Paradox

Paradox upon paradox.

As the leash attached to Fourteen's collar three lockers away, a "click" bounced against the bare walls and bare tiles of the locker room. Seventeen's had made a similar sound a moment earlier, and a shiver shot up Seventeen's spine now, as it had then. It was unnerving and upsetting, and underlined the girls' station here at the Plaza. They were mailgirls. They were slave girls. They were the property of US Financial, tools for Human Capital to use in driving the performance of employees who had once been their peers and coworkers. They were the butts of a company-wide joke - undressed and embarrassed, beaten down and beaten up, whipped and chained.

The thought of it made Seventeen wet all over again.

Because the truth of it was that, despite the humiliation and degradation, Seventeen's new job -- her new life -- was exciting. Three days ago, she'd been accountant. A financial reporting analyst. Now, she was a sexualized plaything whose very name had been stripped away from her. She couldn't speak to the sorts of perverts who got off on her peeing in the shower or eating what was borderline dog food from actual dog dishes, but even those two examples sat within a larger narrative about dominance and submission, about a power dynamic she'd entered into with US Financial. Because she was objectified and treated as a slut and a whore, Seventeen couldn't help but to feel sexualized, to feel slutty, whorish, and excited.

Fourteen and Seventeen had made the short walk back from the Imperial hand-in-hand, shivering in the brisk Autumn night, dressed like high-end, Wall Street hookers engaged in a walk of shame. Which of course -- in a way -- they were both. Seventeen nonetheless savored the few short minutes she was actually allowed to wear clothes once more, and it had been a struggle to undress again back in the locker room. It was difficult, knowing that it'd be another sixteen hours before she could get dressed and go home. Even more difficulty knowing that she was spending the night at the Plaza, in such a state, voluntarily.

But Fourteen was right -- it didn't make sense to go all the way uptown, only to have to turn around and come right back downtown for her Saturday shift. Fourteen was right about of a lot of things.

Seventeen glanced in the other girl's direction, and smiled weakly. Fourteen didn't reciprocate, as she'd already pulled the black leather eye mask she'd fished from Mistress Zero's desk over her eyes. She settled to the floor.

The collars were a requirement, apparently. The blindfolds were a necessity, as the locker room's fluorescent lights shone as bright through the night as they did through the day. Whether the leashes were required or needed, though, was less clear. But ultimately, moot; even if they were optional, Fourteen was opting in, and Seventeen followed her lead.

She was an animal, collared and leashed, and locked away in a mailgirl zoo. She pulled her own eye mask over her eyes, once again excited but unnerved by what she was willingly doing to herself. The light of the locker room disappeared. The Plaza disappeared. The world disappeared. She got to her knees, and then to her side, and used her bare arm as pillow for her head.

The floor was hard and cold beneath her, but Seventeen felt exhausted both mentally and physically, and so she doubted she'd have a hard time falling asleep. Morning inspection was less than four hours away, and Fourteen had told her she should get as much sleep as she possibly could. Because they were staffed at half capacity on Saturdays, pick-ups would be further apart, deliveries less optimized with only twelve mailgirls on duty instead of twenty-four. And Seventeen shouldn't expect that less employees in the building meant less work -- she could be assured that Mistress Zero would keep them busy.

Seventeen, though, wasn't quite ready for sleep. Not yet. Rolling onto her back, she allowed herself one more indulgence for the night, one more quick session in service of her body. There wouldd be no lobby audience this time, no bartender to bear witness to her surrender and release. But, from a few lockers away, Seventeen heard the heavy breathing of Mailgirl Number Fourteen, and knew she was in good company.

Together, she thought to herself. They'd get through all this together.

And maybe, despite everything, enjoy themselves along the way.

The end.