Mailgirls on the Run

* Finally, the race and thereafter. It's been a long journey for Megan and the mailgirls and I thank everyone who has stuck with her. */

Chapter Twenty-one

Unsurprisingly, Amanda was not interested in getting out out bed early Saturday morning. "Let me sleep."

"I did let you sleep. Now it's time to get up and we can get breakfast at the coffee shop in the lobby."

"But we don't run until ten. That's hours from now."

"Yes, but the men run at eight thirty and Jeremy says it's going to be an absolute madhouse there. I'm heading in now, I've got a reserved parking spot and I'd like to be able to get to it. If I leave you behind you're on your own and you've told me that you have been directed to run today. So let's go."

"But the lobby will be overrun with creeps staring down at the locker room."

"Yes, but they'll just be SG&T creeps. The building is closed to non-employees today. There are a whole row of porta-johns along the south edge of the parking lot, but we can use actual bathrooms inside."

"I'll take an Uber and take my chances. After two years as a mailgirl in that building, I have no desire to spend any additional time there. I'll see you at the starting line."

"You'll need to come a bit before to pick up your number and your timing chip. Numbers were assigned in blocks to teams and SG&T got the first block. You'll be wearing 15, I'm 2. I complained to Jeremy, but he said that came down from the Fifth Floor."

Pulling into the parking lot absurdly early Megan was amazed at the number of cars and people already there. It looked like everyone had gotten the word that today would be crazy. Or there were just a lot of people staking out their best vantage points to see naked women. The security guard waved her through "Just drive around back, Ms Brooks. Enterby the loading dock; it's a more protected space."

A line of food trucks parked along another edge of the parking lot looked to be doing a booming business. The coffee shop was missing out. A section of the lot was closed off with a security guard stationed at the gap in the barricades. Megan noted that the tunnel entrance to the Mailgirls' Dormitory was within the reserved space. She guessed it didn't hurt to provide a bit more security to the back door into the Mailgirls space - yes, it was locked, alarmed, and had cameras inside the tunnel, but today was going to be crazy. Most of the reserved spaces sat empty, the executives and VIPs that would be parking there were apparently more confident than she was about being able to navigate through the traffic as race time approached.

She rang the bell by the door at the loading dock which was promptly opened and a voice greeted her, "Good morning, Ms Brooks. Excited about the big day?"

"This wasn't my idea, Frank. I was much happier running in last year's Corporate Cup - a near total lack of attention is what I'm used to when running This is a circus. I expect you in Security will be pulling down plenty of overtime."

"Oh, yes." He gestured towards a woman standing behind him. "This is my wife, Emily. She doesn't quite believe that all these extra hours at work are mandated, she thinks I just want to get it on with the naked women."

Megan smiled at the other woman, "I'm sure that Frank and his cohort aren't averse to watching the mailgirls, but the folks in Security and IT were always the ones that treated us best. And by that I mean they were pleasant and even respectful. Too many employees seemed to enjoy putting us in our place verbally and by their actions. We always knew that Security was just a push of the panic button away if anyone stepped over the line with a mailgirl."

"You were a mailgirl?"

"I went from Junior Financial Analyst in Chicago to Mailgirl in Washington and now Senior Financial Analyst. I could have done without those first two years here. Has Frank taken you up to the lobby to view the mailgirls?"

"No, this is the first time that I've been here. I'm appalled by the entire mailgirl concept."

"Not as appalled as I was, I'll bet. Let's go upstairs and hit the coffee shop. I need something to fuel me for the race today. And we can observe mailgirls in their habitat.

"I'll bring her back, Frank."

Megan led the other woman down the hall to the service stairs, "Mailgirls are only allowed to use elevators if they're pushing a cart. The regime is very good for the calves and quadriceps."

They climbed a single flight of stairs up to the first floor and strolled together towards the front doors. "Today is not a workday, but there are always people who come in to catch up or prepare for a Monday presentation. Monday through Friday all twenty-four mailgirls would be getting ready for their day and the tables along the railing are premium seating allowing a direct view into the mailgirls locker room. Today there are four mailgirls working the morning shift, four more in the afternoon. Saturday it's eight and eight so the standard schedule is five and a half days per week though that can change at any time. And here we are."

