Mailgirl Number Thirteen: Day 01

It was a blessing that the tall German woman wasn't here. Thirteen could feel it in the mood of the locker room. There was likely still an audience on the far side of mirror glass, but there was no one in the locker room with them -- mailgirls only. Just in the way that Twelve and Seven laughed together. Just in the way that Two smiled at her as Two stepped into the shower. Maybe it was just that it was the end of the day, and that they were free. But Thirteen doubted any of them would be in such good moods if Mistress Zero was there, towering over them and intimidating them.

Thirteen certainly wasn't waiting around for her. Seven had picked up her twenty-fifth (and twenty-sixth, twenty-seventh, and so on) demerit that afternoon, and so there was a spanking due. Because they were synched, Thirteen would be spanked along with her, even though she'd had nothing to do with the twenty-one demerits Seven had earned before Thirteen was assigned to her. Okay, maybe that wasn't fair; Seven had picked up two while giving her a pep talk on the stairs that morning. Those two, and the ones they'd earned together, belonged as much to Thirteen as they did to Seven.

Would Mistress Zero spank them tomorrow? If she came down after Thirteen had left, would she spank Seven alone? And then Thirteen the following morning? Thirteen couldn't imagine a scenario where she'd skate free entirely, but she really didn't want to be sent back to the bench for a fourth time today.

She probably should have showered. She stunk. She stunk of body odor and pussy. She was covered from head-to-toe in a sheen of sweat. She desperately wanted to scrub the number "13" off her hip. And the soles of her feet were nearly tar-black, from being barefoot all day. But she could shower at home, in the privacy of her own apartment, without being gawked at. Without being forced to do so just inches from USF's other employees in the elevator lobby. Without having to do so in a line of other naked mailgirls.

It wasn't even just the spanking. Thirteen just wanted to get out of here. She wanted to put the entire day in the rearview mirror. Maybe it would have been better for her research to linger behind, to observe how the mailgirls interacted with one another. To get to know them. To get a better understanding of rhythms and personalities of the locker room. But there'd be time enough for that later.

She'd done the calculations. Five days a week for thirteen weeks, for a total of sixty-five days. Half the Saturdays between now and the end of her contract, to be assigned randomly and arbitrarily, for an additional six days. Seventy-one, in total.

One day down. Seventy to go.

Thirteen slid her smartphone from its pouch on her arm, and then removed the armband, as well. The band was wet with sweat, and she wondered how often they were washed. The phone went into the charger on the locker's top shelf, and the band was hung -- in the hopes of drying it out -- on one of the empty hooks towards the back.

Her bra was waiting for her on the locker's lower shelf, just where Eighteen and Eleven had left it earlier that afternoon. She'd had no stockings, no socks, no pants -- everything else she'd worn to the Plaza today was either hanging up here or on its way to being hung up as a trophy on the 18th Floor. And so the bra -- white lace, full-cup, and underwire -- was folded neatly, cup within cup, alone. She slipped it on, and after fastening it in the back, was immediately thankful for the support. To say nothing over the coverage. The lace material kept her nipples from poking through.

Next was her tank top. Then, her skirt. It felt odd be going commando, but Thirteen had to laugh at herself over the absurdity of that particular thought. She didn't bother tucking in her tank, instead just pulling Audrey's blazer on over it. She looked sloppy. She didn't care.

Girls continued to trickle in. Mailgirl Number Two, still under the shower, turned and greeted Mailgirl Number Three with a big, wide smile and a simple, "Hi." Mailgirl Number Eighteen returned with Mailgirl Number Seven. Mailgirl Sixteen, with Five. Mailgirl Ten. Mailgirl Four.

Then, though, just after Thirteen had leaned over and put on her sandals, a hush fell over the locker room. Thirteen didn't have to see her to know that Mistress Zero had arrived.

What was she to do? She didn't want it to look like she was b-lining for door, even if that's exactly what she was doing. She didn't want Mistress Zero to think she was hiding from her, in an attempt to avoid the punishment coming to her and to Seven. Again, even if that was exactly what Thirteen was doing.

Act casual, Thirteen told herself. Don't rush. Take your time in putting on your jewelry. Wait a beat or two before retrieving your purse. One. Two. Three...

"Good afternoon, Mistress," Thirteen greeted her supervisor, as Mistress Zero emerged from the hall. She had managed to get one of her earrings back in, but not the other.

