Mailgirls at Home

Scary big cavernous office building atrium becomes playground. I could have done more with this.

Their first few nights on the mattress were not comfortable. Unlike Tami they were not used to sleeping in the nude, and moreover without blankets. Xifeng admitted to being scared in the cavernous darkness, which was interrupted only by the stars above and the little red emergency lights up on the 12th and 24th floors. Tami reminded her, “There’s no one here but us. And things don’t suddenly pop into existence when they turn off the lights.” Then she startled them all by shouting “HELLO!!” It echoed up and down the atrium. After their initial shock the girls giggled, and soon they were shouting little “boops” so as to maximize the number of echoes. Then Ngo-kwang shouted “I want to lick Ms. Sun!!” and continued to more obscene declarations. Yingtai shouted “Huiqing has different size nipples!” Huiqing: “Yingtai has a puffy belly!” “I do not!” “Ngo-kwang’s butthole has three freckles!” “Yifeng has a stretch mark on her left boob!” Body issues, the bane of any teenaged girl, melted away like unwanted fat as the girls got used to being naked 24/7, every inch of their bodies being on full display for the world of clothed adults.

With fear of darkness overcome, a few nights ago the girls started playing hide and seek in the enormous structure, running or sneaking up and down the stairs, prowling the pitch-black corridors, and trying to surprise each other around corners, though it was hard to muffle the approaching thud of bare feet on carpet. They were getting into the habit of wandering the 26 floors, to the point where they felt they knew every byway, every flower-stand in every alcove, every painting on every wall, the feel of every section of carpet under their sensitive soles. And every office that was left open, not that they dare touch anything. They would call out across the space above the atrium and try to guess what floors the others were on. “Yingtai! Guess what floor!” one voice would echo out. “13!” “Wrong, 15!” They were giddy as kids, the huge deserted dark building their own playground, to run around naked in. The girls were not allowed to leave the building, except during the day on Saturdays and Sundays. But it was so extensive that they did not feel confined.

After the first few days sleep became easier, partly because they were exhausted as their duties were revved up, partly because Tami helped out by serving warm milk before the suggested 10:30 p.m. bedtime. Soon the girls found themselves waking up spontaneously a minute or two before the 6:30 a.m. alarm, ready for another day.

The milk was from the well-stocked fridge next to the mattress, not on the platform but on floor level. The mattress was five feet up, which not so coincidentally put the girls’ bodies at eye level for passers by. The mattress was where they typically returned for lunch and for their 15-minute breaks. It was their home, exposed though it was. A set of four stairs to the side led down to the floor level, though they could jump down too, breasts bouncing, bare soles slapping onto the terrazzo. The fridge was part of a little kitchenette, with no walls of course. Everything the girls did was on unobstructed view. To the other side was a shower with clear glass sides and a toilet. Next to the toilet were the enema bags; a Mailgirl’s anus is often on display and has to be clean inside and out. Another little table had a sink and toothbrushes and cosmetics and a little mirror, and the drawer where the Mailgirl Monitoring Units (MMU’s) were kept off hours. Such was the layout of their “dorm”.

During the day the atrium was filled with official people going here and there. Most gave the girls a glance. A few stopped to look for a moment or two, particularly if one of the girls was relieving herself. The toilet (like everything else) was set up so that the girls were always facing outward. They had to face the public as they pooped. Still, extended gawking was frowned upon. The only exception was an artist named Slice Reality, who set up an easel every week or so and would study them as long as needed for his work. They guessed he was creating publicity materials for the worldwide Mailgirls operation. The girls were not allowed to talk to him. In fact aside from reporting on deliveries, they were not allowed to talk to anyone, technically not even each other, except during breaks or after hours, though they often engaged in their naked-girl-talk when they passed each other on the stairs during deliveries, amid the echo in the stairwell caused by near and distant thumping of tough Mailgirls soles on rough non-slip stairs.

Being a Mailgirl, as one might imagine, put one in perfect physical condition. Even after only two weeks the novices noticed their waists getting smaller, their bodies more muscular, with more spring in their step. The food they were provided was vegan and also low-calorie, high-fiber, and high-protein. Despite all these prerequisites it was also delicious. In fact the mattress, the platform, the nightstand, the kitchenette -- it was well thought-out and obviously very expensive. It seemed that whatever Hsa saved by not giving them clothing or private quarters, it spent on them in other ways; their bodies had been stripped but were also being taken very good care of. There was even a set of shiny dumbbells so that the girls could compensate for all the exercise their legs were getting by developing upper body mass. They took turns on them after breakfast. Huiqing was proud of being able to heft the 5-kilo weights. For Tami, of course, even the 10-kilos were no great challenge.

To the other girls, Tami was some kind of naked Superwoman. Besides being their trainer she was also their big sister and their counselor. Xifeng got homesick the first week. That night she snuggled against the older girl, her head against Tami’s breast, brushing against the erect nipple.

“I know how it was,” Tami said, stroking her hair. “My first week away at college, I was homesick too. . . I cried so much the sleeve on my shirt got soaked.”

“You - you wore a shirt? I thought you were a nudist!” They had heard a few things.

“Well . . . um . . . it was actually my friend’s shirt.”

Xifeng looked out into the distance, then wrapped her foot around Tami’s hips, her toes brushing against the small of Tami’s back. They did not scrape. Per regulations, the Mailgirls’ toenails, like their fingernails, were closely clipped. “I heard you came here with a suitcase of clothes, it was some kind of mistake. It was snowing and they went out there and burned the clothes with you watching. . . I bet you were glad those clothes got burned, right in front of you!”

