The Bitch Session

Seventeen blinked. "No! You, too?"

"Not a butt plug, no," Seven replied. "But I did get a magic marker, once."

"Top of a champagne bottle," Three volunteered.

"A finger," Eighteen added.

The other girls waved Eighteen off and rolled their eyes. "We've all had a finger," Fourteen said dismissively. "I mean, who hasn't had a finger?"

Seventeen slowly raised her hand, more terrified of what her future held now than she had been before.

Fourteen just laughed, and assured her, "It's not as bad as it sounds."

"It's not particularly enjoyable," Eighteen corrected her.

"I'd take it over a spanking," Fourteen admitted.

"Oh, I heard," Three stepped in. "You two got it up on the 13th Floor today?"

"Her old office," Fourteen confirmed, meaning Seventeen. The two girls had had their smartphones synched, meaning that every delivery Fourteen was called upon, Seventeen was called upon, as well. More significantly to that afternoon, every demerit that Fourteen earned was counted against Seventeen, and every punishment that Fourteen suffered was suffered by Seventeen, too. The girls had been punished that afternoon for a sum of demerits Fourteen had at least partially earned prior to Seventeen even becoming a mailgirl. But, rather than administering that punishment in the mailgirls locker room, Mistress Zero had summoned them both to the 13th Floor, and delivered it in front of all of Seventeen's former coworkers.

"How bad?" Mountbatten-Two asked. "Let me see."

Fourteen didn't hesitate. She stood, turned, and hiked up her dress -- mooning the table and exposing her crotch to the rest of the bar. Her ass, perfectly toned and fit from months of running the halls and stairs of USF Plaza, was decorated with a series of red welts -- fading, but still visible.

Mountbatten-Two whistled. As Fourteen fixed her dress, Mountbatten-Two asked, "Cane?"

"Riding crop," Seventeen answered.

"And you?" Mountbatten-Two. "How bad?"

Three graciously slid out of the booth, and then waited expectantly for Seventeen to follow behind. Seventeen, feeling caught up in the moment and pressured by her peers, dutifully did so. She stood, surveyed the bar to make sure no one but her table was watching, and then reached beneath her skirt. She slid her flesh-colored panties down below her buttocks, while lifting the hem of the cocktail dress.

"Ouch," Mountbatten-Seven observed.

As Seventeen went to fix her clothes, however, she felt Fourteen's hand reach up and grab her underwear. "Lose them," Fourteen ordered.

"No," Seventeen laughed, treating it as a joke. She tugged on them, but Fourteen didn't release her grip.

Instead, Fourteen looked to the table. "Survey?" she asked aloud. Seven shook her head, as did Eighteen and the two Mountbatten girls. Three went a step further, and -- as discreetly as she could - provided proof; she lifted the front of her skirt and exposed her bare pussy to Seventeen.

Seventeen threw up her hands and gave in. "Fine," she sighed. "You win." Again, she scanned the bar, and confirmed that only a pair of the bleach-blonde Young & Unglaub girls was looking her way; none of the handful of men was paying her table much attention at the moment. Fourteen let go of Seventeen's panties, and Seventeen slid them down her thighs, past her knees, and down to her ankles. But, just as she'd lost a pair of underwear to Will Barrow yesterday, Seventeen gasped in horror and surprise as Fourteen snatched these away tonight. Before she even had a chance to object, Fourteen was up and headed towards the bar. Seventeen could do nothing but watch, powerless, as another girl took off with her intimate apparel.

"Where's she going?" Seventeen asked in a panic.

"Drinks," Seven laughed.

Sure enough, Fourteen found her way to the bar, Seventeen's panties in hand, and offered them to the bartender. She and the bartender enjoyed a quick back-and-forth, and then she pointed back to her table, at Seventeen.

Seventeen blushed something awful, but waved at the bartender nonetheless.

"Oh my god," she muttered, and then sat back down in the booth. She slid over to make room for Three, and then tugged at her dress to keep her now bare behind from touching the seat.

As they awaited Fourteen's return, Mountbatten-Two now stood, and then made a show of lifting her own skirt for the table. In contrast to the few and fading red welts that decorated Fourteen's and Seventeen's buttocks, Mountbatten-Two's were covered in a criss-crossed pattern of lashes.