Mistress Zero looked at her, smiled wickedly, and ordered, "Bench!"

Thirteen wasn't going to be able to put this off until tomorrow, after all.

"Seven, you too!" Mistress Zero barked. She glanced down at the tablet she was carrying, and went on. "Four! Twelve! You are next! And I want Six and Seventeen when they are back."

Thirteen hesitated. "Do I...Mistress, do you want me to...to undress?"

The German woman looked at her like she was stupid. "No need," she sneered. "Hike up your skirt."

Mistress Zero called back across the locker room. "Seven! You know the drill. Show your little friend how it is done!"

Seven, too, had apparently opted to forego an end-of-day shower. Whether she'd hoped to kick this punishment to tomorrow morning, too, or whether she'd just wanted to get away from the Plaza, or whether she'd thought she might be able to walk out with Thirteen -- Thirteen couldn't be sure. But Seven hadn't gotten as far as Thirteen had, and rounded Mistress Zero's desk wearing a matching bra and panty set. Mineral red bra, adorned with eyelet lace, with a clasp in the front, and a low-rise bikini sporting a tiny-but-eye-catching little bow at the waist.

Again, Thirteen felt self-conscious that she had nothing like this in her wardrobe at home. Sweet-but-sexy. Alluring. Adult. Was she going to have to invest in underwear that summer? It seemed absurd, given how little she'd be wearing it.

Seven made eye contact her, signaling that Thirteen wasn't to ask any more questions. Follow my lead, she seemed to be saying. Take it. Take it and go home.

The pair walked to the bench together.

Again, Thirteen was reminded of a pommel horse as she approached the black leather bench. She'd spent an embarrassing amount of time in the last weeks looking up spanking videos on the Internet. For research purposes, of course. To know what to expect. Mostly, girls were taken over someone's knee, or were bent over a desk, or a table, or a bed. In those cases where there was something more specific - "sex furniture," as it were -- the most common looked vaguely like weight-lifting benches, with a raised waist-bar in the middle. A handful were more like saw-horses, where the subject was expected to straddle the bench in the middle and lie down, prostrate. Inevitably, there were various other accouterments brought into play: handcuffs and ropes and other bindings, gags and blindfolds and nipple-clamps. To say nothing of the whips and paddles and floggers used in striking the girls in question. In one - one that Thirteen found herself transfixed by in particular and kept coming back to - a blindfolded girl dutifully counted out the number of times she was struck, all while moaning, rubbing her pussy with one free hand, and cumming loudly just after reaching thirteen. Thirteen had never seen anything like it before, and it was a video she returned to again and again whenever she went spelunking down into this deep, dark corner of the fetish world.

She'd never seen anything like USF's bench, either, in her time online. It was wide -- wide enough to accommodate two girls, side-by-side -- and just ever-so-slightly taller than waist height. It was cushioned; Thirteen had experienced that already, first-hand, three times earlier today. The leather itself was warm, and when she'd been naked before, it had felt sticky against her skin, her own perspiration forcing her to "peel" herself off of it at the end. This time, however, she was fully clothed -- wearing shoes, even -- and she'd have a layer of material between her and the leather.

Seven, going first, slipped her thumbs into the elastic waistband of red panties, and slid the back down under her buttocks, exposing the entirety of her backside. Thirteen, meanwhile, gathered the hem of her navy blue polka-dotted skirt and hiked it all the way up her thighs, until it was nothing more than belt around her midsection. She flashed her pussy in the direction of the mirror glass, and her bare behind at the line of lockers on the far wall. Both girls bent over the bench, Seven on the left and Thirteen on the right, and leaned forward. They dangled over the far side, and Thirteen averted her eyes from the reflection looking back at her.

Somehow, this was more humiliating than the first three times. She was wearing a top. She was wearing a bra. Her tits would surely bounce back and forth with each blow, just as they had in prior trips over here, but now they'd be covered and contained. She'd been half out the door, though, and almost completely dressed, back on her way to being Sarah Scott. This had been easier to accept when she was just another mailgirl, naked from head to toe.

Thirteen had been spanked with the riding crop those first two times, to say nothing of the one-off kisses she'd been treated to as Mistress Zero had run the new recruits through their positions. Her mistress had used her hand the last time, and it had been confusing, intimate, and "icky" (to use Seven's word). For this go-around, though, Mistress Zero connected with Thirteen's posterior using the paddle, the force of it causing Thirteen's whole body to lurch forward against the bench.

