Im Dating Our Mailgirl Ch 13

This story is a continuation of I'm Dating Our Mailgirl. The 1st 12 chapters of that story should be read first for context. All characters are 18 or older and are completely fictitious as is Seahawk Industries. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional.

SHOWTIME

Nine and I walked into the shower area hand-in-hand. Even though I had witnessed the procedure several times, I still was not used to the routine. I was operating out of instinct. I led her by the hand over to the mirrored wall. I could see nothing but my own reflection, but I tried to imagine at least the audience of three appreciative co-workers beyond the mirror. I smiled. I cupped my breasts and then cupped 9's. Like a speechless mime, I tried to display my sexuality for my audience. I hate to admit it, but I'm still bothered by the fact my tits are not as large as 9's, or even most other women my age. In part out of admiration, in part out of sexual arousal, in part because I have such affection for 9, I sucked at her breasts.

She led me by the hand back to the shower she picked out for us. We each moved in and out of the shower stream to wet our bodies alternately. I wet my hair, drenched it, actually, and 9 followed suit. I picked up the bottle of body wash and soaped her down, using my hands rather than a sponge or a squishy or cloth. I ran my soapy hand into her ass crack. I paused while I inserted a finger. I ran it around making sure it was fastidiously clean in case I would be inserting my tongue there later. . . five minutes later or five hours later. Similarly, I made sure her pussy was clean.

She then returned the favor with me. She followed the same order I had. I took pride in realizing instinctively that I had established the right order of cleanliness. She did insert her finger into my asshole, but I was somewhat disappointed that she didn't spend as much time as I had in assuring its cleanliness. Did that possible mean that it was just clean enough, but she didn't have to insure that it was clean enough for her tongue to be inserted?

We each tended to each other's arms, legs, hands and fingers and toes. Her feet were filthy from running around bare-footed even for an abbreviated day and I thoroughly enjoyed washing them clean despite their rough calloused appearance. As much as I was enjoying this, for a fleeting moment my mind wandered to Joyce and how dainty Joyce's feet were. I wondered if that would change now that apparently she would be constantly barefoot in my presence.

Next, I shaved her underarms and then down to her legs. Then, finally, I proceeded to her cunt. As I write this, I'm somewhat ashamed of myself for referring to such a lovely organ by such a crude term instead of the more dainty pussy or sex organ or even flower. But I was getting so aroused, it would have been hypocritical to refer to it as anything but the cunt that it is. I didn't eat out her cunt - or even her asshole - as I was choreographing in my mind a grand finale that would involve those actions later.

She followed the same order on my body. When she got to my cunt, as she applied the shaving cream she giggled. "I'm not use to trimming such lovely pussy sculptures." Her dilemma was quickly solved by the sudden appearance in the shower area of Olivia. She walked over toward us but you could see she was being meticulous in not getting too close so as not to get wet. But maybe it was my imagination but I though she did want to get close enough to check out our nether regions. At least to check out mine since she had never seen it before and probably never would again.

She announced loudly, "Nine, Joyce wants you to shave Monica's cunt."

"That's what I was doing."

Olivia corrected her, "No, not trim. She wants you to shave all the cunt hair off completely."

I was too shocked to respond. Olivia then added, "Get to it. I'm going back to my front row position so I can see the complete show." With that she left. I was so upset but not so much so that the import of her words didn't sank in. So we didn't just have an audience of three. There were at least two others watching, Olivia and Joyce. I wanted them to get an eyeful. I moved one of the portable benches next to the mirrored wall. I sat down facing the mirror. I had grabbed the tube of shaving gel from 9's hands. I smeared practically the entire tube all over my cunt.

"Come on, 9. You heard the bitch. 'Get to it'."

Nine got down on her knees in front of me but not so that she would obstruct the view of our audience. The whole tone of the show had been brought down. If I had said anything, my words would have spit out like nails. Nine tried to be philosophical. "Monica, it'll grow back. It's not the end of the world."

"Don't you understand, this was my tribute, my shrine to you. And now that cunt is taking it away from me, from us."

"Monica, they can hear every word we say. Calm down."

