Mailgirl Six Blog: Unofficial Trial

Good morning gentle readers! It is a lovely spring day and I am feeling well. I hope you are too.

Part of the reason I’m feeling well is that things are going well, relatively speaking.

My training sessions with Ms. East are interesting, equal parts stimulating and humiliating. I’m not opposed to either state as I know both are intrinsic to being a mailgirl. On my third contract, if something can make me feel either at this point it must be working.

A typical training session starts with Ms. East calling me into her darkened office. I am always summoned through the app and she always makes me wait. Sometimes it is only a minute. Sometimes it’s more like ten. The anticipation begins to build inside me.

Then she calls me in and starts her little ritual. Ms. East orders I take the inspection position. She carefully reviews my body to see that not an errant hair is unshaven or out of place. She does this through both visual and physical confirmation. As a corporate trainer she is the one employee contractually authorized to put her hands on a mailgirl. She keeps a box of disposable rubber gloves in her desk just for this purpose.

Once her gloves are on, Ms. East inspects my uniform thoroughly, so that my numbers to not smudge and I have no blemishes or stray hairs. She has never found one but I see the tweezers she carries in her breast pocket. Ouch. I make sure I never have stubble and will continue to make all my waxing appointments. After she has inspected every inch of my skin Ms. East starts to look for contraband. She feels through my hair, under my breasts and then opens my mouth. She checks under my tongue and the space between my teeth and cheeks. Then she has me open wide and slides two fingers down my throat. When satisfied she moves on to inspecting my vagina, both visually and manually. Once that is done she inspects my anus with two fingers.

This treatment is both humiliating and stimulating. As I know its coming, my body starts to anticipate it. Originally I felt her fingers in my mouth was super gross but now I’ve grown accustomed to it is fine. I used to have a mean gag reflex but as the days go by I can feel her fingers going deeper with less resistance. I outright enjoy the inspection of my vag, Ms. East make sure both my clit and g-spot are responding well. As she always inspects the mouth first I find I’m getting wet downstairs, which makes the vaginal inspection much easier. When she’s done with that she has me spread my cheeks and inserts her fingers. I used to clench but I don’t anymore. I guess I’m taking to the training.

Just thinking about this is making me a little wet. I know its going to happen again in a couple hours and I’m getting excited just thinking about it. I don’t want to sweat before work. Maybe it’s time to move on for now and get to the Mailgirl Valuation Project.

(MVP. Yeah I’ve convinced the board to call it the MVP project. Social programming works both ways.)

Last time we talked about the Efficiency Quotient. This time let’s get into the second part, and many an executive’s favorite, the Aesthetic Value.

This is far and away the most hotly debated topic as different people wanted to bring different beauty standards to the mix; Nipple placement, sag-vector, and purely subjective things like ‘facial symmetry’. How are we supposed to put a number to that? How? One executive actually suggested we come up with a certification for evaluating mailgirl beauty.

That notion was countered with an image of a t-shirt from spring break, “Female Body Inspector”. LOL. They dropped it after that.

Finally we agreed that beauty standards would have to come from standardized, outside sources. Three separate ones in fact. While they may be archaic standards at least they were subjectively neutral. So yeah, we ended up pulling the definitions straight off Wikipedia.

First up is the old Body Mass Index, or BMI chart. Just look up where you are on the chart by height and weight and see which category you fall into; Severely obese is a zero, obese is a .25, underweight is a .5, overweight a .75, and healthy weight is a 1. Just remember that number as it adds into the total.

Second comes the figure. The female form generally comes in five variations, all based off the hip-waist-bust ratio. A circle figure is when the waist measurement is larger than the hips and bust, circles are a zero. The triangle body shape is when the hips are wider than the bust, it counts for a .25 even though it is a common category. The rectangle figure is when there is less than a six inch variation between the hips, bust and waist, which counts for a .5. Then in the ‘inverted triangle’, when the bust is wider than the waist and hips, generally found in athletes and counts for .75. Finally comes the classic hourglass figure, where the waist is six inches less than the hips or bust, and the hourglass figure counts for a full 1. (Marilyn Monroe’s of the world rejoice.)

