Confessions of a Mailgirl

THE MORNING AFTER

I awoke early the next morning before the alarm and stared at the ceiling fan turning slowly above my bed. Images from yesterday kept playing in my head like a highlight reel from Danica's Craziest Day Ever. Between being a naked stage prop, the humiliating return to Marketing, my confrontation with Stephanie, Barbara's quid pro quo, and my nude walk home, my emotions felt like they'd been taken for a dizzying ride on a Tilt-A-Whirl.

But with everything that had happened yesterday my thoughts kept returning to the moment when Barbara leaned in and gave me that long, slow, wet kiss. How was it possible that the person responsible for putting me through all of that could make me want her so badly? Maybe the whole point of having me run that gauntlet yesterday was to allow her to toss me a lifeline in the form of a glass of wine, honest conversation, and a kiss. By stacking one humiliation on top of another she was psychologically tearing me down in order to turn a cell that was nothing more than tape on the floor into an inescapable prison with her serving as both my captor and savior. I knew that it was a total mind fuck but I was afraid it was working.

Anna continued sleeping next to me and the warmth of her body and the rhythmic sound of her breathing made me feel even guiltier about my desire for Barbara. Last night I'd told Anna about everything except my conversation with Barbara and the kiss. I couldn't. It's not just that I was afraid that confessing my feelings for Barbara would hurt Anna, I also didn't want to reveal her plans for me. For some reason I felt like this should remain a secret between just the two of us. Perhaps a part of me wanted to see how all of this would eventually play out and telling Anna might alter things.

The sound of the alarm jolted me out of my thoughts and I reached over to shut it off. "Hey," Anna said sleepily as she laid her head on my chest.

"Hey," I repeated back to her as I kissed her forehead and began stroking her hair. We laid together like that for several minutes before we reluctantly got out of bed to get ready for work.

Preparing for work is a breeze for a mailgirl. In my case all I had to do was go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, run a brush through my hair and I was ready to go. Showering, shaving, and applying makeup would all take place at work. Anna had the additional step of putting on her dress and sandals. We each had a quick bowl of cereal, a banana, and a glass of juice then headed out the door.

If anything, the nude walk to DDE headquarters was even more embarrassing than the one coming home last night. This time there were other people from the condos also making the short walk to work so we weren't alone on the sidewalk. I followed a step behind Anna with my eyes lowered continuing to play my submissive role. Anna was also playing her role and when a man asked why I was nude she told him, "Because she's my slave girl and I won't let her wear any clothes."

Since winning her independence from her domineering mother Anna was having the time of her life. She loved being a mailgirl, loved the nudity, loved the condo, and loved being with me. Life was an exciting adventure for her and after being sheltered for so long by her mother she was eager to explore every aspect of it. Playing the role of my master was great fun as far as she was concerned even if it was only for the few minutes it took to walk to and from work. Inside the condo last night we'd both dropped the role playing and went back to just being Danica and Anna.

Other DDE employees were also arriving to work as we entered at the main employee entrance. Anna flashed her ID badge at the wide eyed security guard, a different one than the guy on duty last night. I spotted Donna Haverly across the lobby as she was scurrying towards us.

"Nine, you need to follow me," Donna said brusquely. "One, you can head to the tower and start your normal mailgirl shift." She didn't say what this was about but I assumed it had something to do with the new Mailgirls locker room, the latest humiliation that Barbara had lined up for me today. A knot began to grow in my stomach.

Donna led me to one of the elevators where other employees were also waiting. When the door opened and they entered, I hesitated. "Get in, Nine," Donna ordered. "There's no damn way I'm climbing five flights of stairs." I entered the crowded elevator.

No one said anything as the elevator began to climb, but a couple of women began snickering and I could sense eyes roaming over my body. The elevator stopped on each floor to let people off. By the time we reached the fifth floor there was only one other guy left and he exited in front of us and disappeared into a nearby office.

I followed Donna past the main entrance to the large room where the game "Gangsta," was produced until we reached a door leading into a service corridor. We walked to the end of the empty corridor and then entered another door. Inside it I found myself in the new Mailgirls locker room.

