Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Chapter 9 — Carlita
Recap: Set in the world headquarters of TRG, an American researcher, manufacturer, and distributer of various technologies, the storyline centers around TRG’s use of nude, female couriers (mailgirls), and a reality television show which follows the mailgirls mostly through the use of an elaborate array of video security cameras and microphones spread thought the TRG complex. To make the reality show more interesting, TRG entered into an agreement with the City that allows the mailgirls to make nude deliveries in public so long as the mailgirls stay within a certain territory.
The story picks up in this chapter as, Carlita Lopez, spots her friend Anne, TRG’s first mailgirl, streaking through the cafeteria. To make the story more personal (and to experiment with a new style of writing that I’ve never tried before), I have changed from the third person omnipotent point of view in the past tense to the first person present tense and I follow Carlita in this chapter instead of Anne.
ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT BECOMING A MAILGIRL?
“Hey look, there’s one over there!” an excited young man cries out as he points to a naked young woman sprinting through the TRG cafeteria.
I gasp. Even though the mailgirl program is almost a week old now, it still startles me every time I see one; particularly this mailgirl as her name is Anne and she’s a friend of mine.
“Uhhh, there goes another one of those sluts,” Karen says as Anne runs by.
“That’s Anne,” I protest.
“Like I said,” Karen insists.
“She’s a friend of ours.”
“She’s no friend of mine.”
“She’s just naked. It’s not like she’s hurting anyone.”
“She’s a skank and I can’t believe you’re still taking up for her.” Karen sneers and gives me an ugly look as she goes back to finishing her lunch.
“Don’t tell me that you’ve never even considered becoming a mailgirl?”
Karen looks at me incredulously.
“Of course not.”
“Haven’t you ever even thought about what it would feel like to be completely nude in a place with hundreds of men admiring you? Where you couldn’t get dressed even if you wanted to.”
“No. If I wanted to be some hoochie choochie girl, my ass would be hanging off a pole at some strip club, not sitting here.”
“I’m not saying you’d do it, but don’t you think it be exciting to be delivering all that secret data without so much as even a stitch of clothes?”
One of the reasons that the mailgirl program was formed at TRG was to allow secure transfer of corporate secrets and proprietary material between the various departments in a way that couldn’t be hacked or stolen. Often tasked to carry the most sensitive of TRG materials, mailgirls transport the data via encrypted USB flash drives contained in a small, locked, security pouches which are Velcroed around the mailgirl’s wrist and secured with a steel handcuff.
As the mailgirls are never provided with a key to either the pouch or the handcuff, the data can only be unlocked at its destination. Until the mailgirl reaches her delivery terminus, she and the data are inseparable. As a result, no third party could attempt to steal the data in transport without taking the mailgirl with it. Hurried delivery times usually require the mailgirls to jog in order to make a timely transport and they face punishment if they’re so much as a second late.
A rapid delivery schedule is necessary as it leaves no time for the mailgirl, or anyone else, to attempt to steal the data, and guarantees that any irregularity in the delivery would be detected almost immediately. Even if the data were to be stolen, the theft would be discovered well before the culprit would have time to leave the building.
The mailgirl’s nudity, and lack of privacy assure that she’s constantly being watched as well as insure that the mailgirl has neither the seclusion to attempt to steal the data nor any way of concealing any of the equipment necessary to break open the pouch or transfer the data. Security guards that monitor cameras covering nearly every inch of TRG complex have been ordered to pay particular attention to the mailgirls; a task which the security force has taken to heart and made their top priority.
“No. It’s demeaning and humiliating,” Karen says. “If Anne wants to show her ass off to people, at least she should have the decency to be indecent somewhere else. For God sake, I don’t her to see her twat while I’m trying to eat.”
“You’d be making deliveries all over the building, even the 15th floor.”
The executive suite, the 15th floor is the place where all the people making the big salaries and making the top-level decisions have their offices. As an entry level employee, I’d never been to the 15th floor and probably never would be. Peons like myself, aren’t allowed — only important people and mailgirls.