"Fuck," Seven offered. "How are you even sitting down?"

"What was that?" Seventeen asked.

"Cat-o-nine-tails?" Three guessed, and Mountbatten-Two nodded. To Seventeen, she explained, "Mistress Zero has one, as of a week or two ago, but hasn't used it."

"Yet," Eighteen said.

"Yet," Three agreed, resignation in her voice.

"She will," Mountbatten-Two warned, as she fixed her dress and gingerly slid back into the booth. "Your mistress, my mistress -- they compare notes."

"I'm sure," Eighteen said glumly.

Seventeen thought back to that afternoon. She'd been doing her best to keep up with Fourteen, but they'd been late for a handful of deliveries since the previous afternoon, and Seventeen knew at least one or two were her fault. Fourteen, for her part, hadn't seemed overly annoyed with her, even as her demerits began to approach twenty-five; Fourteen explained that it was inevitable she'd hit that threshold at some point, and that it was pointless to cast blame. When their smartphones eventually signaled that they were due, Fourteen groaned, and warned Seventeen that their afternoon break was going to require a visit to Mistress Zero's spanking bench.

Instead, however, Mistress Zero had met them on the 13th Floor. Seventeen had been dreading her first visit to her old office and old colleagues since she'd been led out naked and on a leash the day before. But she hadn't suspected anything more malicious than a routine pick-up or delivery.

Mistress Zero had other ideas; she ordered them both to grab the top of the partition wall just outside of Seventeen's cubicle, spread their legs, and prepare for the riding crop.

Fourteen had gone first, and the waiting had been something awful. Not only did Seventeen wince each time Mistress Zero licked Fourteen's behind, but the sound of the crop itself -- whistling through the air and connecting with a "snap!" --attracted more and more onlookers. Jessica, of course. But also Jen and Ashley. Karen. Lisa. Tracy. Her old boss, Joan. David Ojeda. Mike Gedman. Patrick Nichols, whom Seventeen had had a crush on since she'd first started at USF. She'd been working with these people for years, in some cases. As a peer and as an equal. She'd been in meetings with them, worked on projects with them, raced to meet deadlines with them. She'd complained about Mondays with them, gotten lunch with them, even gone out to drinks with a few of them.

And now, less than forty-eight hours into her new role with the mailgirl program, she was naked and being spanked with a riding crop in front of them.

When Mistress Zero turned her attention to Seventeen, she half expected someone -- Patrick, maybe -- to jump to her defense. But no one had rescued her yesterday, just as no one would rescue her that afternoon. Instead, she listened to them snicker and laugh, and heard someone squeal with excitement when the blows began. The riding crop hurt as much as Seventeen had expected it to, but it was the humiliation that stung worse.

She hadn't cried, which was a victory. But she'd been forced to thank Mistress Zero three times afterwards before the German woman was satisfied with her volume and enthusiasm. And she and Fourteen had been left in-position -- still bent at the waist, awkwardly clutching Seventeen's old cubicle wall -- until their next delivery. Which, thankfully, came quickly, and the girls were allowed to escape to the stairwell.

Instead of immediately bounding up the stairs to the 21st Floor, though, Fourteen had turned to Seventeen, grabbed her forcibly by the back of the head, and kissed her deeply, passionately, and powerfully.

Seventeen hadn't been sure how to react; as their breasts met, and as their naked, sticky bodies connected, she couldn't help but reciprocate. Something about the session with Mistress Zero had left her weirdly conflicted and aroused, and the kiss suggested Fourteen was feeling the same way.

"Wow," Fourteen panted when she finally pulled away. "Tell me that that didn't do it for you..."

She didn't wait for a response; the observation was entirely rhetorical. A dumbfounded Seventeen was left in her wake as Fourteen began her ascent, the veteran mailgirl not bothering to look back for Seventeen to confirm.

A moment later, Seventeen followed behind. The two girls hadn't spoke of the kiss since.

Fourteen returned to the booth with two shot glasses and Mailgirl Number Twenty in tow. The two shots -- which smelled revoltingly sweet -- were ceremoniously placed in front of Seventeen. Twenty took a seat on Fourteen's knee at the end of the table.

"What's this?" Seventeen asked.

"Cherry liqueur," Fourteen smiled. "As a celebration."