This is huge, I thought to myself as I looked around. Obviously it was much larger than our little makeshift locker room in the tower, but it was also larger than even Hiromoto's locker room in Tokyo. This side of the room held six enclosed toilet stalls, a row of thirty lockers with a bench in front, and a long counter on the wall opposite the lockers with multiple sinks for washing up and applying makeup. On the other end of the room were wall shelves holding dozens of clean, folded white towels and a shower area featuring a dozen shower heads. The feature that really captured my eye, though, was the mirror. It ran nearly the full length of the room and provided a full view of the lockers, sinks, and showers. I assumed it was a two way mirror and wondered if there were already people on the other side staring in.

Donna was winded from just the walk here so the heavyset woman plopped herself down on the locker bench, took out her smart phone and began scrolling through it. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do so I asked, "Is there something I should be doing, ma'am?"

"Not yet," she replied. "We've got a few minutes to kill before the ceremony." Donna had the deep, raspy voice of a long-time smoker and to confirm that suspicion she reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out a stick of nicotine gum, unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth. Then she crumpled up the wrapper and tossed it towards a trash can, missing it by a mile. She was either trying to quit smoking or just trying to make it through the day in DDE's non-smoking environment until she could light one up.

"The ceremony, ma'am?" I asked,

"Barbara's going to say a few words then they're going to pull the tarp off the wall so the Gangsta employees can see in. Then you do your thing."

"My thing, ma'am?"

"Jump in the shower, shave, do whatever else you do to get ready for your shift. Put on a little show."

This was going to be awful. "I don't have my stuff with me here, ma'am."

"They're in your locker."

The lockers were numbered from one to thirty so I walked down to locker #9 and opened it. Inside I found my shower kit, makeup kit, the MMU that would be strapped to my arm, and a black felt tip pen. I closed the locker and took a deep breath to try to calm myself. "May I take a seat on the bench while we wait, ma'am?"

"I don't give a shit," Donna replied, her face still buried in her phone. The woman was a real charmer.

I sat down, closed my eyes and tried to take my mind off of what lay ahead of me. I decided to try to figure out why Barbara had hired Donna to help her manage the Mailgirls program. In the short time I'd been around her I could tell she was obviously no ideological warrior intent on helping Barbara achieve her dream of societal change. Maybe that's exactly why she was hired. Someone like that might question or even challenge Barbara's methods in achieving her goals. Donna was just here for a paycheck. She was a foot soldier who would do whatever the hell Barbara told her to do. And Donna's looks and gruff demeanor insured that Barbara would remain the face, voice, and brains behind the Mailgirls program at DDE.

I felt pleased by that analysis and thought it helped me gain a little more insight into Barbara's thinking. I was no Psych major but I'd decided that it would be useful to try to figure out what made her tick and see if I could find a way to use it to my advantage.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Donna's phone ringing. "Yeah. Yeah. Okay." That was all she said before hanging up. "Barbara's outside now getting ready to say a few words. When she's done they'll pull the tarp off the wall outside and you can start. I'll let you know when that happens." She stood up now and walked back toward the door we'd entered from. "Come over here," she said. "Get out of sight of the mirror until it's time."

I walked over toward Donna, my anxiety rising with each step. Barbara was hitting me with humiliations in waves now and I wondered if she would follow this with some more wine and conversation in her office at the end of the day to help soothe my nerves and bond us together. Or she could just as easily gag me, whip me, and throw me into her closet. Who could predict with her?

Through the wall now I could hear Barbara's muffled voice speaking along with the sounds of laughter and cheering by the crowd gathered there. I couldn't quite make out what she was saying but I'm sure it was some inspirational speech about how the Gangsta team had earned their very own Mailgirls locker room to gawk into and watch women undressing and showering. Just a little reward for turning out a game that was a massive international hit.

Finally there was a loud cheer and moments later Donna's phone buzzed. She looked at it, then turned to me.

"That's it," she said. "You're on. It's showtime."