As the final quantifier the board agreed to cup size. Cup size. I guess it should be considered lucky as they were trying to argue ‘facial symmetry’ and ‘skin tone’ as viable alternatives, so we compromised for cup size. I have no idea why large breasts are so valued. For a mailgirl, enormous breasts flopping about as you are trying to do your job is counter-productive, painful, and requires surgery to correct the inevitable sagging. I’m not a fan but cup size is better than the alternatives. (But I will continue to grumble about people who don’t wear bras should not be assigning values on those who do.) Regardless of my feelings, A-cups count for a .25, B-cups for .5, C-cups a .75, and D’s or better get a 1.

The numbers from these three variables are simply added together with to get the Aesthetic Value, which ranges between a “3” and a “.25”. I don’t think I’ve ever met a full 3 as it’s difficult for a woman to be a healthy weight, D-Cup, with an hourglass figure. But I also guess I’ve never met a full .25 as severely obese, round figured, A-cups don’t generally become mailgirls. The vast majority of women will fall somewhere inside that bell curve. I guess it also gives a chance for a mailgirl to determine whether she wants breast-enhancement surgery as it would affect her Aesthetic Value and pay over time.

But I digress. Enough of numbers for today.

Reaching into the inbox I find a message from a regular reader, Cave:

“I hope you can help me with another question. I have a friend who is interested in the work of a mailgirl, but she’s not confident enough to commit to a full length internship. Do you know of a way for someone to try it out, and get out of it if it’s too much for them?”

So you have a friend who is mailgirl-curious?

Do you know why she is considering it? Money? Kink? Just wants a change of scenery? If she doesn’t know, or even if she does, a trial period is probably a good step. Not every employer is willing to do this, especially if they already offer internships. Most employers are also not willing to lend out an employee to another company for them to try working naked somewhere else, just in case they like it and leave. She probably just wants to see I she could bring herself to do it. Assuming this is the situation, it might be best off for her to do a unofficial trial.

“What’s that you ask? ‘Unofficial trial’? Never heard of it?”

Of course not. It’s not announced. It’s not on a memo or email. It’s a secret for a reason.
Basically she must ask a mailgirl or manager to discreetly help her try it out during off-hours.

Very few office buildings ever completely close. Servers need to be maintained, someone wants to get ahead on Monday’s business, second shift, etc. So the mailgirl and trainer pick a time when it’s beneficial for them both and office traffic is at it’s lowest. Sundays, bank holidays and the Friday after Thanksgiving are all good options. Christmas and New Year’s Day are generally ghost towns. But if I had to pick one, I find Labor Day well situated for maximum vacancy.

Memorial Day and Labor Day in the US bookend the summer, most people don’t want to be in the office those days as the weather is generally nice at they are held on Mondays that extend the weekend. Anyone in the office is there because they have to and just want to get in-and-out, if anyone is even there at all. These are not religious holidays so generally the prospective mailgirl can make a logical excuse at home to go in and try it out.

Megan, my redhead number “7” at my current contract requested this sort of unofficial trial. She was in the sales department and found herself hitting a glass ceiling on her salary, so she was entertaining a switch but nervous about the commitment. She spoke to me about it and we set it up so she would come in on Labor Day and I would put her through the paces.

We went in early and I made her go through the whole thing, stripping, showering, shaving and submitting herself for inspection. Megan took to it well enough, occasionally getting bouts of the giggles because of how nervous she felt. I tired to smack that down, make her stoic too, but it is tough when the entire situation is one naked woman trying to teach another naked woman how to be proper naked woman at work.

Existentially, it is a rather silly concept.

But once she was clean and smooth I gave her a number, drew it on her breast, hips and back, and strapped a monitoring unit around her arm. She certainly looked the part; bright red hair, peaches-and-cream complexion, perky little boobs with bright pink nipples. Megan watched what she ate and kept herself in decent shape, but she was not an athlete by any standard. Megan was a cutie, if not a little doughy. But more importantly she was raw, unmolded clay waiting for my hands to shape her. Having that much sway over a nude woman is intoxicating. The way her lip was quivering as she looked at me…

…This is why mailgirls stay in motion.

