Mailroom Girls – A Week in the Life
by Cambridge Caine
The company had taken away Kirsten's clothes, made her a dumb pet at the disposal of anyone with a wifi connection, but the lunch breaks were still inviolate due to some quirk in the labor laws. As a result, Kirsten's armband always shut down with enough time to allow her to get to the mailroom for her 30 minute break. Following her last delivery, Kirsten jogged back to the mailroom and entered the "shower room" adjacent. It was actually an old janitor's closet. The door had been taken off at the hinges, but the grimy mop sink served as the communal shower.
Kirsten stepped into the mop sink. The cold water ran over her skin, but it was a welcome relief from the sticky grime of her duties. She drank as much of the fresh water as she dared and to pee down the drain. Ever since her accident in Mr. Martinez's office, she'd been hyper cautious. She was joined by girl #3, Emily, a friendly surfer girl who's tanlines made her a figure of fun around the office. The girls crouched together in the filthy mop sink and washed each other's backs. Kirsten pretended not to notice as Emily took the opportunity to relieve herself as well.
"Who's the third?" asked Kirsten. The girls took their breaks in groups of three, but the order was different every time.
"Shawna," said Emily. They both rolled their eyes.
Kirsten and Emily left the shower. They dropped to their hands and knees and crawled into the mailroom. Per Carl's dictates they stopped to kiss a picture of the CEO which was hung at crawl level near the threshold. Shawna was already there. She giggled as she sat on Carl's lap. She'd always been a bit of a bimbo, even before the new jobs. She never had to shower because she never got sweaty. Carl liked having her around, so she rarely had to do runs.
Carl pushed Shawna off his lap and she crawled over to Kirsten and Emily.
"Are you pups ready for your nums?" He opened the microwave and brought out the bag of blended hot dogs and oatmeal that the company provided as the daily catered lunch. He squeezed the extruded paste into three stainless steel dog dishes and slid them in front of the three girls. Then he retrieved his own lunch, a meatball sub from the place down the street. It smelled amazing, specially compared to the disgusting, reheated food in front of Kirsten's face.
"Yum! I love my num nums!" said Shawna.
"Good girl," said Carl. He stroked her pretty blonde hair, then fed her a meatball. Shawna ate it and then licked sauce off of Carl's fingers.
"Thanks, daddy," giggled Shawna. Carl fed her another meatball. The sandwich smelled so good that Kirsten was jealous of the chance to lick Carl's disgusting fingers.
Kirsten dropped to all fours in front of her dog dish and steadied the dish with her hands. She lowered her face to the bowl and began to eat.
"You're late, number 12." Kirsten shuddered. She heard the words a half dozen times every day, but they still filled her with fear. She stood before Mr. Fairview, legs spread, arms behind her back, head down. She was of course naked. In recent months she had degenerated from respected executive to a subhuman, naked brute who's only job was to dash about the office carrying mail.
"I'm sorry, Sir. This girl was too stupid and lazy to perform a simple task," Kirsten said. It was the boilerplate response.
Mr. Fairview walked around her, examining every inch of her naked form. He was an ugly man, but he always dressed impeccably. His sharp Armani three piece suit made Kirsten feel even more naked and vulnerable than usual. He stroked her torso from her nipple to the top of her slit. "Million dollar body, ten cent head. That's your problem."
"Yes sir." Men told Kirsten things worse than that every day, but they always made her furious. She kept her face neutral, but her nude body flushed a bright pink.
Mr. Fairview sat on the leather Eames couch. He spread a clean, white towel over his lap, then motioned for Kirsten to approach. Kirsten lay across Mr. Eames' lap, careful not to get any of her sweat or body oil on his suit.
Smack! Mr. Fairview brought his hand down on Kirsten's ass with surprising force. She could see the reflection of his face on the flatscreen TV in his office. His face shone in a manic look of utter glee. Ever since memo #652, it had been the executive's prerogative to punish the girls if they were late on their deliveries. Most had passed or delegated to their grateful assistants, Mr. Fairview enjoyed the task with gusto.
