Another Life

As neat as she'd tried to be, Seventeen could feel mailgirl chow on her chin and above her lip. She used her hand to wipe her face, and -- with Two watching on -- she licked the last few bits of her dinner from her fingers. Without standing, she returned to the water bowl, and did her best to wash the taste from her mouth.

Seventeen did, after a drink, rise to her feet. She thanked Two for her hospitality, and then padded towards the shower block on her end of the locker room. She pulled her ponytail loose as she walked, and then ran her fingers through her hair too loosen it. The elastic was deposited with a handful of others on the edge of the sink counter, and Seventeen stepped up into the shower block without further ceremony.

Twenty-Four was still showering at the far end, but Thirteen, Fourteen, and Nine had all wrapped up, and Twenty-Two had cum and gone. It was now Fifteen's turn -- one shower from the left, directly beside Twenty-Four -- to get herself off under the frigid water. Under the shower head on the far right was Mailgirl Number Eleven, who was at present squatting over the shower drain and relieving herself; no performance anxieties there, Seventeen thought jealously. She took her place between Fifteen on her left and Eleven on her right.

When Fourteen had first dropped into a squat in the showers beside her yesterday afternoon, Seventeen had been unnerved. She hadn't said anything at the time, and kept her focus on her own reflection in front of her. But Fourteen had noticed the skittishness all the same, and explained that they all did it from time to time. Morning and afternoon breaks were just fifteen minutes long, inclusive of the time it took for a girl to get back down to the locker room. Once on the second floor, a girl's priorities were a brisk shower, a bathroom break, and maybe a quick climax; in the interest of time, all three could be accomplished in short order in the showers. "One-stop shopping," Fourteen had mused.

Seventeen had fully intended for her first act of public masturbation to be in the showers that afternoon, in the aftermath of the incident on the 13th Floor. But as turned on as she'd been then, as much she'd been drunk on her own libido, she hadn't been able to go through with it. The showerheads were affixed onto the mirror glass walls at the front of locker room, and Seventeen had quickly gotten into her head about the potential crowd on the other side. Unable to perform then, she'd gone back for the rest of her afternoon still buzzing on sexual excitement, and had found release only upon returning to the locker room that evening. But that bridge had been crossed, and the running water helped with another; even as Eleven stood, Seventeen squatted, and was finally able to pee.

The act did nothing to dissuade Fifteen from pursuing her passion. The girl had her back up against the wall, with her legs spread just enough to allow her hand access to the prize between them. She was still in the early stages of build, but lost in her own world, and paid no attention to Seventeen squatting next to her, right at crotch-height.

Pressure now relieved, Seventeen stood and caught Eleven's eyes. Unlike the shorter Mailgirl Number Five, Eleven was tall for an Asian-American girl. She was apparently half-Japanese on her father's side, with long dark hair and porcelain skin.

"Day two," Eleven offered with a smile.

"Day two," Seventeen confirmed. She caught eye contact with her own reflection, briefly, and immediately averted her eyes.

This was less her mailgirl training, and more about Seventeen still unable to fully come to grips with how far she'd fallen in the last two days.

"So...what...seven hundred and some more days to go?"

Seventeen frowned. Seven hundred and some more days until she was free. Not including Sundays, and with maybe half of her Saturdays off, she could winnow it down to something like five hundred and seventy-something. Five hundred and seventy-something more days like this. To Eleven, she answered, "Something like that."

Eleven's intentions were, of course, not an attempt to rub salt in the wound. "Two down," she assured the brunette.

Seventeen smiled weakly. It struck her how little she knew the other girls. She'd been handcuffed to Fourteen since the previous morning -- figuratively, at least. And both Seven and Nineteen had pulled her aside yesterday to offer her some encouragement and share their own perspectives on what life was like as and among the mailgirls. But she hadn't had much of an opportunity to have more than a few words with the other girls.

Despite that, and despite that she couldn't say that she knew the other girls personally, she did still know quite a bit about them. Eleven's ethnicity, for example. Sixteen's birthplace. Nine's weight. Three's mother's maiden name. The last time Twenty-Two had masturbated at the Plaza. And, because of amount of data on the mailgirls app, the entire company now knew those very things about Seventeen, too. Justin didn't even know her that well.

She felt a pang of guilt.

Justin.

Justin Miller.

What was she going to do about Justin Miller?

Seventeen had had her share of longer-term relationships since she'd first moved to New York, but it had only been a few weeks since she'd first gone out with Justin. They'd been on five or six dates. They'd slept together. And prior to the events of the previous morning, Seventeen might have been able to see the relationship going somewhere. But she couldn't make life decisions around something so new, and yesterday's life decision had been a momentous one. Of course they needed to break up; once Justin found out what she'd signed herself up for, she expected him to dump her on the spot. Men may have fantasized about bedding a mailgirl, but no one wanted to build a life with one.

And, really, it would be for the best. Twenty-Four had reportedly been in an on-again, off-again relationship with her boyfriend of two-or-three years since she joined USF's stable of girls in July. She was back in an "on" now, and seemed utterly and completely miserable. She didn't touch herself. She barely socialized with the other girls. And every indignity she suffered seemed to sting that much more, as if it were inflicted upon her and her boyfriend both.

Justin Miller belonged to another life, another girl. Emily Evans may have had a future with Justin, but it was only Mailgirl Number Seventeen in her reflection now.