Karen looks at me as if I’m insane and maybe she’s right. A mailgirl signs a contract to live and work completely nude for mecidiyeköy escort two years. Living in a dormitory in the basement, they wear only the uniform referred to as a skinsuit; what most people would call their birthday suit. Mailgirls don’t even wear shoes. Yet for all its insanity, ever since Anne joined the TRG mailgirl program, I’ve fantasized about it, often wondering what it would feel like to live and work completely naked for two years. Would I ever have the guts to do it?
“Haven’t you ever fantasized what it would feel like to spend your days running naked down the halls with everyone watching? Don’t you think that’d be a rush?”
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about becoming a slut too?” Karen asks.
“It’s not that. I just don’t think what Anne’s doing is all that wrong.”
In fact, I admire Anne and find her new line of work fascinating, even exhilarating. Every time I see Anne streak by, I envy her. While many of the TRG employees, find her nudity scandalous, even repulsive, to me, there’s an undeniable sexiness and daring which I can’t help but like and I find myself wishing that I was her.
A classically trained dancer, I’d performed in various productions in New York City, mostly off-Broadway, before finally settling down for a career. Not a day passes that I don’t have second thoughts about that decision. I loved the action; I craved the attention, and I stayed in the best shape of my life. It was a career of constant athleticism. Jogging to stay in shape, five days a week at the gym, and dance rehearsals/performances/auditions daily. The competition of the auditions, the excitement of the performances, and the applause of the audience made me feel like I was a combination between an athlete and an actress.
But alas, New York was expensive and I wasn’t always able to stay employed. The competition for dancing parts was brutal, with hundreds of talented dancers competing for every position. Finding myself out of money and too proud to ask my parents for a loan, reluctantly I took a job with TRG to recover financially a couple of years ago. Although the paycheck’s more consistent, the TRG job’s just a grind with no exercise, no audience, and no challenge. It’s boring, underpaid, unappreciated, and sedentary but it’s safe and pays the bills.
Now, when I watch her run by, it’s like Anne’s the performer on the stage instead of me and I’m stuck in the back row of the audience, in the cheap seats. I think about what it would feel like delivering a message to the CEO and standing in front of all the corporate leadership totally nude? Would the excitement of letting every man in the building see me naked wear off? Would the experience be as adrenaline-charged as the fantasy? Curious, I wanted to talk to Anne and see if she regretted joining the Mailgirl Program.
DO YOU LIKE BEING A MAILGIRL?
It doesn’t take long for my opportunity to talk to Anne about her mailgirl experience to occur. Only minutes later, as I’m coming back from my lunch break, I see Anne in the hall and wave at her; she looks delighted to see me.
“Oh hi, Carlita.”
“Do you have a second?”
“Sure,” Anne says. “I didn’t even know that anyone in Benefits wanted to talk to me now that I’m a mailgirl.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, “no, no, really, it’s not like that. You’re still my friend.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about becoming a mailgirl but I was too embarrassed to talk to anyone about it. You know that if I would have confided in anyone, it would have been you but I didn’t even really think I’d go through with it until the last second.”
“It’s alright, I understand. You’re still my BFF and always will be.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m glad I caught you. I really wanted to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Do you like being a mailgirl?”
Anne laughs, “why? Are you thinking about being a mailgirl?”
Embarrassed, I take a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure no one’s in earshot. As I look back at Anne her eyes widen in excitement, and she looks around to make sure no one else is within earshot as well.
“You are thinking about it aren’t you?” Anne says in almost a whisper.
“Yeah, I’m thinking about it,” I whisper back.
“I never took you to be that wild.”
“I don’t know that I am but I think about it a lot.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. So, do you like your new job?”
“It’s different, really, really different, like not on the same planet different.” Anne thinks about her answer for a moment. “It’s not so much something you like, that’s not the right word; it’s something that makes you feel sexy and alive, really, really alive. It’s like nothing you’ve ever done before. It’s not even a job, it’s a life, a whole new life. You go from just existing to exciting; from no one knowing who you are to being a celebrity; from sitting all day to moving constantly. Every day is a new adventure.”
