Im Dating Our Mailgirl Ch 15

This story is a continuation of I'm Dating Our Mailgirl. The 1st 14 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.

MONICA THE HOUSEWIFE

I'm not going to bore you with all the domestic chores I had to perform Friday in anticipation of what I had to do the next five days. You know what I had to do. Order a 20 pound fresh turkey for pick up at the grocery Monday evening, make a shopping list to pick up starting at 6:00 AM Tuesday morning. Oh, yes, find a grocery store open at 6:00 AM, unless I could con Maria into doing the shopping. Shop for a suitable dress for Joyce (or was it anus?) for Monday night. Buy Christmas gifts for Joyce (yes, it had to be a loving expression of my love for the woman who chose me as her concubine) and 9. And maybe gifts for the other mailgirls would be in order. Take an Uber to the hotel to retrieve my car and hope it hadn't been towed away, or booted!

Are you ready for a spoiler alert? I had to buy a car for 9 as a Christmas present. I had promised it to her, and I needed to keep my word. Thank goodness for Carvana. And, oh, yes, make progress on some merger and acquisition projects I had going. I felt like June Cleaver, or maybe Carol Brady who had to herd six kids and a spouse.

I had to avoid Bill Nelson. I didn't want him to see me coming and going or notice that I was spending a lot of time out of the office. Bill was so stupid. I hoped that if he didn't see me coming and going, he would just forget that I worked for him.

I showered in the warehouse, but I waited for the girls to all leave. I didn't want to be distracted by showering with them. I did evacuate my bowels with them there in plain view. I could have waited until they left, but it made me feel good about myself to make this token gesture of solidarity with them and perform this bodily function in full public view just as they had to.

Now to get to work. I wore the same outfit I had worn yesterday. I didn't see Olivia enjoying her morning nosh, but I had to move all day with a singularity of purpose and I couldn't be distracted by anything. But I did take a minute to chat with Ms. Taylor. I really enjoy her company, never mind her being my protector.

I got to the office at 8:00 and I went up to Joyce's office. I was hoping she wasn't there, but there she was. "Well, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I need to get a fresh outfit." By now I did have at least two outfits in her office closet to choose from, one a bit more dressy and another that was appropriate for the office.

"You haven't had a chance to go to the cleaners?" she taunted.

"You know damn well I didn't go home last night."

"Oh, did you spend it with a new lover?" she persisted in her taunts.

"Twelve. Joyce, twelve lovers. Damn it, you know damn well I spent the night at the warehouse."

"Woo, woo!" she said derisively, and pumped her right arm and hand into the air as if she were blowing a train whistle as she imitating the sound of a train.

"No, I did not pull the train. Joyce, nine told you I would be spending the night with her at the warehouse. Must you put me through this added indignity. Can I get my outfit and leave?"

Suddenly her voice changed to a solicitous tone, "Do you need to take a shower?" But she couldn't let it drop, "or did you shower in the fishbowl this morning?"

"No, I showered in the warehouse."

"How does it feel to have twelve pairs of hands cleansing your tits, your ass, your asshole, your cunt?"

"I can arrange for you to join me some morning so you can find out for yourself. I showered myself after they all left for work. I've got to get to work. Someone in this hellhole has got to do some work today." I had grabbed an outfit and put it on right there in the office, in front of her. But I went back over to her and kissed her, gently at first, but her actions indicated she wanted a fonder expression of affection. I obliged. "See you tonight."

