Just Once

She didn't dare risk eye contact with Eighteen again as she left Human Capital. The girl had taken up position on a mailgirl mat outside of Barrow's office, the only deviation from her standard "Knees" pose being the coffee in one hand. Such a rare kindness and luxury in the middle of a shift had likely made the torment she'd just suffered worth it. Abby suspected she'd been treated worse.

Back in the cubicle where Abby was working for the day, she bit her lip and pulled at her hair. She'd caught Wendy Brown masturbating in the ladies' room that morning. Diane Harris had caught Georgeann DiMaggio with a vibrator. Nicole Culberson likely hadn't brought her little vibrating egg to work as simply a conversation piece. There were blowjobs happening in the parking garage, sexual encounters taking place in supply closets, and god-knows-what-else being done by god-knows-who god-knows-where here at the Plaza.

Abby would be in good company if she slipped off somewhere to get herself off.

No. No. No. No, of course not. Of course she couldn't do such a thing. Wendy had been caught. Georgeann had been caught. She'd be caught, too. And, whether or not she'd get caught was beside the point, wasn't it? Wasn't there a right-and-wrong when it came to touching yourself at work?

But Abby thought back to the sight of Thirteen masturbating in the shower, downstairs in the elevator lobby. And about how rampant the behavior was among the rest of the mailgirls, almost every chance they got. Why should they be allowed something Abby was denied?

It was tortured logic, and Abby knew it. But, it was enough. It was enough that the decision had been made, and now Abby was only left with a question of where.

The ladies' room, of course. It was the logical choice. She could go into a stall, close the door, and be quicker and quieter than Wendy had been. And she'd be smarter about it than Wendy had been -- she'd go downstairs, to the 17th Floor, just to make sure she didn't run into anyone she knew here in Human Resources. In fact, she didn't even need to walk up through the rest of Human Resources to the elevators. She could simply take the stairs - the service stairs - which were within eyeshot of her cubicle. No one would even see her sneak out.

As Abby pushed open the thick metal door that led to the stairs, however, she began to see an alternative. Maybe she didn't need to hide in the ladies' room after all. Maybe the stairwell would do fine. The door clicked closed behind her, but Abby was frozen in place as she thought this through. Whether to masturbate or not -- that decision had been made. But she considered the chances of being caught in the ladies' room versus being caught in the stairs.

Prior to the introduction of the mailgirls here at the Plaza, no one used the stairs. No one. It was just part of the building's culture, Abby supposed. That first year she'd been with the company, when she'd worked here in the building every day, the only time she'd seen anyone go into or come out of the door to the stairs was during a fire alarm. She knew that Kaitlyn York had once snuck a quick smoke on the stairs between the 18th and 19th Floors. But, as a general rule, the stairs had been ignored and neglected.

When the mailgirl concept had been adopted at the Plaza, Barrow had granted a few allowances that would have been unthinkable in mailgirl programs elsewhere. Specifically, he allowed the girls to ride the elevators. The service elevators only, and only on those occasions where a delivery required more than a ten story climb or descent. In practice, the greater proportion of interoffice deliveries and memos occurred within a few floors of one another, and so the girls were still on the stairs a lot. But from twenty-four total mailgirls, subtract six due to afternoon breaks. Maybe subtract another six or seven who might be waiting patiently on their mailgirl mats waiting for their next delivery. Subtract another few who might be on the elevators. And then divide by forty-eight floors.

The math worked in Abby's favor. So too did the fact that any amount of noise echoed up and down the stairwell; she'd have to be quiet herself, but she'd be able to hear anyone coming from above or below in time to get herself together. Even if anyone heard her breathing a little heavy, they'd likely assume the panting belonged to a mailgirl running the stairs. And then, even if anyone caught her, it was almost guaranteed to be a lowly mailgirl -- stark naked and in no position to judge.

Her biggest risk was from the 18th Floor itself. Mailgirl Number 18 was still back in Human Capital, and any job between the 8th and the 28th could theoretically bring her rushing through that door. But the way the door opened, into the stairwell, granted Abby some measure of safeguarding against that possibility; if she were in the corner, the open door itself would shield her from exposure -- so long as Eighteen didn't look back behind her after the door closed.

She hesitated for a moment longer, wondering if this were truly a good idea. Of course it wasn't. Of course it wasn't! She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't even be considering this. But...but...if she were going to do this, if she was really and truly going to get herself off at work, she was less likely to be walked in on by a mailgirl here in the stairwell than another woman in the 17th Floor's ladies room.

Abby ground the butt of her palm into her groin, through her dress, and it was decided. She could do it here, and do it quickly.

She wished she had one of Kaitlyn's cigarettes. At least then she'd have a plausible reason for being out here, as forbidden as it may have been.

Positioning herself in the corner, with the door to her right, Abby leaned back against the wall and began to tug her dress up her thighs. She cursed her lack of foresight when she got dressed that morning; not only did she have to deal with the tightness of her dress, but she'd also have to contend with her pantyhose, as well. A garter belt and stockings might have been smarter, she told herself -- it would have allowed for easier access. Nonetheless, Abby was determined, and so the black pencil dress was bunched at her mid-section, with her hand stuffed unceremoniously into the waist of her panties and pantyhose.

She would have been a sight. Heels. Nude pantyhose. Light pink - almost white -- lace panties. Black dress, hiked up to a ridiculous degree. Her suit jacket, naturally. Her long red hair hanging loose. Eyes as wide as dinner plates, looking nervously up and down the stairs. And her right hand working furiously back and forth against her pussy.

The naughtiness of it all, coupled with the fear of being caught, made the whole thing exponentially more exciting. It wouldn't take long.

Abby focused on her breathing, trying to stay as quiet as possible. She did it through shivers and shudders, her body doing its best to betray her. Her soft inhale and exhale was deliberate, almost Lamaze-like. She bit her bottom lip, hard, and willed herself to stay quiet.

To say she was wet would have been an understatement; Abby could feel how soaked her panties were against the back of her hand. Her fingertips traced circles around her clit, around and around again, dipping every so often shallowly between her lips. She spread her legs a bit wider, bent her knees a bit more, and slid just a bit further down the wall.

She heard a noise from behind the door, and cocked her head to hear it better. She slowed her pace, but didn't stop entirely, as she worked through whether she needed to pull her dress back down. As far as she could tell, it was just Diane, laughing. And so she went back to her pussy.

She thought about Eighteen, on her knees and bent over, spreading her buttocks to expose herself further. She thought about Thirteen, with her left hand bracing against the mirror glass for support as her right rubbed her sex with abandon. She thought about Wendy Brown, touching herself in the ladies' room. She imagined herself in Barrow's office, ordering Kaitlyn to undress. And she thought about herself, stripped naked waiting submissively on her knees on a mailgirl mat somewhere in the building.

And then she was there. Abby wasn't sure how much time had passed; had it been two minutes? Three? She'd been primed and ready to go since Human Capital, but the speed to which she felt her body begin to crest still surprised her. Her strokes slowed, but became more deliberate and forceful, as she tried to draw out the orgasm that was about to take her. Her knees felt as if they'd buckle, and she slid further down the wall. Her thighs clenched around her hand. And then her pussy erupted in pleasure, shooting orgasmic sparks up and down her spine. She gasped, loudly, and let out an inadvertent "Ohhh!" But then caught herself, quieted herself, and steadied herself with her left hand against the wall.