"I don't give a shit who hears me. I'm livid."

Nine lowered her voice I guess in the hopes we couldn't be heard, "You've got to compose yourself. I don't want you to jeopardize everything that you have just because of one little temper tantrum." Her words snapped me back down to earth.

"What do you mean 'everything I have'?"

"You have a great position, You've got the head of HR in the palm of your hand. You have her as your lover." I didn't say it out loud, but once again 9 had shown more concern than I thought she was capable of. She was concerned about my preserving and building my relationship with Joyce, Joyce her rival for my affection.

Nine started shaving. Her ingratiating smile tried even more to mollify me; and I think it was working. For some reason, her hand on my upper thigh as she steadied herself was very soothing, actually arousing. I smiled and gently stroked her still wet hair. Swish, swish, swish. With each stroke of the razor more of my pussy hair disappeared. Finally, the deed was accomplished. I bent over to pick up the strands of cunt hair with my hand. I brought them up to my lips and kissed them as if I were saying goodbye forever to an old friend.

I took her hand and placed it so it could feel her handiwork. I gently grabbed her head and lowered her lips to my cunt. She knew what to do.

I got up and walked so that I was inches from the mirror. I preened and caressed to draw attention to the freshly shaved area. I alternated hands and I kept the other hand on my breast where I squeezed the nipples to make them harder.

I figured it was time for the grand finale. I moved back and placed her ass on the bench. I spread her thighs as I gently pushed her back to allow my easy access and to allow our audience to watch every bit of what was taking place. I proceeded to suck her cunt. I was so vigorous that my jaw started hurting. She inevitably squirted her ample buildup of pussy juice. I smiled, turned toward our unseen audience so that they could get yet another eyeful. I started to wipe off my face, but she stopped me and licked my face clean.

I gently nudged her, but she knew instinctively the message I was trying to convey to her. She turned over, placed her hands on the bench, leaned over and thrust her asshole in my face. Before placing my nose there, I again turned to our audience so that they could see my obvious anticipation. I then proceeded to rim out her asshole with my tongue. I was in there a full two or three minutes. Her low moans then gave way to a loud cry of ecstasy.

I gave her an extra minute or two to regain her composure, then I extended my hand for her to take. She got on her shaky legs and I led her to the mirror where I smiled at her indicating we should take a curtain call bow. She curtsied but I chose the more masculine bow. We each laughed uproariously embraced each other passionately and exited to the ante room.

I told 9, "My goodness, what a rush. I can't believe all the juices that are rushing through my body: estrogen, adrenaline, pussy juice. After that performance, I want to spend some time with my fans. Since they aren't going to come back her, will you let me step out and greet them out there?"

"Of course, my love. I want you to enjoy the adulation of your fans."

"Do you want to join me?"

"I don't want to detract from you moment of glory."

I walked out into the viewing area. Of course I was still completely naked. I was blown away to see what must have been over 100 people in there. I don't know how they all got in. I could see about 20 people going out the door, so I wondered how many had already left and what the maximum attendance was. I spotted Joyce and Olivia up front. Rose was standing a few feet away from them. I chuckled to myself and thought I should be flattered that Rose came out to see me when I didn't even have the added attraction of 5 to perform with us.

Olivia spoke first, "Nice performance, Monica. Or maybe I should call you 15." I immediately recognized the snide reference to the next available number for a new mailgirl.

I wanted to ignore her snide remark, but I corrected her, "Monica will do just fine, thank you."

Joyce spoke up, "I didn't realize how much talent you have as a performer."

"There's nothing 9 and I did that I haven't already done with you." That was more directed to Olivia than Joyce just to remind her that tonight at best she was a pinch hitter.

"You underestimate yourself, child. You are a natural performer."

"Not so much 'natural'. I had to work myself up into choreographing our routine. But why did you make me shave my snatch?"

"I thought your audience would enjoy it. Besides, I don't enjoy flossing my teeth with your pubic hair whenever you give me the pleasure of suckling at your cunt. And speaking of 'cunt', I'm not pleased that you referred to me as a 'cunt'. And for good measure a 'bitch'."