At 4:00 I took an Uber to the hotel and retrieved my car. It was still there in the parking lot, no boot. I didn't like having to pay for two days of parking, but it really would have been difficult to avoid. I had done some shopping online for a suitable outfit for Joyce for the party at the Milner's and went to a little boutique that I found. They specialized in what they advertised as "bondage chic". There were a lot of outfits that gave a hint or a subtle indication of BDSM without being overtly BDSM wear that one finds in sex shops. I found an outfit that I thought would be perfect. It was basically a slave girls outfit. A heavy cloth collar supported a gossamer vest. A flimsy bra could be worn underneath, or not, depending on how daring an effect was to be achieved. I envisioned nothing underneath, but realized it would be nice to have the crutch of an undergarment if anus, or rather Joyce since this was a public gathering of her friends and she might not have been ready to go full bore subordinate. Similarly, a belt of the same heavy material supported gossamer pantaloons which left little to the imagination. Modesty allowed an undergarment to be worn, or not. if someone were to go full monty. We could decide on that Monday evening. Various fashion chains completed the look. They did not actually bind anything, but gave the impression of imprisonment. A heavy necklace/collar had two strands of chain suspended from them. They ended in metallic accessories worn on the middle fingers. They provided no actual restraints, but it was clear what they hinted at. Similarly, two chains were suspended from metallic rings sewn into the heavy cloth belt. They led to the feet where they ended in loops that went around the ring toes. She was to be barefooted. Aside from the obvious slavery hint of being barefooted, I still felt that one of Joyce's strongest features were her dainty feet that I wanted fully displayed.

The outfit was pret-a-porter and did not need any alterations, so I was able to take it with me. I went to the sex shop that I had gone to before and headed over to the dildo section. I grabbed an assortment of fourteen of them. I never knew there was so much variety of this basic implement. There were rubber dildos, jelly rubber and silicone rubber, plastic, PVC, glass and steel. There were static dildos and vibrating dildos. There were G-spot dildos and cyber skin dildos. Rabbit dildos and vibrating dildos and clit simulators. I got carried away and picked up some wand massagers, egg vibrators and butt plugs, vibrating and rigid, and bullet vibrators, and ben wa beads. I picked up three harnesses and one anal dildo that would fit into one of the harnesses. I would use that last assortment as stocking stuffers. I picked out a vibrating butt plug with a remote control for Joyce, excuse me, anus. I bought 9 some ben wa beads. Maybe if she inserted them into my asshole she would get the idea that I really liked anal stimulation. I bought a very nice high end strap on harness with a realistic dong. It's funny, but 9 and I had never discussed our previous experience with men, but I kind of felt we both might want something a little different occasionally.

DINNER WITH JOYCE. . . .AND FIVE

It was 6:30. I had just enough time to get back to the Seahawk building for my dinner date. I didn't have time to shower, but I didn't think intimacy was on the agenda for tonight, neither with Joyce nor 9. In fact, I hadn't made any plans with 9 for anything this weekend. Monday was off the table since Joyce and I had plans. I guess something could have been done Tuesday, but I was going to spend all day cooking. I'm sure Joyce, or I guess anus, was probably going to have me sleep at her house that night. It would be interesting to see if I could have arranged for nine to join me that night. Or would it have been join "us"? I figured I could stop by the warehouse after I left Joyce this evening, but I didn't think sex was in the cards.

When I arrived, 5, who apparently had been waiting naked in the kneel position by the elevator on the 42nd floor, got up. She stuck to protocol and did not address me until I addressed her, "Good evening, five. Nice to see you again. I'm really glad you will be waiting on us this evening."

"Oh, I am too." She gushed a bit too much for a mailgirl, but that told me she was genuinely glad to be here and to see me."

"Five, you know you aren't supposed to show any enthusiasm."

She lowered her eyes and assumed a stern look. "I'm sorry, Ms. Monica, but I'm glad to see you. Will you follow me into the dining room? Ms. Parker is waiting for you." Joyce was seated at a small table for two and stood up and we embraced. Five held the chair out for first Joyce and then me to be seated.

Five approached us and asked, "Could I get you a cocktail?"

Joyce's face became stern and she addressed five, "Unless you are offering us a martini or a Manhattan, you should not have asked us if we want a cocktail. A cocktail is a specific drink consisting of a distilled liquor mixed with another ingredient such as gin and dry vermouth or tequila with orange liqueur and lime juice to make a Margarita. I believe what you meant to ask us was if we wanted, to use the generic term, a drink such as a highball."

This little berating appeared to crush five who I'm sure had been looking forward to the honor of waiting on Joyce and me but who was now made to feel like dirt. She appeared to be using all of her willpower to keep from crying. She gathered herself and half sobbed, "Could I get you a drink?"

"That's much better. I'll have a Chivas and soda and my date will have," she paused and then continued with a questioning tone "Black Jack and water?"