He spanked her fourteen more times, striking the same spot each time. Kirsten bit her lip in agony - she only had ten more to go. She squirmed on Mr. Fairview's lap and felt his cock stiffen and press against her. If it wasn't for the towel and the trousers between them he would be inside her.
"Turn over," said Fairview.
Kirsten turned on her back and clutched her knees to her chest, locking her arms behind her knees. She could feel the thickness of his erection pressing into her back.
He brought his hand down on her sweaty, oiled pussy lips. Kirsten screamed in agony, so Mr. Fairview held a hand over her mouth. He struck her pussy far more than the rules said she owed, stopping when he was tired.
"Thank you, sir, " said Kirsten. She tried to get up, but he held her fast, cradling her. He rubbed her oil slicked pussy with the palm of his hand.
"The rules are funny, aren't they?" I can spank your slutty slit all day on but if I stuck a finger in you... "
"That would be a violation of the employee relations regulations." She tried to keep the triumph out of her voice, but Mr. Fairview was irritated anyway. He was a petty tyrant and he didn't like being answerable to HR.
"We'll see... " he said. "I remember when you were a person. You were always flaunting those tits and that ass of yours. Teasing men. But I knew you were a dirty whore. You wanted this."
Kirsten said nothing. This angered Fairview.
"Where did you go to college, 12?"
"And look where it got you. Bring your diploma tomorrow. I want to spank you with it."
"I can't, Sir. Mr. Weller already made me cut it up and burn it."
Kirsten's arm band buzzed, summoning her to her next assignment. It was Mr. Denholm, another torture aficionado. She was already late. Still, as she left Mr. Fairview in his office, nursing his erection and his disappointment, she reflected that it was the closest to a win that she'd had in months.
Sweat dripped from Kirsten's curves as she knelt on the floor of Davison's office. Her ass as in the air, her breasts dangled and when they swayed the tips of her sweat soaked nipples brushed the floor. Her cheek was flush with the floor, her mouth open as wide as it would go.
Thwack! Davison putted a golf ball into her open mouth. It took all her willpower not to gag.
"Return," barked Davison.
Kirsten spit the ball back towards Davison. He caught it with his putter. Davison did this to all the girls, and it never got easier. The trick was to hold still, not blink, and protect her teeth with her lips.
Recently it had become a real pissing contest with the executives to log as many minutes as possible with the mailroom girls. Guys at the top could retain girls for hours, but generally didn't as they were secure in themselves. The lower guys tried to show off by mimicking what they perceived of as shows of power which didn't actually exist. VP level execs could keep girls for about twenty minutes, managers about ten. Davison lined up another ball. He acted like he could take ten minutes, but he merited three, at best. HR would make an example of him soon, probably by docking his pay and his bonus. The company loved saving money.
Ordinarily, Kirsten would be glad for the break, golf balls and all, but today. She had a problem. She had an illegal cell phone in her pussy. Her friend Maggie had lined up a phone interview. Kirsten was risking a huge punishment, but the interview could be her escape from the mailroom. She had wrapped her cell phone in three layers of zip lock bags and hid it in her pussy.
Davison sank another putt and ordered her to spit the ball back. And then Kirsten's phone rang. Loudly.
Kirsten had set the ringer to vibrate, she'd triple checked it, but somehow the ringer had turned on. Kirsten clenched her pussy, desperately trying to squeeze the mute button. The phone vibrated inside her, the ring seemed impossibly loud, but she knew it was just the feel of the Lady Gaga ring tone echoing through the hollows of her body. She prayed that Davison wouldn't hear it.
Davison launched another ball into her mouth. He as about to call for the return, but then he cocked his head, hearing the noise. He looked at her suspiciously She said nothing, grateful she had a golf ball in her mouth. The phone was still ringing inside her, why hadn't it gone to voice mail?
Davison checked his own phone and his desk, then approached Kirsten.
"Is that coming from you?" he asked.
But then his phone rang and Davison answered it on his blutooth. Kirsten overhead the unmistakable sound of an angry call from Human Resources. Davison was in trouble.