Tami didn’t answer.

Xifeng went on. “You’re so dedicated to being a nudist. I couldn’t be like you.” She sniffled, slowly recovering from her sadness. “I’ll count the days until I get to wear clothes again. I’m not like you. I want clothes, I need clothes!”

Tami’s throat got dry. She cleared it and said, “You mustn’t think like that. Be proud of being naked. I see how you run. You can’t be a good Mailgirl and always be holding your arms in. It’s a way of trying to cover your breasts. Pump your arms.” This was something she said to all the novices.

“I know the work seems repetitious,” she said the other night to all four girls. “But be the best at it that you can be.”

“We’re just Mailgirls!” Huiqing said. “All we do is be naked and deliver blueprints and packages and say, ‘Yes Sir’ and ‘Yes Ma’am’!”

“Any job can be done badly or well or excellently,” Tami said. “My uncle, for example, worked on the sanitation crew. He was the only one whose back didn’t go out after five years. He knew how to pick up a bag and swing it into the maw with a minimum of effort. He told me it was like swinging a baseball bat. And if something fell to the ground he always picked it up. He knew how to bend down without getting all strained. I saw him in action once. It was almost like he was dancing. He was excellent at what he did!”

The girls did not seem impressed. Tami got more to the point. “To be an excellent Mailgirl, run in an efficient way. Don’t thud on your heels. You should be springing on the balls of your feet. Keep your toes spread and use them to thrust forward. Also there’s an elegant way, and a clumsy way, to snake around people in a crowded hallway. Memorize the elevator locations, the corners. That’s why I put the floor plans on your laptops. They’re all the same, except for floors 2, 3, 18, 25 and 26. Plan ahead. And practice ‘presenting’. Bend down, brace your hands on the floor in front, not behind you, then bring your butt down to the floor with one motion. It looks better and it’s also less effort.”

“But some of those people are so rude!!” Ngo-kwang said. “Or they’re creeps. Especially on the upper floors!” Though some execs were nicer than others, there was no denying the Hsa Corporation’s underlying callousness.

“It’s them, it’s not you. If they’re rude it’s their problem. Don’t let it bother you. Remember, we’re stronger than they are!”

“What?”

“It takes a lot of courage to walk around like this” -- Tami pointed with both index fingers down to her bare breasts -- “when everyone around you is fully clothed. I don’t think any of them could do it. But we can!”

This brought her to another frequent theme, getting them to like their bodies. “Be proud of your nudity. Every time you think you’re debasing yourself, tell yourself that you’re actually showing off that you’re beautiful. They might be proud of their 5,000 - Yuan suits but you are wearing the most expensive, prettiest suit of all -- your beautiful bare skin. And you’re beautiful inside as well as out. Look!” In front of them she spread her legs and lifted up her butt. She brought her hands around and spread her lower lips. “Look close!” The four naked teenagers gingerly brought their heads closer, Ngo-kwang a little more eagerly than the others. “Push and the lips can separate. I can feel the air in there now . . . Xifeng, get your phone and hit the flashlight.” They took turns inspecting the bright pink cave and the cervix at the far end. To the girls it seemed almost like the illumination was coming from within Tami rather than from the smartphone.

“You all have the same . . . woman-land . . . as me. Though every girl’s is different.” With various degrees of eagerness she got the other four to open up their vaginas so that the others could look inside. Xifeng’s wouldn’t open but that was o.k. Tami made them comment on each girl’s woman-land, how they differed. Unavoidably the odor of female musk soon enveloped them. “Ooh baby,” Ngo-kwang said to Huiqing. “Can I?”

Xifeng knew what was about to happen. “I don’t want to see this! . . . Can’t you do this up on 14 like you usually do!” If she had to hear the sounds of orgasm she would much rather they be far-off echoes. She scooted over to the other side of the mattress, sat up cross-legged, and cruised the internet on her phone. Of course this was China and her browsing was limited.

The lapping of tongues, the moans of passion, the sucking on nipples and clitorises . . . this was part of the Mailgirls’ shared secrets, away from the world’s prying eyes, just having each other, their own private world, clothed by nothing except the air of the atrium, in the darkness, and then the cries of orgasm, uninhibited and loud because they knew no one was around to hear, echoing off the corridor walls, and off the skylight way up above.

It was finally on the thirteenth night that Xifeng blushingly confessed to them that she had never had an orgasm. A couple of times she had tried diddling herself under the covers, in the privacy of her bedroom back in Nanning, when she knew her parents were out. She sensed there was a peak in the distance but she couldn’t quite get there. Ngo-kwang was about to rise to the challenge by attacking her with a ferocious tongue. But Tami advised them to go slow: “If it won’t happen tonight, it will happen tomorrow night, or maybe the night after.” In the darkness Xifeng couldn’t see a thing, which helped put her at ease. She only felt the lips and gentle teeth on her nipples, fingers spreading her lower lips, the subtle and then more aggressive poking of tongues, the sweeping over the clitoris, the jolts and thrills, and then despite her initial protest the noodling of Ngo-kwang’s pointed tongue into her recently enema-ed, cleaned-up anus. She got close a few times; then she finally went over the edge. It was a spectacle they kept ribbing her about afterwards. Her scream nearly broke the glass up on the skylight, causing it to vibrate and send her shriek up to the very stars. She then went right to sleep, unmovable, like a corpse, though a smiling one.