Changing Of The Guard

Kim's eyes refused to meet Thirteen's. But Thirteen felt the rage, hate, and resentment nonetheless. It was clear from Kim's body language that she was seething. And, despite the empathy that Thirteen might have had for another mailgirl adjusting to her new life as the lowest of the lows, another wave of satisfaction overtook her. She'd read instances of this sort of come-uppance at other institutions, but had never experienced it here at USF. And, to Thirteen, it was delicious.

As Thirteen had suspected, Kim's breasts were on the smaller end of the spectrum for a mailgirl. But they were likely still B's nonetheless, maybe only a smidge smaller than Mailgirl Number Ten's. And the undeniable allure of those large, dark areolas against the contrast of her milk white skin more than made up for the size of the breasts upon which they were affixed. It didn't escape notice that both nipples were standing straight out, at attention. Her hair, from having been inside the hood, was in disarray - but Thirteen admitted she was in no position to judge. Kim had a thin, slender figure, one would only become more tight and toned as she began climbing multiple flights of stairs throughout the day. And her pussy, while not yet shaved bare, was neatly and meticulously groomed into a thin, jet-black triangle above her slit. It had been so long since Thirteen had seen pubic hair, in real life, that she had a surprising urge to reach out and touch it, to run her fingers through the soft and scraggly hint of a bush.

There was little more humiliating on a mailgirl's first day than being forced to shave bare. It was like being stripped all over again, having to give up one last layer of protection. Girls need to sit in the showers, their legs splayed, and carefully trim it all back. Even Thirteen, who had known what to expect and had gotten a full-on bikini wax the weekend before her first shift began, had been nonetheless forced to participate, to play along for the hooting and cheering audience on the far side of the locker room's mirror glass.

Stealing focus from Kim's pubic hair and pornstar nipples, however, was the freshly inked number "13" she wore on her hip. This was a changing of the guards.

Barrow pointed in Kim's direction, and instructed Mistress Zero to remove the girl's ball gag. "Yes, sir," the German woman replied. Of Mistress Rei, he asked that she remove Thirteen's collar. "Yes, sir," the Japanese woman repeated.

The gag was removed, and Thirteen's metal collar found a new home around Kim Kinney's neck. Mistress Rei then proceeded, at Barrow's direction, to take off Thirteen's black lyrca armband. She slid the smartphone from its casing, handed it to Barrow, and then slipped it up the new Mailgirl Number Thirteen's arm. The original Number Thirteen worried how sweaty it still was.

"I think we need to log one more session of 'polishing the pearl,'" Barrow said teasingly, punching his access code into the phone. "Or is it two?"

Barrow knew full well each session was logged and recorded just once, but he was playing with her. One last humiliation, Thirteen told herself. One last time logged for posterity, so that anyone with access to the mailgirls app could have the final tally; Thirteen knew it was well over a hundred by that point, and wondered absently whether she'd yet passed the point she was closer to two.

It had been a rhetorical question, but Thirteen dutifully answered, "One, sir." He ignored her.

As much data as the smartphone on each girl's arm collected, it was still an underutilized piece of technology. It was the mailgirl app and the mailgirl app alone that the phone was expected to run, but it still had all of the capabilities of a regular smartphone. Barrow demonstrated that fact by finding his way into a browser, and pulled up a website. Within seconds, he'd found what he'd been looking for, and turned the phone so that the new Thirteen and the old Thirteen could both view the screen.

It was picture of Thirteen, dressed in the bottom half of a Pepperdine cheerleader's outfit. Her skirt was hiked up, and there was very clearly a bright red lollipop either entering into or emerging out of Thirteen's bare pussy.

Barrow scrolled a bit further down, with picture after picture of Thirteen in various states of dress and undress, the uniform half-on and half-off in most of them. And, as Kim had called out, it was the one of Thirteen fully dressed, but with the waistline pulled down so that her number "13" was visible, that Thirteen cringed at the most.

She was happy that Kim was taking her place.

"This took all of, what, ten minutes to hit social media?" Barrow asked. He wasn't outwardly angry, exactly, but there was a dangerous edge to his voice. He addressed Thirteen, "Within an hour we were getting calls from your alma mater."

Thirteen swallowed.

"They weren't pleased," he continued on. "But I promised them we'd handle it internally, and that the parties involved would be disciplined appropriately."

To Kim, Barrow asked, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No, sir," Kim replied, never meeting his eyes. It made no difference now if she complained, or explained, or defended herself. She might have done so earlier, when she'd first been approached. But she'd apparently already learned an important lesson in the life of mailgirl: shut up, don't fight back, and accept what was being done to and asked of you.

"And you?" This, to Thirteen.

"No, sir," Thirteen answered. She'd learned that lesson early, herself.

Barrow closed the browser, pulled up the mailgirls app, and then punched in a series of keystrokes. Thirteen couldn't tell exactly what he was doing. But the fact that he handed the phone back to Mistress Zero, and told her that it now belonged to their new Number Thirteen, signified he'd likely reset the app for Kim.

"Go," he told the dark-haired girl. He pulled the cherry lollipop from Thirteen's mouth, and then inserted it into Kim's.

"Wait for your mistress in the hall."

"Yes, sir," Kim responded, and fled the room. Her new life awaited.