Passing The Paddle

Barrow wasn't alone in his office, but he was the only one seated. To one side were two stark naked girls, on their knees and facing the window to the city beyond. Neither had much of view, however; they were both hooded and restrained, their wrists handcuffed behind them.

Thirteen had been treated to the hood more than once over the course of the summer, and she suspected they were both more than likely gagged, as well. With the hoods on, Thirteen couldn't tell who they were. But Thirteen was now quite capable of recognizing the naked bodies of her fellow mailgirls, even from behind, and neither girl was currently on USF's roster. One of them, the girl on the left, seemed oddly familiar nonetheless, but Thirteen didn't think much more of it; it may just have been an ass that, fully clothed, had caught her attention somewhere in the building in one of her less-than-heterosexual moments of arousal. Maybe it was that she was still reeling from the lesbian orgasm she'd had only a few minutes earlier, but there was a part of her even now that wanted to touch it, squeeze it, bite it.

Also in the room was Mistress Zero, who was pacing back and forth like an animal in a zoo, and Thirteen couldn't help but like prey being sized up by a predator. The German woman had been a mailgirl herself for a comparable financial firm back in Frankfurt, but any level of empathy she had for the girls under her watch now wasn't readily apparent. She had dark brown hair that was done up in a meticulous bun, and high, angular cheekbones that seemed to speak to the severity of her personality. She was dressed, as she had been since that morning, in a dark designer suit that was maybe one part high-end businesswear and one part corporate dominatrix. In fact, "dominatrix" may have been a better way to describe what Mistress's duties were on a day-to-day basis than whatever actual title Human Capital had bestowed upon her. Thirteen's bare ass still stung a bit from the attention Mistress Zero's paddle had given it over lunch.

But Mistress Zero wasn't done with Thirteen's ass quite yet. "That's twenty-five," she admonished in her thick German accent. "Twenty-four in a single afternoon."

Thirteen cursed to herself, regretting the quick whore's bath she'd taken in the dog dish by the elevators. The real fault lay at the feet of Kim Kinney in Investment Banking. Thirteen had been at plus-one going into the afternoon, and had admittedly earned four more entirely on her own (including just now). But bulk of her afternoon's total had come at the hand of the dark-haired girl on the 41st Floor. She'd forced Thirteen into a cheerleader's outfit from her alma mater, and then coerced her into inserting a cherry lollipop inside of her, all while doling out demerits for every moment of hesitation from the naked blonde. This was Kim's fault, and Thirteen could do nothing more than wish Kim was here now - on the receiving end of an imaginary paddle in Thirteen's grip.

"I mean, given the circumstances," Barrow began in Mistress Zero's direction, before trailing off.

"A demerit is a demerit, sir." This from a short-ish Asian woman on the far side of the room. Given the two naked girls and the imposing presence of her mistress, Thirteen had barely registered her as she'd entered Barrow's office. She was standing in the standard mailgirls' "Feet" position - legs parted and feet a bit more than shoulder-length apart, with her arms behind and her chest prominently thrust forward. She was fully dressed, however, and apparently shared Mistress Zero's fashion sense, right down to the dangerous-looking heels that helped with her height. She, too, spoke with an accent, one that Thirteen guessed was Japanese. And, given her posture, Thirteen suspect that she was another former mailgirl, one whose purpose here today wasn't entirely clear.

No introductions were made. A mailgirl like Thirteen didn't merit introductions.

But Thirteen's attention was pulled from the mystery woman back to Barrow, as he spoke into the speaker phone on his desk. "Your thoughts, Doctor Schang?"

Thirteen was now even more confused. What was Gillian doing on the other end of the phone?

And, if Thirteen had expected her advisor to come to her rescue now, she was immediately disappointed. From the phone: "She's still yours."

Still his, Thirteen reacted bitterly. At least until seven.

Barrow met Mistress Zero's eyes, moved on to the Japanese woman, and then on to Thirteen herself. "A demerit is a demerit," he repeated, shrugging as if he had no control over the matter.

Thirteen swallowed hard. She'd hoped that the session over lunch had been her last. She wasn't, as it turned out, going to be able to escape so cleanly.

It was Mistress Zero who'd been tasked with the more routine oversight of USF's mailgirls - she was the disciplinarian, the enforcer, the tormentor. But it was Barrow to whom she reported, and Barrow who pulled her strings. Thirteen's mistress was every bit a part of the "mailgirl show" here at the Plaza as the mailgirls themselves. And it wouldn't have surprised Thirteen that, behind closed doors, Barrow owned Mistress Zero every bit as much as Mistress Zero owned Thirteen. But the cruel architect behind USF's mailgirl program gave none of that power or perversion away - he came across as kind, friendly, and easy-going. He was attractive - tall, dark hair, well-built - and still quite young, maybe mid-to-late thirties. He was intelligent, too; a Yale undergraduate and a Yale MBA, he always managed to come off as the smartest person in the room, but without rubbing anyone's nose in it. He'd apparently found his way into HR via a circuitous route through operations and logistics, which had somehow led to talent management and employee engagement. It had been a member of USF's senior management team who'd first proposed the idea of looking into mailgirls here at the Plaza, but it had been Barrow who'd been tapped to run with it.

Thirteen was attracted to him, despite herself. Even leaving his looks out of the equation, it was the power and confidence she was drawn to.

"Up against the desk," Mistress Zero instructed. "Turn around. Palms down."

It caught Thirteen off guard, but she complied. It wasn't the first time she'd received punishment outside of the locker room; that honor belonged to a session with Mistress Zero's riding crop in the office of one of the EVP's up on the 47th Floor. But it was still rare, and Thirteen found herself humiliated all over again at the idea that Gillian would hear the entire thing transpire from the other end of phone line.

"She's still yours," Gillian had offered in Thirteen's defense. Thirteen couldn't help but feel angry at and betrayed by the older woman. It was because of Gillian that Thirteen was a mailgirl in the first place. She'd done her best to beg out of it, to convince her advisor that she was capable of doing the research into the lives of mailgirls without actually having to be a mailgirl herself, to keep from suffering the embarrassment and debasement she'd been subjected to that summer. But Gillian had insisted that in order to understand what it meant to be a mailgirl, in order to make a name for herself in this particular field of research, Thirteen had to live among the mailgirls as a mailgirl. She'd gone so far as to threaten Thirteen with the idea of finishing her studies under Guy Dubuc, instead, and had begun fishing around among first- and second-year female grad students for other potential candidates. But Thirteen had caved, as she'd come to New Haven to study with Gillian, and she recognized that the research she was doing had the potential to catapult her into a faculty position at a top tier national university. And, with her summer of humiliations nearly over, Thirteen was willing to concede Gillian's point; she never would have truly comprehended the life of a mailgirl through interviews and observations alone. Even now, and even after everything she'd been through, she wasn't entirely sure that the short-term nature of her own contract put her in the same mindset of girls like Seven, or Fourteen, or Ten - girls who wouldn't be free for their own contracts until another full year after Thirteen had been award her PhD the following spring.

"She's still yours," Gillian had offered. And Thirteen was still his, at least for a little while longer.

It was a point that Mistress Zero recognized. "Would you like to do the honors?" The question was directed at Barrow.

The man seemed to contemplate the offer for a moment, and Thirteen found herself hoping he might accept. She couldn't help it. The thought of Barrow spanking her turned her on.

But, he declined politely, and instead ceded the opportunity to the stranger in their midst. "I think we should let our new mistress handle this," he answered. "Mistress Rei?"