SHOWTIME

I froze, unable to move. I was being asked to take a shower and shave my most intimate area in front of my fellow DDE employees and I didn't know if I could do it. How many people were out there watching behind that mirror? A couple of dozen? A couple of hundred? I had no idea. What finally got me moving was Donna's hand on the small of my back and a shove.

I stumbled out in front of the mirror and as I walked tentatively toward my locker I could hear the muffled sound of whistles and cheering on the other side of it. I opened the locker and stared into it, then closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths to calm down. This isn't real, I told myself. You're just an actress playing the role of Mailgirl Nine. This isn't really you doing this so just play the part as it's been written for you. I wish I could say this worked and that I disappeared into the role, but as I retrieved my shower items and closed the locker I knew that it hadn't. I was still me and this all still seemed very, very real.

In the shower as I adjusted the water temperature and prepared to step in, a thought occurred to me that finally did help though. It was something that Barbara told me yesterday. Someday time will erase everything that happens here today, so why live life in half measures? For the first time I think I really understood what she was saying. This was going to happen right now regardless of whether I did it full of angst and embarrassment or simply allowed myself to live for the moment and enjoy something I'd never forget. Either way time would eventually bury this place beneath the barren sands so why not surrender myself to whatever emotions flowed naturally through me without assigning guilt or shame to them? If I'm really a submissive and an exhibitionist then why not revel in that instead of constantly fighting to suppress feelings that could give me pleasure?

The moment I gave myself permission to be who I am my anxiety melted away. If they want a show then, fuck it, I'll give them a show.

I stepped beneath the shower stream and felt the warm water cascade over me. I poured shampoo into my palm and worked it into my hair, then took a step toward the mirror, closed my eyes and slowly massaged it deep into my scalp with both hands. After my hair was saturated with the shampoo I turned around, lowered my head beneath the water, placed both hands against the wall and bent forward to let the suds stream down my back and swirl down the drain beneath my feet.

Next I poured body soap into my palms and began rubbing it into my skin. I lingered for awhile on my breasts, kneading them, lifting them up beneath each hand, teasing each nipple between my thumb and forefinger. I worked the soap into every crack and crevice, turning slowly to allow my audience to view my wet, soapy body from every angle. By surrendering myself completely to the moment my shower had become a very sensual experience for me and I allowed my arousal to grow without attempting to suppress it.

Next came the part of my daily shower ritual I'd been dreading most, but I wouldn't allow even this to make me feel shame. There was no place to sit in the shower other than the floor so I squatted down, spread my legs, and leaned back against the wall. My vagina was in full view of the mirror now as I applied the shaving cream and picked up the razor. Slowly, carefully I shaved around the vulva. When I'd finished I rinsed off the remaining shaving cream, then picked up another bottle and drizzled baby oil over my pubic area.

I rubbed the oil into the skin and my body jerked as my fingers brushed over my clit. I let out a moan when it happened a second time. I allowed this to happen several more times and briefly considered masturbating to an orgasm right there in front of my audience, but I wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

When I'd finished I stood up, rinsed my body one final time and turned off the water. As I stepped out of the shower I could see Donna on the other side of the room staring at me wide-eyed and slack-jawed and I had to suppress a smile. Then I turned to look at myself in the mirror. The image looking back at me was of a stunningly beautiful nude woman radiating sexuality. It was the same image I knew the people on the other side were seeing. It's what I wanted them to see. I wanted them to see everything.

I continued my show. I toweled myself off, then blow dried and brushed my hair and applied my makeup. I did this in the sink area right in front of the mirror giving my audience an intimate and close up view. When I'd finished I looked directly into the mirror and smiled, then turned and walked away.

"Can you apply the numbers for me, ma'am?" I asked Donna.

"Um, yeah," she replied still looking dumbfounded at what she'd just seen. Before she could move, though, the door opened and Barbara entered the room.

"You can head back to the tower, Donna," she said to her. "I'll take over." Donna left the room without a word leaving Barbara and I alone together and I wondered if I was in trouble. One look into her face revealed the answer. She was ecstatic.

Barbara smiled and shook her head. "You know I was foolish to think I could ever reduce you to being just another mailgirl. No matter what number I assign you or what I say or do you'll always be a star. You're my star."