"You took away my tribute to my affection for 9. It made me mad."

"I didn't realize you could be such a spitfire. I'll have to remember that for one of our new play sessions."

That statement drew me back to the new reality we had entered into last night, the reality where I could be wielding a whip or some other implement of pain the next time I was with Joyce. "I have to finish getting dressed for tonight. I'll see you two later." With that, I turned and went back to the dressing area.

Nine was painting her toenails. This was so our of character that it jarred me for a moment, but not so much as when I noticed that her fingernails were polished. That was even more out of character. For the three months that we have been dating, and the additional three month before then since I first saw her on the orientation tour on her first day at Seahawk, I had never seen her show any vanity as painting her toenails and fingernails. They were both a beautiful shade of gold. Her lips had a gold shade of lip gloss applied.

I couldn't help poking a little fun at her, "Wow, you look beautiful. Who are you making yourself beautiful for?"

She smiled, taking the playful remark well. "Why, you, my love. Who else deserves to see me so beautiful."

"Tonight the whole company will see you so beautiful. I hope no one tries to steal you away from me."

She kissed me, passionately. "Not a chance."

I asked 9, "We haven't discussed you hair style for tonight. How are you going to wear it?"

"I haven't even thought about it. I guess I was going to wear it like I wear it every day."

"In a pony tail and an elastic tie? Get real. This is your night to be the center of attention. Do you remember Jennifer Trent's hair at the masquerade party? The Greek Goddess look? That should be your look tonight."

"Monica, other than washing my hair twice a day and having one of the other mailgirls give me an occasional trim, I haven't paid any attention to my hair for six months. I don't even remember how to put it up; and that would be much too elaborate a look for me to figure out."

"Prior to now, you haven't paid much attention to your nails and toes. Let me give it a try." Boy was I walking on thin ice. I wore my black hair shirt and I probably devoted less time to my hair than even 9 did to hers. I quickly thought back to when I was in junior high school and me and my buddies uses to experiment on each other's hairdos. And I had never done anything so sophisticated and elaborate as a Greek Goddess style. But I wouldn't be cutting any of it and if it proved to be a disaster, we could always undo it and start from scratch.

I took a quick inventory of my makeup box. I really didn't expect to find anything useful there, but miracle of miracles, there at the very bottom were some pins and some elastic ties. I couldn't remember how long I had had this box, but I wondered how long they had been lying dormant in the bottom.

I grabbed three ample hunks of hair from her crown and I tied them with a small elastic tie. I braided them together. Then I took a section of hair to the side, pinched it to give it more volume and moved it through an opening in the first braid. I fixed it into place with a hairpin. I kept repeating this process until eventually I had produced what I modestly must call a masterpiece. The strawberry blond contributed to the effect. I led her by the hand back into the shower room so she could see herself in the mirror.

"Wow, Monica, that looks great. Thank you." She planted a kiss on my lips. We went back into the anteroom and I started getting dressed. In keeping with the Christmas theme, I had a bright red formal dress. It consisted of a collar from which were draped two pieces of cloth which covered my breasts, but barely. The back was completely bare. There was a cloth midriff from which were suspended two other pieces of cloth, one in the front and one in the back. My legs were completely bare except to the extent that the narrow pieces of cloth might provide some covering. But for at least twelve inches on each side, it was completely open. I did make one concession to modesty by wearing a red C-string.

We finished dressing together. I had a pair of red high heel shoes, 9 had a lower heel pair of gold open-toed shoes that showed off her toenails. Despite the open toe, it was quite formal. The slight difference in the heel height elevated me to a level that we appeared to be closer to the same height. We hadn't coordinated our accessories. I put on a gold plated necklace and gold dangle earrings consisting of a fine gold chain from which was suspended a garnet. Then I noticed 9 bringing out her jewelry, again I was blown away since I had never seen her wear any jewelry. Her gold plated necklace was remarkable similar to mine even though we had not done any coordinating. But her earrings were an abstract gold spiral. Then she brought out a matching pair which she could attach to her nipples by a flexible wire. Before she did that, she looked into my makeup case and found a brush and a dark shade of skin blush. She asked me to darken her areola. I did so and then I attached her nipple dangles. And then she had a third matching pair which she attached to her labia by a gold clamp.

