Cheerleader Uniform

It certainly wasn't the first time she'd been sent up to Investment Banking. In fact, given Hooper's memory, she was probably up that way more than most of the other girls. But repetition hadn't, in this case, made the deliveries any easier, and she suspected that this was what many of the other mailgirls felt when sent back to their old stomping grounds in the building. Thirteen hadn't worked at the Plaza prior to becoming a mailgirl; but she had gone to college with Drew Wagner, now an investment banker with USF.

She got into the service elevator with the package under her arm, pressed the button for the 41st Floor, and waited for the doors to close.

It was inevitable that people outside of USF would find out about how Thirteen had spent her summer. She had told a small handful of friends at Yale, fellow anthropology students who understood why she was doing what she was doing, even if they never could have done so themselves. She'd been forced to share her life with her sister earlier in the summer, when Mistress Zero had sent her home in a dog collar while Sophie was visiting. And, given that her mother still read every one of her papers and any potential publication, she'd have to share with Catherine Ryan sooner or later.

Thirteen absentmindedly massaged her nipples with her free hand, still sore from the clamps.

Hearing about Thirteen's life as a mailgirl or reading about it in a dry academic study, however, was different than witnessing her humiliation in real life. That honor belonged to Drew - with whom she'd gone to college, with whom she'd attended a fair number of classes, with whom she shared more than a few friends and acquaintances. They hadn't been close in Malibu, but they knew a good number of the same people - and Thirteen was well aware that there were now a handful of cell phone photos circulating out there amongst her former classmates. She hadn't seen the photos herself, but she knew they'd be awful based on the reaction of a handful of people she still kept in touch with. She received a couple of nasty emails from former friends accusing her of "selling out" their gender. And she'd gotten a number of supportive emails, as well, that still managed to focus on her naked body (for example, "The pictures aren't that bad - your ass looks amazing!"). The bulk of the reaction, however, came in the form of group emails and email chains that found their way to her, which did little more than laugh at her expense.

The service elevator chimed its arrival on the 41st Floor. Thirteen took a deep breath, and then set off at a good clip towards her intended mailstop, hoping against hope that Drew and his colleagues were in a meeting, and intending to get through with this embarrassment as quickly as possible.

Mailgirls knew better than to get their hopes up for anything working in their favor, however, and Drew was waiting for her - along with Nick McInnis, Jeff Jones, and Kim Kinney - in the bullpen he called home here at the Plaza. It was the woman, Kim, whose presence made Thirteen the most nervous; as physically threatening as being naked around fully dressed men could be, Thirteen had found that it was women who were often the most cruel. And, Kim Kinney was among the worst of them. The fact that the package was apparently hers, and the fact that Thirteen was greeted with a wide, ear-to-ear grin, filled her with dread.

Thirteen swallowed, and looked to Drew for support.

Drew Wagner was tall, muscular, and good-looking in a way that suggested men like him were printed out in a factory for models, teen soap actors, and romantic leads. His hair was ever-so-slightly tussled, a hairdo that was supposed to look casual and disinterested - but which Thirteen suspected he'd spent significantly more time on than she had hers. The Drew Wagner she'd known had been a jock in college; he hadn't been a "nice guy," per se, but he'd certainly never come off the way he did now, surrounded by jerks and bullies here in Investment Banking. No, Drew wasn't going to come to her rescue.

As Thirteen handed the package to Kim, the other woman's smile broadened, and she handed the package back. "This is actually for you."

Thirteen was confused, but she took the package back, unsure of what to do next.

Kim Kinney was about her age - maybe a year older, or a year younger - and would have fit right in among the perfect tens that populated the mailgirl stable. She had dark, raven black hair that hung at chin-length, penetrating blue eyes, and a smile that always hinted at a mischievous sort of intelligence. Her breasts, hidden beneath a white blouse and a just-visible black lace bra, were admittedly on the smallish side, but they complemented a slender, girlish figure that had the power to turn heads even when fully dressed. Today, she wore a dark, tight-fitting pencil skirt and a pair of heels, and seemed very much as at home as the three suited men around her.

"Go on," Kim told her, nodding at the package with her chin. "Open it."

"Yes, Ms. Kinney," Thirteen answered. She wasn't sure what was inside the box, but she knew it would be awful. But she steeled herself, knowing that all this would be over soon, and that it would go easier if she didn't fight.

"Wait," the woman stopped her. "Open it on your knees."

"Yes, Ms. Kinney," Thirteen answered again, and dutifully got down on the floor. She began removing the brown parcel wrapping, trying to guess what sort of horror awaited her based on the weight. The box was too big, but light, to be any sort of sex toy. If anything, it felt like a shirt box, with clothes inside. But, of course, that certainly couldn't be the case.

But, of course, it was. With Kim, Drew, and the two other men looking on and laughing, Thirteen removed the top of the box, and knew instantly what it was. White, with orange and blue stripes, and the word "Waves" printed across the chest, Thirteen recognized it as a call back to her alma mater - a cheerleader's outfit from Pepperdine. What she was supposed to do with it, however, was beyond her.

