Heather's story:
Part One: The Last Naked Day?
I had been summoned to conference room #2, and I was momentarily stunned by what I saw on the conference table--although I should have been used to it by now. Naked mailgirl Number Three and our newest girl, equally naked Number Seven were on the table. Number Seven was betwen Three's muscular legs, loudly and appropriately sloppily eating Number Three's pussy out.
Number Three was formerly known as Deb, a forty-two-year-old plumpish and very fake blonde. Deb had certainly toned her body up since she had started here--running around naked eight hours a day for a year will do that to you. She had also totally shaved--that brown hair down there had become much too distracting.
Deb--I mean Number Three--had a hard look on her face. I knew--we all knew--that she hated being forced into these very public lesbian encounters. But she had no choice--none of us had any choice--not if we wanted to keep our jobs.
Number Seven was our newest recruit, a Japanese-American cutie named Miya--when she had her clothes on. Miya was only twenty-two and she was such a sweet little thing. I am sure she was hired to fulfill someone's very specific prurient fantasies.
I knelt down, in the expected Knees Open position: my naked asscheeks on my bare heels. "Mailgirl Number Two reporting as requested," I announced to Douglas.
Douglas didn't even look at me, even with my big breasts held out high, my shaved sex opened wide for his view. The rest of his sales associates--three men and one woman--were similarly entranced by the spectacle.
"Just a moment, Number Two. I do believe our entertainment is almost over."
"I..."
"It's quite all right. I hit 'pause' on my request."
I sighed in relief. I really really wanted my ratings to go back up again. I had liked being Number One.
As I watched, Number Three had closed her eyes and was shaking her head. She was gripping the sides of the table so hard that her fingernails nearly dug in. Deb was 100% straight--she hated having a girl make her cum--but she was cumming now.
Number Seven had just been hired three weeks ago and she was still so eager to please. The rest of us--four left of the original five--were hardened now. We were hardened by our constant nudity, by the nonstop male gaze, by getting paid to be nothing more than naked sex objects.
Now, we were all telling ourselves: 'just a little longer;' we would put up with having to put on these ridiculous sexual performances 'just a little longer.' But four out of five of the original naked mailgirls... we were still here.
As Number Three came--eyes closed, shaking her head, and murmuring "no No NO!" I contemplated how we had all gotten to this crazy place.
Only three months ago the city authorities clamped down--and the state wasn't far behind. They informed ZYX Industries that it didn't matter that any female employee could chose to work naked. The fact that certain females were required to work naked meant that their status had to be reclassified. Either the mailgirl program would be shut down--or naked mailgirls would have to be classified as adult performers or exotic entertainers.
Well: would anyone expect management to take the high road? Hell no. We girls were now made to give sexual performances of ten minutes every two hours.
Management insisted it was a totally economic decision. Our in-house employee headcount had increased by over 15% in one year. Our sales contracts attributed to curious males--and females--who were lured in by the enticing promise of naked tits, asses, and pussies, were about $29 million in total.
Management was generous in one way. If, when a new sales contract was signed, the signers admitted that the prospect of working around nude female employees had peaked their initial interest, any mailgirls who were around during contract negotiations were given a $1,000 bonus. Pretty nice.
Douglas finally turned to me as the lesbian act had concluded. Number Seven was wiping Three's now very sticky feminine area with feminine wipes. Three was staring at the ceiling.
"I have a message for our CEO." He extended his phone to the one strapped to my arm. Both phones dinged. "We got the Thorston contract." He gestured toward the two nudes and smiled. "This was our little celebration."
I stood up. I turned and bent and presented my bare bottom. He finally looked me over.
"God. Look at you. Are your nipples getting bigger? Is this ass of yours getting even firmer, and more fuckable?"
I licked my lips. He was deliberately delaying me. "Thank you for noticing my tits and my ass, sir."
Douglas laughed. "Who wouldn't?!" He gave my ass a pretty good slap. I had to bite in my desire to yell "ow!".
"Thank you for motivating me, sir," I replied, as I began speed-walking out of there.
"God!" one of the other salesmen exclaimed. "I will never ever get tired of watching all of these bare-assed little bitches bouncing around!"
That got a good laugh.
I walked through the open office space with my head held high, my breasts thrust out. I ignored the whistles and the catcalls:
"Oh baby: bring that hot ass over here!"
"Wait--wait! You're too fast--we didn't even get a good look at your pussy!"
I wasn't allowed to react, only to smile and nod. I was nothing more than naked eye candy, and the men were responding as expected.
Mailgirls are supposed to be proud of the effect of their nude bodies on the average leering male.
As I said: I have become hardened. When I strip off my clothes, my nudity becomes my shield. Why not? When I bare my body, my breasts, my buttocks, my vulva and my legs are attacked: commented on and leered at.
So what do I do in response?
I proudly thrust out my breasts. When I move, I move sinuously; I make certain that they shimmy.