"Thank you. That will be fine." Five looked as if Joyce had given her an order in a foreign language. I'm not sure if she had any idea what Chivas nor Black Jack were. She didn't dare stop for clarification but left, I'm sure hoping that she could remember what was ordered and that the bartender could translate.

I admonished Joyce, "You didn't need to be so harsh with the child. I doubt if she's even old enough to drink much less to be an expert on spirits."

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed the child but that's the type of thing that Olivia has let creep into the mailgirls' behavior and which has distracts from their performance, and frankly, from hers."

"How old is 5?"

"She turned 18 in June just before we hired her. She is the youngest mailgirl by at least three years."

"As head of HR, I would think you know that it is never acceptable to correct, to berate, an employee in front of her peers. You always do that in private."

"First of all, she's a mailgirl. She is supposed to be corrected whenever she does something wrong. And, secondly, do you consider yourself her 'peer'? Maybe you are morphing into a mailgirl and you should reevaluate your role in the company."

"We're coworkers, Joyce."

"She's a mailgirl. She's dog shit on our shoes."

"I can't believe you just said that? Do you feel that way about 9?"

"Maybe I do."

"Don't do that again with 5. I will personally take it upon myself to give her additional training so she doesn't make this type of mistake again. And certainly never even think of 9 as dog shit."

Joyce gave the loudest belly laugh. "What was I saying about your instincts? I can't believe you just said that about giving five additional training."

I didn't know what she was getting at. At that point five returned to the room with our drinks. As she was serving them, Joyce continued. "We have four new mailgirls starting January 6. Olivia was already scheduled to be out on vacation. I want you to provide their training."

"Me? What do I know about training mailgirls?"

"You're not going to train them to perform brain surgery. You take off your clothes, you shower, you pick up your delivery, you drop it off, you shower again at the end of the day, you go home and enjoy a meal of gruel. Oh, and don't be late."

"You really do have nothing but contempt for them, don't you."

"They're mailgirls, Monica. Don't become emotionally invested in them."

"You're just a big hypocrite. How can you say those things to me when you know I'm 'emotionally involved' as you call it, with 9. And, what's more, I think that you're starting to become 'emotionally involved' with 9." I suddenly realized that five was still in the room and had been for a while. Joyce and I had both succumbed to the phenomenon that because mailgirls were treated as if they were non-entities, they were often ignored and hear things that were not meant to be heard.

I stopped abruptly, "Joyce, five has heard everything we have said for the last five minutes. I don't think you wanted her to overhear some of those things."

She immediately ordered five to get down on her knees and started reprimanding five for nothing she had done except do her job and wait on us, "Five, you will forget everything you have just heard. If I learn you have revealed anything we have said, you will be severely punished." Five suddenly started cowering in fear again trying with all her might to hold back her tears.

"JOYCE!" I shouted at her. "Let me take care of this. Five, get up, sweetie. Come over here." I gave her a loving caress on her ass. "Sit down, sweetie." She sat down on the floor. "No, dear, her at the table. Ms. Parker and I need to talk with you." Five was frightened by what I was suggesting. She glanced questioningly at me then to Joyce then back to me. "Go ahead, sit down here with Ms. Parker and me." Joyce looked like she was about to burst a vessel. "Five, tell me, in order, the responsibilities of the mailgirls."

She was still hesitant, but she started stammering her answer, "Well, we are to pick up deliveries and to make them as quickly as possible."

"And. . . ."

"We are not to be late."

"And. . . .:

"We are to be naked at all times."

"And. . . ."

"We are to keep ourselves well groomed at all times. We are to shower and shave at the beginning and end of each day."

"That's all very good, but what about your responsibility to Seahawk."

She was starting to see what I was getting at. "Anything we see or hear is highly confidential and is never, NEVER, to be revealed to anyone. Not even to our fellow mailgirls, ESPECIALLY our fellow mailgirls."

"That's right. Very good. And do you realize the importance of the mailgirl oath?

I glanced at Joyce and smiled wondering if she appreciated how I had just made up that part about the mailgirl oath.

"Oh, yes, ma'am. THAT'S the most important part of our job."

I was satisfied that I had made my point and that five understood it. I feel everyone in the room got something from that little lecture, certainly me, probably five. And I think even Joyce had to admit grudgingly that the point had been made; the lesson learned. Five learned the importance of confidentiality and Joyce learned the proper way to correct a mailgirl with others present.