We hit the floor and I put her through the paces, showing her the best way to navigate certain distances, which stairwells got you to what area fastest, etc. I made her keep the pace up but always stay in front. If I suspected an area was occupied I steered away at first, until she grew a bit bolder. Security had told me only eight people were in the building when we started; two security guards, two techs doing maintenance on the servers, Megan and myself. That left two random employees wandering the cubicles. It’s a good sized building so I was not too worried about causing an incident. I showed her the maintenance hallways and backrooms on the lower floors, but we stuck mostly to the office areas on the upper floors. Executives take all their days off and anyone we ran into up there was less likely to cause a scene.

Once the jogging tour was over I took Megan to my office. I had set up multiple packages to be picked up and delivered to different areas in the system and just needed the initiate the sequence. I ran the training program and had Megan follow me as I did the first four deliveries with her, stressing the proper body language and tone when interacting with the imaginary staff. Once her confidence was up I set her off on her own. I could track her from the terminal in my office and see she was making the minimum times. After her first four deliveries at the slowest speed, I picked it up to a medium, then an average, then express. Megan was hitting the time marks well enough, so I threw on the pantsuit I kept in my office for surprise meetings and waited for her at the last delivery.

I could hear her footfalls on the thin carpet of the third floor as she approached. Megan was shocked to see anyone spin around in that chair, least of all me, clothed. She laughed nervously. I stood up and down-dressed her for laughing at a manager who was clearly her superior.

Megan was rattled, this day had been naughty fun up until I decided to role-play a office ogre. I told her I didn’t like her attitude, her uniform was a mess and her sweaty, slutty, body was stinking up the place. I gave her a slew of demerits and five minutes to clean herself up and report back for inspection.

Frowning, Megan ran off to the shower. I smiled, knowing she just might make it. The stoic look on her face when she came back in time and presented herself for inspection confirmed it. Megan was a natural.

The rest of the morning I put her through it physically. Quick deliveries, slow deliveries, rest periods and the like. Megan was taking it seriously now. She was ready.

At 11:30 I put her through the final test. I took off my suit and had her follow me down to the security desk. I asked where every employee in the building was, told the security guy we were ordering lunch from a local sandwich shop and today it would be on my company card. Megan skulked behind me and I let her hide there. This was the first time she was in uniform in front of other people and I knew how stressful that could be, so I would give her something else to think about.

When the security guys gave us their orders I turned to Megan and said, “Did you get that, Mailgirl?”

She was stunned. Megan had to ask them to repeat their orders and she paid attention this time. She was less self-conscious because I gave her something else to worry about. With no paper, no pencil, and no cell phone I walked her around to all ten employees in the building and made her memorize their lunch orders. Then I made her call it in.

Megan was on the verge of tears. This was pressure she had not expected, and from my training she knew how angry employees could get if there was something slightly wrong with their order. Hell, it might not even be her mistake as the deli guy might screw up. She was getting worried. I knelt on the resting mat next to her to calm her down but I could feel her stress, hear her breathing, smell the sweat and feel the heat off her bare skin.

As we serenely knelt next to each other I explained that this is what being a mailgirl was really like. Waiting for something to go wrong, knowing you would be blamed for something you might have zero control over. This was the tough part, waiting for the other shoe to drop because you knew what was coming. Eventually, always, it was your task to take the blame, to be the target of negativity so they could get it out of their system and get back to doing their jobs. That’s what a mailgirl was, a subservient, submissive sponge; But if you could handle that kind of negativity you would be paid very well for the torture.

Megan nodded that she understood. We waited in silence until the food was delivered. I had her receive it on her own, from a delivery guy she didn’t know, then deliver each meal herself to the respective employee; Sandwich, chips and drink. Megan hadn’t made a mistake on the orders, and she didn’t shy away from the leering stares or try to hide her body with her hands or the box the food came in. She was a mailgirl now.

After lunch I said that was enough for today. We went down to the locker room, I put her MMU back on the charger and helped her scrub the numbers off in the shower. With the water running down our bodies she went in to kiss me. I let her, but I didn’t kiss her back. She pulled away apologetically, saying she had a boyfriend and didn’t know what came over her. I told her it was fine. Megan was all defensive about it, that the mourning had been a lot and she was all excited and nervous. I told her it was cool, that she was very sexy and I was not opposed to getting physical with her. I just wanted her to know first that I wasn’t gay; wasn’t looking for a lesbian relationship or anything like that, but I did enjoy sex with mailgirls. Since Megan was a mailgirl for the day I was fine with sex but did not want, desire or expect anything more. She nodded her approval.