The sound of it -- the "thwack!" as it landed -- echoed through the locker room and reverberated in Thirteen's ear drums. Maybe she shouldn't be so eager to shed those last few pounds from her rump, after all. A little extra cushioning would come in handy if this were become a part of Thirteen's daily routine.

"Count!" Mistress Zero snarled. "Thank me."

"One!" Thirteen yelped. She hadn't made her do this before. "Thank you, mistress."

She'd seen Animal House. Was she supposed to ask for another?

Mistress Zero went to Seven next, and Thirteen felt the girl's weight surge forward beside her.

"One!" Seven called out. "Thank you, mistress."

"Two!" Thirteen yipped when she was struck again. "Thank you, mistress!"

"Two!" Seven repeated. "Thank you, mistress!"

"Slow!" Mistress Zero snapped, and paddled Thirteen again.

"Three! Thank you, mistress!"

"Lazy!" the woman barked, and took her turn with Seven.

"Three! Thank you, mistress!"

"Too stupid to follow simple instructions!"

"Four!" Thirteen whined. She wanted to cry. "Thank you, mistress!"

"Too stupid to read a clock!"

"Four!" Seven echoed. "Thank you, mistress!"

"Too stupid to do as you are told!"

"Five! Thank you mistress!"

"Too stupid, even for a mailgirl!"

"Five! Thank you mistress!"

The paddle stung, of course. Thirteen's buttocks, already criss-crossed with welts from Mistress Zero's riding crop, were tender and sore. The paddle wasn't helping. Each time the woman connected, fire shot through Thirteen's backside. But the pain wasn't as sharp as it had been with the crop, and it was distributed. Given the choice, Thirteen could understand why Seven preferred the paddle.

"Bad girl!" Mistress Zero growled, using the very language Thirteen had heard in half a dozen videos.

"Six! Thank you, mistress!"

"Bad girl!" she repeated.

"Six!" Seven yelped. "Thank you, mistress!"

"Out of shape!"

"Seven! Thank you, mistress!"

"Out of shape!"

"Seven! Thank you, mistress!"

Despite herself, Thirteen could feel a tingling between her legs, a tingling entirely different from the one she was feeling in her backside. It was a tingling that had persisted throughout the day, a heady mixture of shame and embarrassment on the one hand with arousal and excitement on the other. How could this be turning her on?

"Maybe it's your thing..." Seven had suggested that morning, in the stairwell. "There's a reason it's a thing in the first place."

It wasn't the spanking, exactly, that was getting to her. It certainly wasn't the humiliation -- that was a kink Thirteen simply couldn't wrap her head around. No, this was about power, the power that Mistress Zero had over her. Domination and submission. Role play. Thirteen was the meek little mailgirl, letting her mistress do to her and do with her whatever she pleased. She was the pathetic creature bowing her head and averting eye contact with her betters all afternoon. She was a thing, an object, a piece of property. Tits and ass and little more. To be stared at. To be gawked at. To be sexualized and objectified. To be fantasized over. To be fucked with. To be insulted, degraded, put in her place. Mistress Zero could do with her as she pleased, and she'd accept it willingly.

That. It was that that was turning her on. It was that that had her nipples hard all day. It was that that had been stirring in her loins since before she'd taken off her clothes in Barrow's office.

"Eight!" she wailed. "Thank you, mistress!"

"Eight!" Seven repeated. "Thank you, mistress!"

Mailgirls talked of self-discovery. They spoke of the nakedness of it all, even beyond just the nudity itself. These weren't the sorts of things Thirteen had known about herself before today. If she'd ever felt this way before, it hadn't been something she'd given much thought. She wasn't sure she liked what she was learning.

She'd be forgiven if she touched herself right then and there. Four. Twelve. Seventeen and Six. They could wait their turn. They'd understand. All of them, with the exception of Seventeen, had likely given in to their baser urges at some point. And, hell, it had been a few hours since Thirteen had last seen Seventeen; maybe the redhead had already succumbed, herself.

"Nine! Thank you mistress!"

"Nine! Thank you mistress!"