The two women looked over the railing down through the glass walls of the mailgirls locker room - a misnomer, as there were no lockers - and spied a quartet of naked women. Two were crouched down eating and drinking from bowls on the floor, a third was showering, the fourth was seated on a bench, legs spread wide, shaving her pubic area.

"Mailgirls on duty breakfast on Mailgirl Chow from a bowl on the floor, no hands allowed. The third bowl is a water bowl. Lunch is served to mailgirls in the employee dining room, same scenario. Thankfully, SG&T normally orders decently flavored Mailgirl Chow. It's available in a myriad of flavors, some of them quite disgusting. Those flavors appear when Human Capital decides punishment is warranted. Not eating is not an option, even hesitation will result in demerits or even an immediate strike from Mistress V's cane. Mailgirls not on duty eat more normal fare in the privacy of the dormitory, the space behind the locker room. The coffee shop does booming business weekday mornings."

Emily stayed by the railing looking down while Megan placed her order at the coffee shop. She was still standing when Megan returned with her tray and held out the vanilla latte.

"Could I be a mailgirl? I never finished college and working at Macy's is not what I want to do with my life."

"Trust me, being a mailgirl is not what you want to do with your life."

"But Frank says, they make a lot of money and they don't have to worry about anything. I know that mailgirls are treated bad, but try being a sales associate - I doubt that SG&T employees are any worse than some of our customers."

"Mailgirls who are direct hires are paid minimum wage which adds up because they work long hours and have no expenses. But you can't be a mailgirl; you're married and mailgirls don't get conjugal visits. Also, I doubt that either Macy's customers or Macy's management use a paddle or cane to chastise you. "

"But, am I pretty enough to be a mailgirl?"

"You're an attractive woman Emily, but a little lacking up top. Our management has a breast fixation. I was told many times that I was a flat-chested slut and who did I fuck to get this job. You don't want to be a mailgirl."

"I come home from work, haggard and dispirited, and there's Frank, home from a day of watching beautiful, naked women run past. How can I compete?"

"And after their workday is done, mailgirls retreat to their underground dormitory where they sleep in a niche in the back wall, hoping to avoid punishment detail for another day. Twelve hour days are not uncommon: dashing between offices striving to arrive within the mandated time limit for each individual delivery; limits that can be tightened by employees asking for expedited or rush deliveries. Even after you arrive you may be kept standing at attention waiting to be acknowledged, perhaps hearing your smartphone chime to indicate a demerit for late arrival and perhaps yet another chime if some office admin is feeling passive-agressive towards mailgirls. Then there are after hours waitressing in the Executive Dining Room when SG&T entertains clients. Clients invariably prefer to be wined and dined at the bank; the food is pretty good and there are naked women bussing tables and refilling glasses. SG&T has a strict no physical interaction with mailgirls policy which tends to get winked at during executive functions

"Last month Mailgirl Twenty-two was punished for flirting with an employee during one of our runs. She was gagged, strung up by her hands, thoroughly lashed on her ass and upper thighs, and then spent several hours standing with a placard dangling from her nipples."

"Was she flirting?"

"Knowing Twenty-two, I would say yes, she was guilty. All this and eating most of your meals from a dog dish on the floor, plus the paddlings, and being confined to this building twenty-four-seven for two years. Stick with Macy's.

"I want to go down and talk to the runners. Do you want me to walk you back down to Frank at the loading dock?"

"No, I think I'll sit here and have another cup of coffee."

"Well, if you have any problems, just walk over there and tell the person at the reception desk that you're Frank's wife and they'll take care of you."

"Thank you."

Megan walked down the curving staircase to the lower ground level and swiped her id badge against the door to the Mailgirl Locker Room. The indicator light flashed red and the door remained stubbornly closed. She walked back up the staircase and walked back to the Security Office.

The desk officer in Security confirmed that her access to the Mailgirl Locker Room had been revoked. Her next stop was her desk, where she brought up the mailgirl app and found that her expanded privileges had also gone, leaving her unable to summon a specific mailgirl. She contemplated calling up a mailgirl to send instructions down to the team, but decided she could just rely on Twenty-three and Thirteen to get the women ready for the race.

