaya shook her head.

"Me as a mailgirl," she said, out loud to the empty room. "What a crazy idea. I'm sure they'll think it's a crazy idea too. I probably won't hear from them."

She logged off her computer and headed to bed. She thought to herself that it would be fine with her - more comfortable, certainly - if Intext Corporation never responded to her online application. What a nutty idea. Kimmy was high if she thought Shanaya could do that, Shanaya thought. In another minute she was in bed, under the covers, and soon she fell asleep.

x x x x

It was 9:30 am the next day when a "ping" sounded from Shanaya's phone.

"Probably Kimmy," she thought.

But it wasn't Kimmy. The message was from an unknown number. It said: "Ms. Reddy. We received your application for the mailgirl program. If you are interested, please show up at 11 am at our offices tomorrow. Please send reply text to confirm. Send a resume. Sasha Bloomfield, Personnel Manager, Intex."

Shanaya stared at the text for a full minute without moving. She couldn't believe it. They were interested! She didn't know what to think about that. For six weeks no one had shown any interest in hiring her for her expertise in accounting. Now, in less than 24 hours, she'd gotten a response from a company that wanted to hire her for showing off her body.

Shanaya looked at her online calendar for the month. It was blank. No work. No appointments. No interviews. No nothing. She had nothing to lose. It was short notice, insisting that she show up the next day. But Shanaya had nothing else to do. What the hell. She texted back, replying and confirming that she would show up at the appointment at Intex's local office.

x x x x

At 11:00 a.m., the next day, Shanaya stepped out from the elevator on the 19th floor of a high-rise building downtown and into the large, immaculately designed foyer of the Intex headquarters. A perfectly coiffed receptionist sat behind an enormous desk.

Shanaya was nervous. She had no idea what to expect. She'd called Kimmy as soon as she'd accepted the interview offer to get her advice.

"That's so exciting!" Kimmy said on the phone. "I knew they'd say 'yes.' I think it was the picture. You look like a hottie in that picture."

"What do I do? What do I wear?"

"Just act natural. Be yourself. Wear something that makes you comfortable, but that's a little sexy. Wear your shortest work skirt. They'll want to see your legs."

Act natural. Shanaya had no idea how to do that, interviewing to be a mailgirl. She still couldn't believe she was here. She wouldn't have come without Kimmy's bubbly encouragement.

On Kimmy's advice, Shanaya had chosen a creamy, long-sleeved blouse and her shortest work skirt. It was a pencil-style skirt that hugged her figure and ended two inches above the knee. She teetered on three-inch heels, which were longer than she usually wore to the office.

Shanaya gave her name to the receptionist. Two minutes later a smart if severely dressed woman in gray walked forward and held her hand out.

"Ms. Reddy?" she asked. "Monica Stevenson. Please follow me."

Shanaya followed, timid and nervous. She still couldn't believe she was actually there, about to be interviewed for a job to be a mailgirl. She wondered what her parents would think. They'd be even more mortified than she was, she guessed. She tried to imagine explaining it to them. She couldn't.

Ms. Stevenson ushered Shanaya into a conference room. Two other people sat at a long table. All had black folders open in front of them, with papers inside - printouts of her resume, application form, and picture.

A video camera was perched on top of a tripod and pointed at her seat.

When she sat down, they got down to business.

One of the men, whose tag read "Bob," pushed a form across the table to Shanaya.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Confidentiality and permission form," he said. "You agree this interview is confidential. We agree to maintain the privacy and confidentiality of your answers as well, although we may use the interview and video for our own internal research and evaluation purposes."

She signed the form.

"So, Ms. Reddy, what makes you want to be a mailgirl?" Stevenson asked.

Shanaya shifted nervously in her chair. She hadn't prepared much for the interview - hadn't even known what to prepare for, since she knew so little about what they wanted.

Act natural, she told herself, repeating Kimmy's words. Be yourself.

"To be honest, Ms. Stevenson, I need the money," she said. She regretted saying it immediately. "Sorry!"

"Call me Monica," the woman replied, smiling. "Don't be sorry. I appreciate your honesty. Not many of our applicants aspire to become mailgirls. Some do, but usually they're not the kind of girls we're looking for. Do you know what this job entails?"

"Just a little. I looked at your website."

"Well, let me explain. First, understand that it's a serious job. We don't hire bimbos. Our job at Intex is to improve our clients' productivity. We work with Fortune 500 companies, large law firms, banks, brokerage firms, and accounting firms like the one you used to work for. The mailgirl program has been scientifically proven to raise company morale and to increase productivity. Our girls absolutely must be good at what they do. The job description may not sound like much, but it's important that our mailgirls must be efficient and professional."

"How does it work, exactly?" Shanaya's voice was hoarse. She had dry mouth from nervousness.

"Bob, could you get Shanaya some water?" Monica asked.

"Sure thing." He poured water from a pitcher on a counter to the side of the table and set it on a coaster in front of Shanaya.

"Thanks," said Shanaya, drinking nervously from the glass.

"It works like this," Monica said. "A mailgirl is given an assignment - usually one client or sometimes more than one. It's a little bit like Uber. You'll receive assignments on a company cell phone, which is strapped to your arm. You'll deliver mail, packages, and do other courier-related tasks. You may be given other, similar tasks, although the job does not require any secretarial skills.

"You will receive a regular salary, but most of your pay will be task-driven. You will be assigned an online Intex account that is hooked up to the client's account. When you complete a task, money transfers from the client account to the Intex account, and you get a percentage. A bonus payment may be made if you get the assignment done within certain parameters. If the client likes your performance, the client can pay a tip, which also gets divided between the Intex account and your account. The client is supposed to rate your performance as well, and you can receive an extra monthly bonus if you exceed certain rating standards. Understand?"

"I think so."

"Good. It says here on your resume that you were on the cross-country team in college."

"I was. I was third on the team at 1500 meters."

"That's good. You'll be on the move a lot, and speed and stamina may be important. Understand, you're not supposed to be running through the halls. You'll need to move with grace and efficiency. Personality counts, too. Mailgirls are supposed to lift the spirits of those around them. Working in an office can be a grind, as you know."

"I know," said Shanaya. Secretly, though, she missed working in an office. She was bored out of her mind sitting around her apartment.

"Can you tell me - "Shanaya began, but she knocked over her water glass in her nervousness and didn't finish her thought. "Oops! Sorry."

"It's OK, I'll get it," said the third interviewer, whose name tag said "Dave."

"Don't worry about it," said Monica, as Dave wiped up the spilled water with a paper towel. "Being nervous about this job is understandable. Now why don't you tell us some more about yourself."

They talked for half an hour, which to Shanaya seemed like a surprisingly long time to interview for a job with what seemed like such a thin job description. She tried to answer with as much verve and personality as she could, since she guessed that's what they were looking for, but it was difficult for her, an accountant by training, to keep up the act. "Bubbly" did not come naturally to her. They were friendly, but they asked pointed questions, too, about her interests, her work history, likes and dislikes. It wasn't an unpleasant experience, exactly, but it didn't ease her nervousness.