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Mark & Kimberly squeeze one in during laundry day.

None of them was seasonally appropriate; the walk to the Imperial was going to be chilly.
Seventeen conceded. Once more, she caved under pressure. Once more, she allowed herself to be talked into exposing herself. Once more, she'd accepted what it meant to a mailgirl -- even the parts not expressly written into her new contract.

She gave up trying to zip up her navy blue business dress, and instead pulled it down from her shoulders and let it pool at her ankles. Stepping from it, she took Ten's dress in-hand and pouted. "I don't think I'm going to be able to wear my bra with this."

Like Thirteen, Seventeen worried about leaving anything behind in the locker room. Mistress Zero was gone for the night, and Seventeen would be back here before her in the morning. Even still, she wasn't ready to risk losing her work outfit, or her bra, to the list of clothing items that had gone "mysteriously" missing from the locker room. Thankfully, Mailgirl Number Seven offered a solution in the form of an overnight bag slung over her shoulder.

"We've got a room at the Imperial," Seven explained. "You're welcome to spend the night. Otherwise, I can get them back to you at some other point."

Seventeen nodded, and tugged at the hemline of her new dress. As she did so, the top of her right areola peeked into view. It was going to be a long night.

Seventeen's flats were tossed into Seven's bag, as well, along with shoes and clothes from a handful of other girls. Instead, Seventeen wore a pair of high-heeled ankle-wrap sandals lent to her by Eighteen, which fit surprisingly well, but were uncomfortable all the same. She borrowed a pair of silver hoops for earrings from Twenty, a bracelet from Sixteen, and a choker from Fourteen. Her purse didn't exactly match the rest of her ensemble, but she needed it for her phone, her wallet, and her own jewelry that she'd worn to work that morning.

The girls trickled out of the locker room in groups of twos or threes or fours. Five wasn't coming, Seventeen was told, and a neither was Twenty-Four. Two and Sixteen both promised to catch up after they'd picked up the locker room and Evening Shift duties had been completed. Seventeen lost track of Fourteen, but Seven took her hand and led her out through the front door with Ten and Nineteen trailing behind.

Seven didn't let go as they entered the elevator lobby, and Seventeen was thankful for it. There wasn't a big crowd, as she had feared, but there were still a dozen or so USF employees milling about as her particular little gaggle of mailgirls left for the day. Three young-looking men stood against the wall to the right, and gave each of the girls a good long look without ever breaking from their private conversation. Two middle-aged women sat at one of the caf__ tables, cackling and snickering. A man in glasses, sitting alone, pretended to read his smart phone. An older man stared at them blatantly, with a dirty, wolfish grin, but turned his attention back to where Three and Four were still getting dressed on the other side of the glass.

The people were less unnerving than the glass itself. Seventeen had come through the lobby hundreds of times since the mailgirls program had been launched in April. But it was a different experience now that she had moved to the other side of the glass. Four was topless, wearing just a thong. Three was in her bra and panties. Two, still naked, was now overseeing Sixteen, still naked, on all fours and eating from the dog dish. Seventeen glanced at her locker and turned crimson red; she'd masturbated right there, on display and performing for an audience.

Seven didn't let her linger. Never letting go of Seventeen's hand, she quickly made her way to the top of the escalator, which led to the security desk and the public lobby below. "Don't look back," Seven whispered. "You're free."

For tonight.


"How bad could it be? Right?" asked Mailgirl Number Seven.


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