"Celebration?"

"For your cherry!" Fourteen sang out loudly, and raised the glass she'd left behind moments earlier.

The other girls all laughed and clapped, and dutifully raised their own glasses.

Seventeen blushed again, her face as red as the liqueur before her. They all knew. They all knew she'd masturbated at her locker before coming over here.

"Two days!" Seven shouted out.

"Two days!" Eighteen laughed, toasting her.

What could Seventeen do but laugh along? With the exception of the two Mountbatten girls across from her, she'd seen every other girl at the table get herself off -- whether it had been at some point in the last two days, or whether it had been through the mirror glass in her prior life. They were welcoming her into their sorority.

Seventeen threw the first shot back, and recoiled at the taste. She steeled herself, held her breath, and then reached for the second. She washed it down with a sip from the lemon drop martini she'd ordered before. Still bright red from embarrassment, and still grinning sheepishly, Seventeen accepted the applause.

"I made it to three," Seven confessed.

"Seven days," Three said.

"Four," said Eighteen with a smile.

"Day one!" Fourteen offered with triumph.

"Same," laughed Mountbatten-Seven.

"Two days, as well," said Twenty.

"Twelve days," Mountbatten-Two announced, to a round of catcalls.

"So if I had made it twelve," Seventeen asked, "you'd have gotten me twelve shots?"

"Of course," Fourteen answered. "Though I probably would have needed a few more pairs of underwear to trade."

Seventeen shook her head, but laughed all the same.

"We nearly killed Number Eight," Three chuckled.

"One hundred and four days," Seven explained. "She broke down right after our original Thirteen went to Park Place."

"You didn't make her take a hundred and four shots of this shit, did you?" Seventeen asked, holding up her empty shot glass.

"No, no," Three laughed. She jutted a chin towards where Eight was drinking at the bar, with Numbers Nine and Twelve, and a girl Seventeen didn't recognize. "She's on an installment plan."

"What's Five up to at this point?" Eighteen asked.

Three rolled her eyes at the question, her annoyance with Five plainly evident.

"I don't know," Seven jumped in. "Six-and-half months? Whatever that is."

"Six-and-a-half months?" Mountbatten-Seven asked with incredulity.

"Six-and-a-half months," Seven confirmed.

"She hit a hundred and eighty days earlier this week," Seventeen announced, and the girls all looked her.

Shit, Seventeen thought to herself. Did they not know?

"There's a pool," Seventeen explained. "There's one in Accounting, and I know there are others in the building, on her and Twenty-Four."

"What's Twenty-Four at?" Twenty asked.

"I don't know," Seventeen answered, shaking her head. "I don't follow it. I don't play along with the fantasy game, either. It's just that a hundred and eighty was a big number, and I heard a couple of the guys in my office talking about it."

"Wait...what's the fantasy game?" Mountbatten-Seven asked.

Seventeen swallowed hard. "It's like a fantasy baseball or fantasy football thing. I don't know exactly how it works. I don't play. But you get a 'roster' of mailgirls. Six, I think? And it's some sort of composite score, based on the stats in the app. Weight going up or down, how many demerits a girl picks up, how many bathroom breaks, how many time she...er..."

"Masturbates?" Eighteen asked.

"Cums," Seventeen finally spat out, and took another sip of her drink.

"...which, of course, is why Human Capital now makes us report exactly how many orgasms," Three said, putting two and two together. "We didn't have to do that before."

Seventeen nodded.

"Oh my god!" Seven yelped. "It makes sense now."

The other girls gave her a quizzical look.

"The conversation I had with Spencer Russell in HR," she explained. "He spent five minutes grilling me on my menstrual cycle."

Fourteen coughed in her drink, and then laughed. "They're betting on our periods?!!"

"Jesus Christ," Three cursed.

They were all silent for a moment, as the weight of this revelation sunk in.

Twenty was the first to speak. "I wonder if they'd let us play?"

This went on for a few more minutes, as the girls joked about how they could game the system. Eventually, though, Seven announced, while laughing, that this - this news that the company was now betting on how many times she masturbated at work, how many times she reached orgasm, how many minutes it took her to get there -- this was the most screwed-up thing that turned her on all week. It was part of a game that they all apparently played with one another, week after week at these Friday night Bitch Sessions.