I smiled, then lowered my eyes humbly to the floor. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Follow me, Nine," Barbara ordered returning to her businesslike demeanor. She walked past me and I fell in behind her. We walked past the shower area, then through a second exit door that led directly into the large room where Gangsta was produced. As we entered the room I was able to glance into the window to the locker room confirming what I already knew. Everything in the room, including the shower area, could be easily seen from this side.

My audience had returned to their desks and cubicles after my show had ended, but as Barbara led me through the middle of the room all eyes were drawn to me once again. I'd been here before in my earlier role with the company, but never like this. I was completely naked without even numbers on my skin or an MMU strapped to my arm. This room had produced hundreds of millions of dollars for DumpsterDawg Enterprises over the years and now I was their reward.

As I followed one step behind Barbara with my eyes lowered I was reminded of what she'd told me her endgame was for me. It no longer seemed far fetched at all. She was showing me off right now to all of these people as her nude submissive, and if she could make this moment happen here was it really that crazy to believe that she couldn't also make it happen in the world out beyond these walls? And as I followed her I realized that I wanted it to happen. The months of public nudity, the whipping, the wave after wave of humiliations over the past two days, and the brief moments of kindness and honesty she'd shown me had all worked together to wear down my defenses. I knew now that I wanted the future that she was offering me. I wanted to be hers, for her to possess me.

Barbara continued to lead me through the large open room until we reached the door to an office on the other side. She opened the door and turned to me.

"There are a couple of gentlemen in here who would like to talk to you. They want to put you into the game."

REN AND STIMPY

"She's all yours," Barbara said to the two men in the cluttered office. Then she stepped out and closed the door behind her leaving me alone with them. They both stared at me in wide-eyed wonder like children seeing a leprechaun riding a unicorn. Finally one of them jumped up and offered me a chair to sit in.

"I'm afraid I'm not allowed to sit on office furniture, sir," I replied. "I can kneel on the floor if you like."

"Um, yeah. Sure. That'd be cool." The man speaking to me was a large, thick man with a mop of untamed brown hair on his head and a thick, scraggly beard. He wore olive colored cargo pants, an untucked Aloha shirt, and ankle high leather boots. The other man was thin and wiry with matching dark brown stubble on both his head and face. He wore blue jeans, white sneakers, and an untucked faded polo shirt. I assumed they were both managers of some sort even though neither one of them dressed even remotely like any of the managers in the tower. The running joke in marketing when I'd worked there was that you could tell who the managers were in the north wing because they had mustard stains on collared shirts instead of t-shirts.

I found a spot in the middle of the office and kneeled down as both men continued to gape at me. "Holy shit!" the large man laughed. "Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine I'd have a smoking hot naked woman kneeling on my floor!"

"That's been in pretty much all of my wildest dreams," the thin man replied.

They both continued to stare for a few moments before the large man snapped out of it. "I'm sorry, my name is Stan and this is Lenny," he said pointing to the thin man. "We're both production managers for 'Gangsta.' Everyone calls us Ren and Stimpy, though." He paused for a moment as if expecting a reaction from me. When I didn't respond he added, "You know, like the cartoon characters."

I shook my head. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with them, sir." His face fell slightly when I didn't recognize his cultural reference.

"Um, that's cool. You can call me Stimpy and him Ren, though, if you want."

"I'm only allowed to refer to each of you as 'sir.'"

"Yeah, weren't you paying any attention at the meeting yesterday, dumbass?" the skinny guy called Ren said.

"Dude, I didn't hear a single thing Barbara Anderson said after this girl got up on the stage."

"We're supposed to call her 'Nine.' I can't believe Barbara finally let us have her."

"Yeah, we have to call her by a number," Stimpy said. "That's some crazy shit." Then he turned his attention back to me. "Barbara came to us a few months ago to see if we could do something with mailgirls in the game but we weren't really that interested. I mean the nudity thing is awesome but there's not a lot of game play in delivering mail. Maybe we can throw in a few obstacles to dodge and avoid guys trying to grab your ass as you try to meet your deadline, but that's about it."