"Are we ready?" she asked me. I grabbed her hand and led her out the side door. She actually had a gold clutch. We took the elevator down to the second floor and then went into the entrance of the garage where I was parked. We got in and really didn't say much to each other. But you could tell from the contented smiles on each of our faces we were both so in love with each other and so grateful to be together, for both this evening and beyond.

We were halfway to the hotel when she asked me, "Did you arrange for me to be able to come in late tomorrow? We're going to be doing some serious partying tonight and I'm not going to be able to perform at peak efficiency."

"Nine, I used every available chip I had, but I couldn't arrange that. You're just going to have to get up at 6:30. I'm coming in around noon so I can take you to work and come back and pull myself together." She looked disappointed, but I think she understood.

THE OBSTACLE COURSE

We drove to the hotel where the dinner was taking place. We parked and 9 started to get out of the car. "No, wait." I commanded her. I got out and walked around and opened her door for her. She smile as she recognized that by this tender gesture I was not trying to establish myself as the Alpha top in the relationship but merely indicating my respect, admiration and love for her. She took my arm and we walked to the front door. The security officer immediately came over to us.

"Where do you two whores think you are going?"

"We're here for the Seahawk Christmas party."

"Dressed like that? Or should I say, undressed like that?"

Nine started to explain. "I'm a mailgirl. This is what I wear at work every day." He wasn't convinced. Did we just happen to stumble on the only person in town who didn't know about the mailgirl program?

"I don't care. This is a respectable hotel and you can't go in like that." Just at that moment Ms. Taylor, our favorite security officer from Seahawk, came by. She was wearing a formal cocktail dress and was arm in arm with a middle-aged woman I recognized from the marketing department. The confrontational security guard with a name tag that said "Basford" was wearing the same uniform as our security guard service. I don't know if Taylor and Basford knew each other but she took him aside. We couldn't hear the conversation but she must have been convincing. She came back. "Let's go in." The first hurdle has been navigated.

She address us as we walked into the lobby. "Ms. Monica, 9, I want you to meet Hang Nguyen from the Marketing department. Hang is my date for the evening." We didn't realize Ms. Taylor was a lesbian, if indeed she was or if this was just a casual social engagement, but still this gave a whole new context to those hands on our asses that Ms. Taylor had given us as she escorted us around our building and the warehouse.

I addressed her, "I'm so glad you were here to sort this out."

"Well, if it wasn't for Hang inviting me, I wouldn't have been. As a contract employee, we weren't invited to the party."

Nine spoke up, "Ha, I can relate to that. I'm a Seahawk employee and I wasn't invited. In fact I'm one of fourteen employees in the whole company who were not invited." As if to drive the point home she started naming them, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen and fourteen." She was counting them off with such obvious derision of the Seahawk policy that we each laughed as she concluded.

We spotted David and Helen Brent. He is the CEO of Seahawk who I had an opportunity to chat with at the Thanksgiving supper at Joyce's. But I really hadn't had any other contact with him. He addressed us, "Ah, Monica and," and then he gently turned 9 around and caressed her ass, "yes, 9. How nice to see you again." He knew who she was, he could see her number on her breast and her arm. I don't know if he just wanted to cop a cheap feel or if he really didn't remember the name of the lowly mailgirl. "I see you're being more brazen about your romantic involvement. Monica, have you and Joyce broken up?"

I really didn't want to get into an extended conversation with the CEO about my romantic involvements with, not one, but two Seahawk employees.

I decided to treat his remark lightly, "Well, you know what Chicago says, 'Everybody needs a little time away from each other'."

He chucked, "Yes, but they also said, 'Couldn't stand to be kept away just for the day from your body'." I admired his knowledge of 1980's music. But I still couldn't figure out if this polite chit chat was an indication of his tacit approval of my relationship with Joyce and with 9 or was there an underlying undertone of disapproval of each of the relationships. Nine's attire did not prompt any comment. And did his feeling up her ass indicate we had now navigated the second hurdle?