Leaving her desk she was heading for the door when a voice called out from the corner of the office, "Megan, what are you doing here? You never work Sunday mornings."

"Actually, I've been at work most Sunday mornings the last few months, just not at my desk and that ends today after the race."

"Race, what race?"

Mr Weslowski was well known for his intense focus on his projects with an utter lack of interest in any other aspect of office life, but Megan thought that even he couldn't have missed the buzz about the mailgirls running.

"SG&T is hosting the Corporate Challenge today and I've been training a group of mailgirls to compete."

"Compete in what?"

"The Corporate Challenge is a ten kilometer running race between teams from companies and agencies across central Maryland. I ran in college and I ran for SG&T last year, but our team finished well back. The fifth floor decided that if we were hosting the event we needed to be more competitive and while they could recruit male runners to transfer here from our other locations, they struck out with women. So, they decided that mailgirls could run farther than just between floors and I was directed to select and train a team."

"That's a waste of your time and capabilities, not as bad as when you were restricted to running around naked, but still you wonder what those dolts are thinking."

Megan looked at the older man in astonishment.

"You do very good work. Gabi also speaks highly of you."

"Gabi?"

"Gabriela Rodriguez, Maria's mother, that is Mailgirl Fourteen. I never paid any attention to any of you girls until Gabi asked me to keep an eye on Maria. I've been keeping her apprised as to Maria's well-being the the last two years and we've both been heartened by her improvement."

"How do you know Dr Rodriguez?"

"We met as students at MIT while I was working on my MBA there. I never stood a chance against Bob Hyland. She was so passionate about her research and he just rode that passion all the way into marriage. She offered him everything: beauty, a technical partnership, and access to her family resources. She wasn't always happy with Bob, but she loved her work, the company, and of course he gave her Maria.

"Well, I need to get this wrapped up before I meet up with her - she said something about shooting a gun."

Megan watched him turn back to his desk and decided that she might as well go out to see how the race preparations were going.

Stepping out through the front door of the bank Megan looked out over the crowd, too many of whom seemed to be looking back at her. She stopped, overwhelmed by the stares and the sheer noise and wondered what would happen when the mailgirls emerged for their race.

"Ms Brooks, Ms Brooks!"

Megan looked to her right and saw Tad, Bob Starnes' son, jogging her way with another young man in tow.

"Dad says I can ride the lead bike again, so we drove down from college yesterday. Most of the guys in my dorm don't believe what I've told them about mailgirls - I think they're just envious - so Sean and I are going to get pictures today."

"You'll have plenty of company, it might be tough for Sean to get a good spot. I don't expect to see any mailgirls close behind the lead bike, either. The strength of our team will be our depth, there won't be any bare breasts dipping to break the tape.

"Are you leading both races? The men run before the women, and both races will go out considerably faster than the trials we did in the summer. You'll have done a good workout after twenty kilometers of fast biking."

"No, Sean will lead the men's race. We arrived early and I showed him the course. There were already some people running then and the cops hadn't blocked the road off yet."

"The other issue is that you'll likely to pass slower runners on the final lap, runners who haven't yet started their final lap. Just be careful."

"My dad already told us all that. Now, I want to show Sean the view down into the Mailgirls Locker Room."

"You'll have to talk to your dad to get you past the guards at the door, they're restricting access to employees and escorted guests this morning."

Just as the two young men were turning away, yet another voice hailed her, "Megan, can I trouble you for a moment."

Megan sighed, "Yes, Jeremy." It was a request to talk to Jeremy, SG&T's local director of Community Relations, that had started her on the road to this point nearly three months ago.

"Do you have time to talk to the press? No cameras, just questions."

Megan sighed more deeply. Looking past Jeremy, "Yes gentlemen, how can I help you?"

When she looked at her watch later she was surprised to find that she'd spent less than twenty minutes talking to the reporters, it had seemed a lifetime. The reporter from the Post was from the Style section, none of the reporters covered sports. For them the story was mailgirls, not the race, and as SG&T was not going to allow mailgirls to talk to the press, they had to settle for a former mailgirl.