Feeling a little awkward talking to a naked woman, involuntarily escort bayan taksim I give a quick look down to Anne’s sex. Her shaved vagina is shockingly visible for everyone to see and it isn’t just her sex. Anne doesn’t have a stitch of clothing on anywhere; she’s not even wearing shoes. And yet, her body looks so athletic and she moves so fluidly that I feel both embarrassed for her and envious of her at the same time. Not wishing to be caught looking at another woman’s sex too long, I quickly adjust my gaze back to her eyes.
“Have you gotten accustomed to the nudity?” I ask.
“Not yet.” Anne gives an embarrassed glance down at her sex and boobs. “There’s not fifteen minutes that go by that I don’t feel self-conscious at least once. Sometimes, I catch a glance of my reflection, sometimes people just stare at my hooch, sometimes I feel a breeze across my ass, and sometimes, I don’t even know why, but I just go into a panic as I realize that I’m butt naked in the middle of a crowded office building and everyone’s looking at me.”
“But do you like it? Do you like being nude in front of everyone?”
Anne smiles a guilty smile.
“Yeah, I do. I’ll admit, sometimes I get so embarrassed that I just want to hide under a desk but, most of the time, it’s a rush, a mind-blowing rush. I love the attention; it’s a real turn-on. It’s like you’re back in college streaking the quad. Before I was a mailgirl, none of the guys knew my name; now, they adore me; it’s like I’m a movie star. The guys can’t seem to take their eyes off me. Even when I’m sent for a delivery in town men are smiling at me, waiving, and calling out my name.”
Hearing something behind me, I glance back. As if to prove Anne’s point, two guys coming down the hallway look right past me and give Anne a big smile. It’s as if I wasn’t there.
“Hi Anne,” one of the men says.
“You look amazing,” the other guy gushes in admiration.
“Thanks,” Anne says as she returns the smile.
The brief exchange with the guys bites at my psyche. Even though I was always the one that turned men’s heads, the guys didn’t even notice me. Worse yet, I know both of the young men well and it’s the first time they’d ever completely ignored me. Usually they go out of their way to get my attention and they look gleeful, like I’ve given them lots of money, if I so much as smile at them. But today was all about Anne and it was as if I was invisible.
While Anne’s attention is turned to the guys, I take a good look at her body. An amateur triathlete and fitness competitor, Anne works out daily and has got the body to show for it. Tight buttocks, slender, rippling abs, itty bitty bikini tan lines, and an extremely well-conditioned physique, she isn’t just nude, she’s gloriously nude, both daring and sexy. Nevertheless, although I feel really guilty for thinking it, I know that I look even hotter.
Blessed with gorgeous face of my mother, an actress, and the athletic abilities of my father, a professional baseball player, I not only had the athleticism of Anne but the face of an actress with the naturally curvaceous figure of a Latin woman that men adore as well as a touch of color to my skin and breasts that are both full and firm. Even with my clothes on, my looks always had been enough to attract the attention of any guy I want with just a smile.
Not accustomed to being overlooked, I don’t like it. It’s not that I hate Anne for stealing my spotlight but I’d be lying if I don’t admit to being envious. I envy her not only for the attention but for her bravery and her freedom. She looks athletic, courageous, adventurous, and sexy as hell, and I want to be her. I want to outrageously break the rules, to live dangerously, to turn every head in the building, and to dance naked in the hallways.
Anne looks serious for a moment.
“I warn you, it’s not for everyone. I had the day from hell yesterday.”
“If you had to do it over again, would you?”
“In a heartbeat. Don’t get me wrong, at least once an hour I wonder what the hell have I gotten myself into but I was in such a depressing rut before I joined; I couldn’t go back. When this mailgirl job’s over, I’m going to find a new job, an exciting job. Life’s too short to go back to that cubicle again.”
Anne’s words stung as I had given up an exciting job as a dancer for a cubicle and regret it. The adoration of an audience is powerful drug and I’m a hopeless addict. There wasn’t a day that passes that I don’t think about moving back to New York and trying to dance again.