"Sorry sir, I'll release her right now." He waved away Kirsten. She got to her feet and scurried out of his office so quickly she forgot to spit out his golf ball. Her phone stopped ringing.
Kirsten ducked into a spare conference room and pulled her phone out of her pussy. She opened the three ziplock bags. The phone rang again. A moment later, her armband started buzzing, summoning Kirsten to her next job. She ignored it, hoping the call was worth the demerits. She put the phone to her face. Despite the bags, her phone still smelled like sweat and pussy. She answered, it was her friend Maggie.
"Where were you? They called you twice. They ended up hiring the girl they called right after you. But there are other jobs. Something about flex duties on a pilot program in the mailroom."
Kirsten hung up, and stuffed the phone into a bag and back up inside her. She was already ten seconds late. The punishment on this one was going to suck.
It was only when she was kneeling in the next executive's office that she realized she'd forgotten to turn off the ringer.
Kirsten had largely gotten used to her new life. Even the constant nudity felt normal. But there were days when the spell broke and humiliation rushed in with a vengeance and she blushed anew.
Kirsten was on all fours, drinking water from one of the dog dishes on the floor. She saw two people go into a small conference room: Mr. Fairview and someone she recognized. She got goosebumps when she placed the face. Greg Carson.
Back in college, Greg had been in direct competition with her for a number of grants and fellowships. She'd won and Greg had been pissed. But here he was, in a suit and a Rolex, getting the glad handed treatment Mr. Fairview reserved for VIPs. She was naked but for her armband and a thin shine of baby oil and sweat, she got to her feet and slunk off, hoping that Greg wouldn't see her.
But then Greg called her name, not #12 but her human name, and it was shocking enough in the context of her day that she couldn't help but look up. She wanted to crawl off and hide, but Mr. Fairview stopped her with a command.
"#12. Come here."
Kirsten shook with impotent rage, shame and humiliation, but she was powerless to resist as her instinctive training took over. Her body flushed crimson She dropped to all fours and crawled into the conference room to the leather chairs where Greg and Mr. Fairview sat. Greg wore shiny Armani loafers and she caught her pathetic reflection in them.
"Oh wow, it is you, Kirsten." Kirsten noted that Greg was actually more shocked than she was. His mortification on her behalf hardly felt like a triumph.
"Small world - but she goes by #12 here," Said Mr. Anderson.
"Don't be pedantic, Anderson. There's no reason to humiliate the English language."
"Lick my shoes," said Anderson.
"Sir, I don't have any demerits.." the presence of Greg was enough to spur Kirsten to mount a defense of her self esteem, however pathetic.
"It's your job if you don't want to get demerits," said Anderson. He waved his keycard threateningly. Kirsten choked back a sob, crawled over to Anderson, and began licking his left Oxford shoe. Anderson began rubbing her pussy with the toe of the right.
"Looks like a I got a wet stain on the other one."
Kirsten began licking her own pussy juices off the shoe. Anderson began rubbing her pussy with the toe of his left shoe.
"And now the left one's dirty."
"Maybe you wouldn't get your shoes so dirty if you didn't keep rubbing them on her pussy," said Greg. He spoke with a repulsed kind of pity which was worse than anything else he could possibly do to her.
Mr. Fairview ordered Kirsten to the ready pose. She got to her feet, spread her legs wide, put her hands behind her head, and opened her mouth to a perfect O. She was completely exposed.
"I didn't know you were such a feminist, Carson."
"I'm not great with humiliation. I can't even get through an episode of The Office."
"So how do you kids know each other," asked Mr. Fairview, his face practically shining with an evident pleasure.
"Kirsten and I went to college together," said Greg.
"Yeah, she beat you for summa cum laude or something?" Fairview was good at reading people.
"Uh, kind of, but It was really political." Greg still looked embarrassed by the loss.
"I'd say you won in the grand scheme of things."
"Probably. Man, this is an origin story I gotta hear."
Kirsten didn't know what to do. She looked at Fairview for guidance.