Her mind went right back to video she'd watched she'd watched so many times in New Haven, the one in which the girl got herself off while her partner spanked her. She'd assumed that there was some stagecraft there. Porn stars were paid to perform, after all. They were actors, and the high-pitched squeals and the over-the-top histrionics were all an act. But...and Thirteen might have been deluding herself here...but they had to get something out it, didn't they? Some of it had to be real. Was it so far-fetched that that girl, the one in the video, might actually be getting off on being spanked?

"Ten!" Thirteen counted. "Thank you, mistress!"

Beside her, Seven called out the same.

Mistress Zero was through with them. For now. Thirteen stood, turned around, and guiltily locked eyes with the German.

Behind her, Mailgirls Four and Twelve were waiting their turn. Both girls were still stark naked. Four, apparently, had been called out from under the shower, and was dripping wet. She had done her best to dry off using the scratchy white hand towels kept in the locker room. But she also left behind a set of wet footprints as she padded over to take Thirteen's place at the spanking bench.

Thirteen started to tug her skirt back into place, only to have Mistress Zero stop her. Clutching the material in her fist, Thirteen's mistress pulled it, roughly, back northwards to examine her handiwork. She cocked her head sideways, and then -- using her free hand -- gave Thirteen one more slap, this one gentle and teasing.

"Do not make this a routine," Mistress Zero chided her. "You will get a reputation."

Thirteen blushed. "Yes, mistress."

She wasn't done with Thirteen yet, however. She made a show of sniffing the air, and then scrunched up her nose. "Changed my mind. Take your clothes off. Shower before you leave. You smell."

Thirteen was mortified. A normal reaction might have been to get annoyed. She was, skirt about the midsection notwithstanding, fully dressed, and nearly out the door. It was after seven o'clock. Could Mistress Zero even issue her any orders at this point? Would she have been within her rights to refuse them? To get angry? She didn't want to get undressed. She didn't want to shower here in the locker room, knowing that any number of people could be out in the elevator lobby, watching.

Instead, she felt shame. She'd disappointed her mistress. She'd let her down. She wanted to please her. She wanted to be a "good girl."

"Yes, mistress," Thirteen mewed.

"Seven? You, too."

"Yes, mistress."

And so Thirteen returned to her locker. She stepped out of her sandals. She slipped out of her skirt. She pulled her tank up over her head, and unfastened her bra. Maybe this was going to get easier, after all. She hardly hesitated in undressing this time around.

It helped that Thirteen was surrounded on all sides by naked flesh. Thirteen, prior to being sent to the spanking bench, had managed to get dressed quicker than anyone. She'd been among the first few girls back, and she'd been motivated. In the time since, only Five had managed to fully dress, wearing a pair of black mélange jogging pants and a loose-fitting tee, and was hurrying to the exit. Sixteen wasn't far behind; the African-American girl was in the last stages of pulling on a plum-striped, mid-length wrap dress that tied at the waist. The majority of the other girls were still completely naked, or wearing nothing more than a pair of panties, a bra, or both. A few -- like Fourteen and Fifteen, among others -- were even still in their collars; both Twelve and Mistress Zero were now otherwise occupied.

There were four showers on one end of the locker room, and four on the other. There were no curtains, of course. No partitions between them. Just four showerheads, spaced a few feet apart, with exposed pipes running up the wall and into the ceiling. There was a small lip that kept water from escaping out into the rest of the room, and four drains planted into the tiled floor. There was no hot water, only cold, and Thirteen shivered as it hit her skin. She'd managed to suffer through the frigid water temperature earlier today, and would do so again now, but this was going to be an adjustment. She wondered if the decision to deny them a warm shower was based on anything specifically -- like, to keep them from lingering there and getting themselves off -- or if just petty cruelty in a long list of petty cruelties. Or, perhaps it was just to keep the mirror glass from fogging up and denying those in the elevator lobby their view?

In the shower block on Thirteen's end of the locker room, Fourteen was under the far showerhead, closest to the wall. Nine was at the other end. Wary of Nine launching into a repeat performance of what Thirteen had witnessed that afternoon, during breaks, Thirteen chose the shower next to her fellow new recruit.

"Hey," Fourteen offered, by way of greeting.

"Hey," Thirteen said back.

Thirteen briefly flirted with the idea that she'd just wash her body, and do her best to keep her hair dry. But, in for a penny... She ducked her head under the stream, and began to rinse her hair.

As she did so, the shower to her right came on. Seven had joined her. She'd stripped back out of her underthings, and was again as naked as the rest of them.