I clench the muscles in each buttock as I walk; it has become routine to me now. I know it's working because I hear the gasps and the comments as I stroll away.
I stretch out my long legs: from my big toes to where each leg joins my hip. I no longer walk--I stretch out and strut each long leg from hip to toe.
As for my pussy: I picture my vagina as the center of my being. And yet it is a hole, an empty tunnel into my body. A hole is not fulfilled when empty. A hole yearns to be filled. I imagine not just penises, but fingers and fists, long snake-like tongues working their way inside of me.
Invariably, when I look down at the subject of my thoughts, my mound will be thrust out. My clitoris will also be out. My inner lips will be puffy. And my vagina will be glistening and nearly winking as all eyes are upon my sex, drinking me in.
I aim to please.
Yes; a year ago, I was the bouncy, giggly girl that Rob described in his sexy memoir (See: 'The Mailgirl Solution: 2022'). I blushed hot and got instantly wet at the thought of running around the office in my birthday suit. Now, when I bare my loins, I feel as though I am girding my loins for battle.
And yet... 'this could be the last naked day,' I kept thinking, 'the very last naked day.'
Marg, the H. R. Director and Rob's boss, was getting a promotion to V. P.. She had already recommended Rob for her position. The Board was meeting this afternoon. If and when they approved... then it was over. Rob will make me his Personal Assistant.
Rob's fantasy--and mine--will come true. He has already told me that he will pick out the outfit that I will wear at work, every day. Marg's office has a closet she used for coats... in that closet will be our favorite professional and sexy clothes for me. Rob will place my work uniform for the day on special pink hangers. If the hangers are empty that morning, then that is what I shall wear for work that day. Nothing.
I climbed the stairs to the third floor and rounded the corner to the left of the Main Mailgirl Station. It's empty now; the girls are all showered and shaved, and Number One has completed her inspections of each of our naked bodies--top to bottom, every bared inch, as the usual mostly male audience gathered and gaped and commented outside.
I had to stop just outside the CEO's office. As I said before, I really shouldn't be surprised at sights like this, but really? There were only seven naked mailgirls. Two of them had been occupied in downstair's sexy lesbian fantasy... now two more were atop the CEOs massive, cleared-off desk.
I glanced at the company cell strapped to my upper left arm. It was 11:05 am, and mailgirls were supposed to provide sexual entertainment every two hours. There was always a bottleneck around eleven, as we hit the floors at nine.
As I entered the office, all I could see at first were the two beautiful, but very different asses of the two brunettes hunched over on the desk. The smaller girl had a silver buttplug sticking out of her ass. She had a travel-sized bottle of baby oil, and was applying that oil to the larger lady's asshole.
"Oh, milady," the younger, smaller girl was saying in a rather bad Cockney accent, "I have never put in an arse-plug into another woman's bum--only into meeself!"
"Well," the older, larger nude replied,
(in a much better accent) "you will very properly place that naughty thing inside me, else I shall inform my husband what his scullery maid is up to in her spare time."
Edgar, the CEO, was striding back and forth in front of his desk, clutching his cell phone, eyes never leaving the magnificent scenery in front of him.
The younger nude brunette was mailgirl Number Four, formerly known as Taylor. She was a gorgeous, curvy, leggy, blue-eyed and perpetually smiling twenty-two-year-old, with long brown hair cascading down to her tiny waist.
The older nude was the new Number One. Donna had only joined out nude brigade about a month ago. The mature, full-bodied forty-four year old had been a mid-level manager with ZYX--until she was passed over for a promised promotion.
Donna had stormed into Marg's office one morning, ripped off all of her clothes, and had herself nude and Knees Open in less than a minute.
Marg had an auditor with her, a kindly, distinguished older gentleman. Donna finally noticed his presence--and his stunned, open-mouthed look.
"Oh: sorry! So Marg: when can I start?"
Donna--excuse me, Number One--was formidable at first glance. She stood at nearly 5' 11", and her breasts were formidable in and of themselves. They had to be at least 40Ds, and yet they were remarkably firm and un-saggy for a woman exactly twice Taylor's age.
Number One was most impressive below her waist. Her big, rounded butt and her long, powerful legs could have been sculpted out of pink marble in Ancient Greece. In between those legs, all one could see was a plumped pink slit at the bottom of her dark furry triangle--even when she was kneeling and spread. Number One had the thickest inner lips that I had ever seen.
Donna was a natural leader--even when she was au naturel. She had such a pretty face with an all-encompassing smile--everyone loved her. She was the most natural person that I ever saw, running around naked. Number One accepted her nudity with grace, such that, I seldom heard catcalls or rude remarks directed at her.
Edgar saw me hesitate and waved me in. I started to kneel--
"Standing position only, Number Two. Ladies: you're doing great! Put it on pause for now, but try to remain in character."
I stood with my hands behind my back, my feet at shoulder width. Edgar grinned as he looked me over.
"Are you becoming more beautiful every day? Going without your clothes suits you, my dear!"
