Life As A Mailgirl

"No," she said in horror, shaking her head. She recoiled, half-standing and taking a step backwards, before collapsing back on to her knees. She caught herself with her left hand, but her right rose instinctually to her chest, and she could feel her heart beating like crazy. She shook her head again. "No, no, no..."

Barrow unsnapped the other girl's ball gag from the back of her head. But, rather than let Sophie explain for herself, he continued on. "You inspired her. She reached out to us." He stroked Sophie's hair, petting her like a domesticated animal. "Red-eye from Los Angeles that got in at dawn. Your doorman apparently recognized her, and let her into your apartment. She called into the Plaza this morning, and was directed to my office."

"Sarah-" Sophie began, with a sob.

She was cut short, however, as Barrow balled her long blonde hair in his fist and jerked her head to catch her attention. He slapped her with the open-faced palm of his free hand - not violently, but enough to act as a reprimand. "Mailgirls are not permitted names." He looked to Thirteen, and corrected her sister, "I believe you mean Mailgirl Number Thirteeen."

"For now, sir." Mistress Rei inserted herself once more. Thirteen now belonged to her.

Barrow nodded.

"Mailgirl Number Thirteen..." Sophie began again, again through a sob, and was again interrupted by Barrow.

"Number One," he said, addressing Sophie, "why don't you take your place beside your sister, on your knees?"

Sophie rose and turned, revealing that she was already almost entirely "in uniform." She was a few inches taller than her sister, with breasts just a touch smaller but no less perfect. She was already shaved bare; like Thirteen, she'd known what was to be expected of her. She was wearing a mailgirl's collar, thick and metal, and had been inked with a number "1" in black marker on her hip. Only the absence of an armband and smartphone distinguished her from any of the other girls here at the Plaza.

Thirteen felt another dry heave coming on, but worked to suppress it. The panic and anxiety of her own captivity, as well as that of Sophie's, was forgotten momentarily; instead, it was fact that she'd just finger-fucked herself while her sister was in the room that had her stomach turning. Every humiliation she'd just suffered ran through her mind and humiliated her anew, now knowing that it was Sophie - Jersey City's Mailgirl Number One - who'd been a part of her audience.

As she got to her knees, One's eyes caught Thirteen's. Sophie's caught Sarah's. It was one look, before both of them bowed their heads submissively in Barrow's direction. One look that spoke volumes. One look that made any explanations between them unnecessary.

This was her sister's "out," such as it were. She'd been with John her entire life, and had felt increasingly trapped in a life that felt chosen for her, one that seemed to be based on momentum more than any conscious choice. She was going to dental school because John was going to dental school. She was getting married because he'd asked, and she was supposed to say yes - wasn't she? This wasn't about Barrow. Or USF. Or New York. Or Thirteen, even if Thirteen's participation in the program had likely triggered the thought, or given her the courage to sign on. No, this was about Sophie; rather, for the next two years, this was about Mailgirl Number One. And the only thing that Mailgirl Number One needed to worry about for the next two years was hitting her delivery deadlines. Thirteen suspected - and would later confirm - that despite the desperate texts sent in a moment of panic that morning, her sister had avoided telling her about the decision for fear that Thirteen would try to talk her out of it.

And, honestly, who was Thirteen to judge? She knew that her own eyes gave away the desperation and submission she felt. It wasn't exactly that there was no fight left in her; it was that this life was too hard for her to walk away from just yet. Whether she had a choice in the matter, or whether it was Gillian deciding for her, Thirteen would be going to Jersey City. She had found herself over the past few months, and it was time to embrace what she'd found with open eyes. She was more alive, more adventurous, more satiated and satisfied as a mailgirl than she'd ever been before. She'd found freedom from the pressures of her old life by ceding control in the new.

Her sister would need someone to help her along the way, someone to help her on her own road to self discovery, someone to help her find those moments of hope and gratification among the humiliation and degradation. As would a whole new class of USF mailgirls in Jersey City.

And so, without another word, Thirteen rose back to her knees. She straightened her back, puffed out her chest, and took her sister's hand. Whatever awaited them across the river, whatever "gift" Barrow might bestow upon them next, they'd face it together. As sisters.

This was life among the mailgirls.

This was life as a mailgirl.

The end.