It seemed that Kim had ideas, though. "Jeff, you have a few chits. Keep her here for a couple of minutes so that she can try it on."

Thirteen blushed all over. She looked to Drew, and then back to Kim, still not fully understanding. She stammered, "I-I-I can't put this on." Then, immediately catching herself, amended her protestation with a "Ms. Kinney."

Jeff had his smartphone in his hand, and was obediently spending a few of his delivery chits. But so did Kim, and Thirteen could feel the vibration of a demerit hitting her own unit without having to look to confirm.

"I can't be out of uniform, Ms. Kinney," Thirteen stated. Mailgirls were strictly forbidden from wearing clothes at the Plaza.

Kim didn't even bother responding. Instead, she tapped her phone, and Thirteen felt the unit on her arm vibrate once more.

Thirteen found herself trying to think of a loophole, an out. There'd been that day she'd been forced to wear heels. There was the time she'd been called on to play the part of a waitress in the Executive Dining Room, and been given a lacey pink headband and a short, matching gingham-print apron that just barely covered her sex. There was when Nine had been told to make deliveries in fishnet stockings, or when Eighteen had worn black leather gloves, or even the time that Four - during her "time of the month" - had actually been allowed to wear a pair of red panties. So, there were exceptions, but this seemed to be entirely different...

Another vibration. Another demerit. Another vibration. Another demerit. Thirteen's hesitation was getting costly.

She was in a damned-if-I-do, damned-if-I-don't situation. She could be punished severely if Mistress Zero caught wind of her in clothes, but she could be punished just as severely if she picked up too many demerits too quickly - at the rate that Kim was logging them, Thirteen's lunch-time paddling might not have been her last of the summer. She was in trouble either way, and so she decided to give in; the possibility of being punished later for donning the cheerleader's outfit was outweighed by the guarantee of a punishment if Kim kept logging demerits.

Thirteen met Kim's eyesight momentarily, just long enough to signal the surrender, and then turned her attention back to the uniform. It was in two pieces - a white tank, with a thick orange stripe and two blue stripes running down either side, and a matching white skirt beneath it. The outfit looked two or three sizes too small, but she supposed that had been the intent. As she wriggled into the top, she felt it flatten her chest, even as it stopped at her mid-riff just above her belly button.

The vibration of the demerits on Thirteen's arm had stopped, but Kim hadn't put her cell phone down. Instead, she had it pointed at Thirteen and was snapping away. And she wasn't even the only one - Drew's was out, as well, and Thirteen knew full well that these pictures would soon be making the rounds, too. But again, Thirteen recognized that that had most likely been the intent all along.

The bottomless blonde had to stand to put on the skirt, but wasn't allowed off her knees without someone's permission. Kim, laughing, granted this to her, and Thirteen rose to her feet. She bent at the midsection, aware that someone else's camera was clicking behind her, and slipped the skirt up over her knees and up her thighs. Thankfully - and Thirteen recognized that this was an odd thing to be thankful about - there were no "lollipop" briefs to go along with the skirt; her pussy would still be bare. The skirt hung to mid-thigh - there'd be no modesty to fret over if she were asked to do anything but stand.

If Thirteen had expected Drew to come to her rescue, she was severely disappointed. As he snapped another picture of her, now in full cheerleader regalia, he called past her to Kim, "Give her your boots!"

The dark-haired girl laughed with a shriek, but shook her head. "No," she said. "You've seen the bottom of their feet. They're filthy."

Nevermind that, having just taken a shower at lunch, Thirteen's soles were perhaps cleaner than they'd be all day. But the uniform was humiliating enough - she didn't need Kim Kinney's boots to complete the ensemble.

Drew shrugged off the idea, and snapped another couple of quick pictures. It was Nick, next to him, that suggested, "Have her lift up the front of the skirt." To Thirteen, he repeated, "Lift up the front of your skirt."

Now that they'd gotten her fully clothed, they were having her expose herself all over again? Thirteen didn't protest, and obediently lifted the front of her skirt to show her pussy. But she did wince as Drew took another shot, and she knew instantly it would be that one that would get the best circulation among her former classmates.

"Mark Agnew," Drew said aloud, and Thirteen cringed once more. "You dated Mark Agnew, right?"

"Yes, sir," Thirteen answered. She'd lost her virginity to him, as a sophomore. Not that Drew was asking. She dumbly stood there, holding up the front of her cheerleader's skirt, as Drew snapped yet another picture.

"And he ended up marrying...?"

It was a leading question. Mark hadn't exactly cheated on her, but he'd broken up with Thirteen to start dating someone else. "Steph Thomas," Thirteen replied. Mark had broken up with her for Stephanie Thomas, from Arizona, who he'd later gone on to marry.

Drew chuckled to himself cruelly. "Turn around," he told her, "and lift the back." As she complied, Drew added, "Jesus. Wait until they see this."

It was enough to almost bring tears to Thirteen - the thought of Mark, with his now wife, laughing at her, laughing at the situation she'd found herself in, laughing at the decisions she'd made. But mailgirls didn't cry - Thirteen choked it back, and suffered her humiliation in silence.