A sly look crossed Fairview's face. "I could tell you, but... look, why don't you go back to your hotel room. I'll send #12 over forthwith."
"Tempting," said Todd, but I feel like I'd be losing some negotiating leverage."
Fairview scowled. He didn't like to lose, and he especially didn't like it when mailroom girls saw him lose.
"Okay, down to business. Get out of here, #12."
"Hang on," said Todd. He took out his camera phone. "I think this is one for the scrapbook."
Kirsten was under Carl's desk, wiping it down with Windex. Carl sat at the desk, looking down at her through the glass top like a kid looking at a bug in the jar. He reached down and idly stroked her side. Kirsten struggled not to recoil at his touch. She looked past Carl to the big clock at the wall. It was 7:45. The day was almost over.
Regular office hours were from 9-6, but the girls stayed till 8 in case any executive needed anything after hours. While things were winding down, they had to clean the mailroom on their hands and knees, wiping every nook and cranny down with disinfecting cloths. The naked girls climbed atop the cabinets and crawled behind the copiers, wiping everything. No one wanted to incur demerits for leaving a mess.
At 7:50, Carl idly gave Kirsten a light kick in her sex. "Okay, sluts. Gather round."
The girls put away their cleaning supplies and knelt in numerical order in front of Carl's desk.
"Not a bad week. A few too many demerits. You gotta tighten up on that, Human Resources are going to start really cracking down. Also, new policy, I'm going to have to do cavity checks on all you girls nightly."
The girls groaned. They were so used to this that most of them simply put their faces down and their asses up. Carl pulled on a rubber glove and lubed it up with a tub of Vaseline.
"There have been some thefts, and HR wants to make sure it's not you. You wouldn't want everyone to think you sluts were thieves, would you?" Carl explained this as he roughly probed Kirsten's pussy first, and then her ass. She was glad that she didn't have her phone on her.
The cavity search took another fifteen minutes, so the girls were well past their usual clock out time (this didn't count as unpaid overtime, Carl was quick to add). Then Carl ordered them into the adjacent janitor closet where he hosed down the twelve girls en masse. He gave them thirty seconds to wash the baby oil off their skin, then he hosed them down again.
Carl unlocked the girl's cubbies. Kirsten pulled off her armband and set it to charge in it's docking station. She gratefully pulled on her panties and her bra, then shimmied into her suit. Leaving for the night was always weird, but as she buttoned her suit jacket and slipped into her pumps, she felt a renewed sense of purpose and worth. She checked her phone. Her parents were en route to the hotel from the airport. Kirsten couldn't wait to see them.
Just then, Mrs. Frost from Human Resources entered. Everyone froze.
"Change of plans, Carl. We've got some people from the Vancouver branch in this weekend. I need a mailroom girl to stay this weekend, just in case."
"Take #12." Carl didn't even have to think about it. The rest of the mailroom girls scurried out, intent on getting to their cars while the getting was good.
"But I have plans this weekend. My parents are coming into town."
Mrs. Frost favored Kirsten with a withering, managerial stare that clearly said that logic was futile.
"You shouldn't have scheduled a visit while you were working. Carl, make sure she has a bowl of food and an arm band with fresh batteries. #12, you're on the clock. I will add one demerit for ever second you are out of uniform.
By the time Kirsten had texted a quick excuse to her parents and stripped again, she had incurred 45 more demerits. Carl locked her cubby and attached a new armband to her arm. In the interim, he had produced a bowl of water, a bowl of food, and a large dog bed.
"Make yourself comfortable, #12, someone will be by to feed you in the morning."
Carl grabbed his briefcase and walked out of the mailroom with Mrs. Frost. The lights dimmed soon after, the room was faintly lit by the glow of Carl's (locked) computer screen.
Kirsten put her head down and began to cry. Her armband buzzed. The executives needed coffee on the seventh floor. She pulled herself together, took a deep breath, and ran out of the mailroom.
Copyright© 2013 by Cambridge Caine. All rights reserved. I welcome your comments. Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org