We kissed. We touched. We did a lot in the shower that day.

Once thoroughly clean, I laid her dripping wet body down on the locker room bench and ate her pussy until she screamed for me to stop. I stood up and watched her breathe for a few minutes, her breasts trembling with every shuddering breath as her body was wracked with little aftershocks. I remembered how much nervous anticipation and sexual excitement went into my first day as a mailgirl. The feelings can be too intense to describe. Her orgasm must have been a long time in coming(no pun intended).

As she normalized I went to wash my mouth off but she grabbed my hand, spun me about and shoved me up against the wall. She covered my face, neck and breasts with kisses and I gigled at her enthusiasm. As she worked her way down Megan whispered how she wanted to make me feel like I made her feel. I did nothing to resist her. Ten minutes later I was having my own screaming orgasm, two fistfuls of her bright red curls in my hands.

God, she was good.

When I came down we both took separate showers, dried off and changed into our regular clothes. Megan was quiet, pensive. I asked her what was wrong and she said that when I came, I screamed out her name. But it wasn’t her name.

She said I called her “Seven”. She was bothered by the fact that it didn’t bother her.

My only advice was for her to sleep on it. Becoming a mailgirl was a big decision. She had a reasonable expectation of what the job was like now, the problems and the perks, but I cautioned her that the decision would change her life. She would lose friends over this. People would stop talking to her. Her boyfriend might leave. But she would make new fiends, find strength in herself she never knew existed, and be more confident in her capabilities in whatever path her career took her. So we said our goodbyes for the night.

Tuesday she came into my office. Megan said she was having doubts. I handed her the envelope I’d gotten from payroll. As she worked as a mailgirl for the day I’d arranged for her to get the equivalent pay; One day as a mailgirl was worth about two-thirds of what she made in a week at her current salary. Her eyes went wide and I could see the doubt disappear from her face.
Wednesday morning she told Human Resources of her decision. They said they would get the paperwork together and she could start on Monday. She signed the contract on Thursday afternoon and her clothes were off before the ink was dry. Friday at 7:00am Mailgirl Number Seven was ready to go.

Since then, Number Seven has been a fantastic addition to the team. She is very supportive of the other ‘girls, friendly and professional out on the floor, and an enthusiastic addition in the locker room. She is the type who becomes a mailgirl because she loves it; she loves the exhibitionism of it, loves serving people, loves living life. Her boyfriend did not take the changes in her well and left, but she got through that disappointment by throwing herself into the job. Seven was the dam-breaker, two other women from the company would sign mailgirl contracts in the next three months because of her confident example. Then my intern came into the picture, and Seven is so busy keeping four other mailgirls happy she does not even miss having a boyfriend. And Seven looks better too. She smiles more and her body has really taken to the work, tightening up her core muscles, legs, and adding a pleasantly hard-roundness to her bottom. Having Seven in the locker room makes my job as lead mailgirl so much easier. I can trust her with almost anything.

Now that I think about it, since she started I don’t think there has been a week without us having some pretty intense mailgirl-on-mailgirl sex. She might be my work-wife, but I have no jealousy about sharing her with the rest of the team. Number Seven is a goer.
What a mailgirl! I hope you don’t mind me rambling on about her. I just realized how long and how far I’ve gone off-topic.

To answer your question Cave, It’s probably best for her to talk to the lead mailgirl or mailgirl manager about having an ‘unofficial trial’ on a slow day. I have done it three or four times now and it gives the prospective mailgirl a good sense of what the job entails. There is no pressure to sign or back out, but if she finds herself taking to it like Seven did I don’t think she will be disappointed.

That’s enough for today. Getting hot and bothered before work should make my session with Ms. East go much smoother. Maybe she’ll let me orgasm today? If not, I’ll have to entice Number Seven into the shower at lunch. Wish me luck, and remember, Health and Efficiency matters!