"You're probably right about my management style. And about nine and me, maybe that's why I'm so defensive. But stop changing the subject." Five left and soon returned pushing a salad cart. She proceeded to toss a Caesar's salad for us. I wasn't done expertly, but it was done adequately. She served the salads and assumed the kneel position on the floor.

Joyce continued, "Olivia has developed a training manual. I know that you saw me give the first group of mailgirls their orientation. They all like you; and you like them. You've showered with them, you've slept with them at the warehouse. You're going to feed them Christmas supper. I think you're the natural choice."

"I've only slept with one of them." I lied as I glossed over my involvement, fleeting as it was, with 11.

Joyce chuckled, "I was using 'slept with' in the literal sense, not as a euphemism for performing cunnilingus."

"What's in it for me?"

"Monica, that's why I love you. You are ever the negotiator." She reverted to humor. "You get to do twice as much work for a week as you'll still have your M&A responsibilities and workload. There's no increase in pay. But you will have another line on your resume, 'Assistant Manager of Mailgirl training, (temporary)."

I laughed at the absurdity of her job description.

She continued, "Don't scoff at that last one. Monica, I know that you're an ambitions woman. You don't want to be diverted onto a HR career path, but I know some day, maybe many years from now, you want an office in the executive suite on the 30th floor. This would be a nice feather in your cap which could lubricate the path to the 30th floor. You will have a stint at, and a knowledge of, HR responsibilities to add to your resume. In six months, I'll review your employee profile and I'll delete 'temporary'. Next year I'll delete 'Assistant'.

"How long will the training last?"

"Just a week, but that's probably four days too long. How long should it take to whip the ragamuffins into shape."

"I'll do it but on one condition. I want to have a desk in the HR suite."

"I don't have any vacant offices available."

"No, not an office. Just a desk. Preferably close to your office."

"I'm flattered that you want to me near me."

"No need to be. I just want to be somewhere to remind you of my presence."

"Then it's done."

We had been so caught up in our negotiations, that we completely forgot that five was still kneeling there. Joyce spoke up, "Five you are to say nothing to anyone, the mailgirls or anyone, about the four new girls. We will announce it at the appropriate occasions."

"Yes, ma'am," she obediently answered.

"Remind me, how many new mailgirls will there be?"

"Four, ma'am," she gushed enthusiastically proud of herself for having the right answer.

"How many?" She seemed puzzled by Joyce's persistance.

"Why, you said four."

"How many?"

She caught on, "How many what?"

"That's better. And when do they start?"

"Two weeks from Monday."

"When?"

She hesitantly answered, "On the 6th."

"When?"

"When what?"

I triumphantly turned to Joyce, "See, you have no need for concern."

Five acted very out of character by getting a big smile on her face and clapping her hands together as if to say, "I got it right! I got it right!"

Five vanished and came back with our entrees and side dishes. They were very professionally served and we enjoyed them. We asked five to bring us dessert. She announced that the chef had prepared bread pudding, apple pie and chocolate cake. I requested bread pudding and Joyce said, "I'll have the apple pie." She paused, then added, "Five, I'm really hungry. Can you ask the chef if I can also have a piece of chocolate cake too?"

""Yes, ma'am." She got up and left the room.

I turned to Joyce and addressed her, "Joyce, you haven't given me my dating schedule for January."

She said, "I wasn't sure if we hadn't moved beyond a formal schedule and we could just arrange our dates on an ad hoc basis."

"I really prefer the structure of having a fixed schedule. It provides an element of predictability in my otherwise chaotic life."

"Very well, my dear." She pulled out her electronic calendar. "There's an art opening at one of the local galleries on January 24."

"That's a Friday, right?" She nodded her assent. "Put that one down. I enjoy going to art galleries."

She couldn't help getting in a snarky comment, "At least since you've been

dating an Art History Major."

I gave it back to her, ". . . .from Bryn Mawr," just to let her know that as impressive as her educational credentials were, they weren't the equal of those of a lowly mailgirl." In my mind, I wished I could attend with nine, or even all three of us attending together. But that was not to be. And this was the second best alternative.