Author's Note: This story draws heavy inspiration from the Mailgirl stories penned by Seahawk76 and lizstanton8181. The original Mailgirl concept, of course, was originated by Cambridge Caine. I have decided to attempt yet another spin on naked girls running around office buildings, so the settings and characters in this story are original and my own.
The previously mentioned author's stories focused on the concepts of public female nudity and masturbation with a healthy dose of submissiveness while maintaining a realistic view of Western working environments, which I found fascinating. Keeping the fiction grounded in reality made the idea of Mailgirls that much more exciting. However, there weren't a whole lot of graphic sexual encounters in those stories, so I decided I'd try writing a treatment that did. This first chapter will set up the story, so I plan for future ones to be more explicit.
This is my first foray into the world of erotica, so helpful comments and suggestions are more than welcome. This first chapter is to set the table and tone for the the rest of the story. I hope you enjoy the journey.
*
Claire Cameron Holliday checked her makeup in her compact mirror for what seemed like the fifth or sixth time since she'd entered the cab that morning. It was still as immaculate as when she first applied it in the bathroom of her hotel room thirty minutes prior, but she still cast a critical eye over everything she could. She couldn't recall the last time she had fretted so much over her appearance, but she also couldn't recall the last time she'd had an assignment that put her on edge as much as this one did.
She was twenty-five, four years removed from graduating summa cum laude from Duke University with a degree in International Studies. The oldest of four siblings to a career CIA officer and a police detective, her post-educational path was rather clear cut. She took a job with the CIA, hoping to work her way through the organization and attain the same level of confidence and respect as her father. However, she was still a woman in a male-dominated world, so her climb was always going to be uphill.
Working against her were her looks, the same ones she was still so assiduously critiquing in her compact mirror. At five foot ten, with shoulder length blonde hair, big, bright blue eyes that alternated from deep cerulean to almost teal depending on the lighting, accompanied by high cheekbones, full lips and sparkling white teeth, she had been told on more than one occasion that she was in the wrong line of work. She usually laughed these arguments off, calling attention to her eyebrows, which were dark brown, thick and very well-defined. But truth be told, she had given fleeting thoughts to hanging up her pencil skirts and long commutes and trading them in for a bikini and an exotic beach somewhere far away. Years of varsity volleyball and soccer had given her a lithe, toned body which often elicited more than its fair share of glances whenever she hit the beach. The gazes were often centered around her chest; she had been blessed with a pair of natural D-cup breasts which complemented her slim figure. Still, despite the allure of making a lot more money being on the cover of some men's magazine, Claire stayed true to the pursuit of what she considered her real calling in life.
Her first few years at the agency were spent in training and she threw herself into it wholeheartedly, coming out at the top of her class. Despite her stellar record, however, she found she was being assigned to menial tasks like data surveillance and arm candy for dignitaries at official functions. She had made mention of this to her advisor within the Agency, a grim, no nonsense man by the name of Grimes, and he assured her the role for her would come sooner rather than later and she would need to seize it.
Which brought her to why she was in a cab, weaving through downtown Seattle traffic, on her way to Mizutomo Tower, the newest skyscraper in the SeaTac area. It had gone up relatively quickly over the past two years, buoyed by the capital the Japanese conglomerate had invested in it. The promise of new employment and a stimulus to the economy were also driving factors. At eighty-five stories tall, it beat the Columbia Center by nine floors and almost all of those were occupied by the Mizutomo corporation. It had indeed brought new jobs to the Seattle market, with almost two thousand people milling in and out every day. Among those workers were a select group of thirty young women who had to deliver interoffice memoranda and packages, completely in the nude.
And today, Claire Holliday was going to join their ranks. She was on her way to become a mailgirl.
*****
"Clarissa Hathaway." It was the cover name she'd been supplied with by the agency, close enough to her own name that she would be able to respond to it for the short amount of time she was scheduled to be there. She didn't imagine she'd be using it much, however, given the fact mailgirls were known only by number.
The lobby security guard peered at the cleverly manufactured ID, then back up at Claire's face. "Miss Hathaway here to see Madame Henckel," he intoned into his intercom before looking back at her. "She'll be down in a few to escort you up."
"Thank you," Claire said with more compunction than she actually felt as she slipped her ID back into her pocketbook and stepped to the side of the lobby desk to await her chaperone. This gave her a little bit of time to reflect on the circumstances which had brought her to this point, for what seemed like the billionth time in the past two weeks.
*****
She'd gotten the email from Grimes and shot straight out of her seat and nearly ran the eighty feet to his office. "Claude Basara," she said breathlessly, standing in Grimes' doorway. "We're going after The Butcher."
Grimes hadn't looked up from his paperwork, his ever-creased forehead furrowed in deep thought. "Operation has been authorized, but there's still a lot of prep needed before we go all in." He gestured to a folder on his desk.
Claire moved into his office, shutting the door behind her before sitting down and reaching for the folder. "I almost didn't think one would be greenlit," she said, flipping through the dossier. "Not with Basara holed up in UEWA."
He grunted. "It almost didn't," he replied, finally looking at her. "He's still there and shows no signs of moving."
She frowned. The United Emirate of Western Arabia was a perfect sanctuary for a rich expat like Claude Basara, who sought to escape extradition by establishing legitimate business in a foreign nation. His extensive American criminal record meant nothing to the UEWA, not with the amount of money he was bringing into the country. He was untouchable as long as he never set foot back into the United States, a prospect which seemed to suit him just fine. "So what's our angle?" Claire asked.
"Not bag 'em and tag 'em, that's for sure. This one we're in for the long haul." Grimes steepled his fingers in front of his face, studying the young woman seated in front of him. "Have to know you're up for it, no matter what the cost."
For someone like Claire, who had fought for everything she'd achieved, only to be held back by the bureaucracy and male-dominated hierarchy that still pervaded the clandestine intelligence community, being assigned to such a dangerous case was the opportunity she was looking for to prove her mettle. "I'm up for it, Grimes. You know that."