Finally that ordeal was done and she considered hiding out at her desk, but then she saw Brendan, and Sam, and Sarah and then Ken and some of the group from the Roadrunners and it was time to start thinking about the race. She warmed up with an easy jog around the three k loop with Charlotte, Shayla, and Sharon returning to the lot just in time to see Dr Rodriguez fire the starting gun for the men's race. She cheered on Ken, Richard, and Corey all wearing their SG&T uniform tops - full length, not crop tops like the women's; she cheered on Brendan and Sam who weren't wearing uniforms, they matched neither in color, nor design. Sean led the way on his bike and did okay.

Megan jogged back to her car and changed into racing flats and pulled off her t-shirt exposing her SG&T colors. She was walking back towards the starting area when the crowd roared.

Mistress V was led the parade out SG&T's front door. Her normal work was fetishistic. Today, she was in over the top dominatrix mode. Her thigh-high, spike-heeled black leather boots gleamed and her leather (pleather?) pants shone in the morning sun. Ariding crop dangled from one hip, a coiled whip from the other. The deep purple corset top made the most of her modest (for a mailgirl, that is) bust. Her lips were painted blood red, her eyes hidden behind mirrored sun glasses, her hair, now a deeper black than natural was pulled back into a tight bun. Megan wondered who was responsible for scripting this bit of theater.

Three was the first mailgirl out the door carrying her shoes and uniform in her left hand. The last time Megan had seen Three the mailgirl sported a ponytail, now she looked like a refugee from Marine boot camp with just blonde stubble on the top of her skull and the sides shaved clean. She swung to the left and bent over to put on her shoes and then stretch the skimpy top across her generous breasts. Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, and Twenty-two followed in order, all with the same haircut, all pausing to don their running attire just in front of the entrance. All but Thirteen drew out the process, effectively a strip-tease in reverse. Flashes from cameras and cell phones seared Megan's peripheral vision and the noise was beyond deafening. This was like no race that she'd ever participated in before.

"That is so hot" breathed Charlotte, just behind Megan's left shoulder.

"Acutally, I thought Mistress V's attire was over the top."

"Not that, the haircuts. It screams ownership even more than the nudity. I'm getting inured to the bare skin, but since I only come into the building on occasion, I rarely get to watch the punishment sessions. I really need to spend more time here. If it wasn't for the traffic...."

"I suspect the shorn heads are a power play by Ms Barnes. She is not happy with the whole mailgirls racing idea and been getting progressively less happy every time we butt heads over their training and treatment. Those five women are in for heightened abuse starting tomorrow. She's going to make them pay for her frustration. It's likely that my sister and Fourteen will bear the brunt of it."

"When did they get their haircuts?"

"Probably this morning, we can ask them at the starting line. I expect you can pull the security footage if you want to see video."

"Oh, yes."

Mailgirl Twenty-two was already awake when the lights went on in the Mailgirls Dormitory and the grill at the end of her sleeping niche slid open. She was wondering if she should have eased back in those runs in July that determined who would run in the Corporate Challenge. Why didn't she just stride through and finish safely in the middle of the pack. She was pretty sure that Two had sandbagged in the trials; she'd seen the black dancer fly up the stairs on a rush delivery. She had her suspicions about some of the others as well. But no, after a lifetime - well, all twenty-three years of her life so far - of doing just enough, she had to excel in a stupid race. She'd learned long ago that she couldn't compete with her older sister so why bother. Well, she was a better mailgirl. Megan had been miserable in the role, she just didn't have the right attitude. Well, that's what being a goody two shoes and a nerd got you; Twenty-two's approach to life as a party was much better preparation for flaunting her body, her sexuality, and it was fun teasing, taunting the mundane employees at the bank.

The question for the day was what was she going to do in the race. After a year of racing about SG&T and the however many weeks of twice weekly training sessions, she knew that she could just stride through the ten k. No stress, just strutting her stuff, looking good. It was too bad that there were separate male and female races, running along in a pack of men would have been fun and she bet that she would have thrown quite a few off their stride. Now it was just playing to the crowd and messing with the straight women -- none of the spectators would be looking at them. Or she could race which might give a rush for a time, but she knew that it would hurt and how would she look then. Just stride though and play to the crowd, that was the winning strategy.