A combination of anxiety and sexual tension well up inside of me the more I think about being a mailgirl. Although I know that it’s time for me to go back to my cubicle and get to work, I don’t want to go. Nervously, I look away and run my fingers though my hair.
“What’s wrong?” Anne asks.
I search for an answer. Though the truth is too embarrassing to say, Anne is a friend and I don’t want to lie to her.
“You’re actually really serious about this, escort aren’t you?” Anne asks.
“Yeah, I think I am. Do you think they’ll like me?”
Anne laughs as she looks at me from head to toe.
“Are you kidding? You’re the best looking woman in this building. Please don’t take this the wrong way but I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I promise you, they’ll be in love you.”
“Thanks.”
I couldn’t help but smile. The sincerity of Anne’s admiration comes as a pleasant surprise. Although it’s hardly the first time that I’d heard someone describe me as the prettiest girl that they’d ever seen, it’s something I never got tired of hearing. Glancing back at the door to the Benefits Department, I clinch my teeth and look away. Suddenly, the thought pops into my head that I could just go down to the mailgirl office and apply right now and it frightens me. The most terrifying part about it is that the more I think about it the more I think it’s a good idea.
I take the moment to contemplate what it feels like to be dressed, the sensation of cloth touching my skin, the warmth, the security, the modesty of being dressed, and I wonder what it would feel like to live without any clothes for the next two years, the freedom, the cool breezes, the comfort, and the exhilaration. Wiggling my toes, I contemplate what spending the next two years barefoot would feel like.
“You’re thinking about doing it right now aren’t you?” Anne asks. “You’re thinking about becoming a mailgirl today?”
“Yeah, and it’s scaring the bejesus out of me.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I hear a nervous quiver to my voice.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to talk you into anything but I’d really love it if you did. Right now there’s only two of us, me and Tanika, and we’d love to have you join us.”
“I think I’m sure.” Anne was right about becoming a mailgirl being a mind-blowing experience. Just saying that I’m about to apply to become a mailgirl causes an incredible erotic rush, nothing short of electrifying. It’s as if my blood stream is half adrenaline and half hormones.
“Then let’s go now. I’ll take you down,” Anne says, giddy with excitement.
Although I’m filled with too many emotions to think rationally, I start walking with Anne toward the stairway. Despite shuddering in fear, I’m smiling and nervously giggling in anticipation. As we enter the stairway, Anne stops, shuts the stairwell door behind her, and gives me a serious look.
“Are you certain you want to do this?”
I nod yes even though, in truth, I’m an emotional wreck.
“It’s a really big step.”
“I’m ready,” I say with all the confidence that I can muster.
Anne sticks out her hand. “Then give me your clothes.”
“Here? Now?”
“This way they’ll be no turning back. You’ll have no choice but to become a mailgirl.”
In a decision governed more by my libido than my brain, I nod and take off my belt. Feeling my face warm as an embarrassed blush comes over me, as I start to unbutton my blouse, I hesitate after only loosening only a couple of buttons when my fingers begin to tremble.
“Let me help you,” Anne says as she begins unbuttoning my blouse for me.
“Uh, what are you doing?”
Astonished, even though Anne was a friend, her undertaking to undress me in public is shocking, and yet, I do nothing to stop her. With my head spinning and my heart racing, I simply let Anne unbutton my blouse. Moments later, she slips my blouse down my arms and off my body.
“I was scared shitless too the first time but I promise you that you won’t regret it.”
Although I’m beginning to have second thoughts, I don’t object as Anne unclasps my bra, guides it over my head, down my arms and drops it on the floor. Staring at my brazier laying on the concrete in disbelief, as I contemplate what the hell I’m getting myself into.
“It’s like jumping off the high dive,” Anne says. “The longer you stand there looking down, the harder it is to do it. You just need to jump.”
Everything’s happening too fast and it’s all so crazy. Two minutes ago I’m a benefits representative with a safe and modest life. Now I’m getting stripped naked in a stairwell. Looking around to see if anyone is looking, I notice a security camera dome on the stairwell ceiling and realize that I’m on video. Yelping in shock and embarrassment, I cover my boobs with my hands just as Anne slides my slacks and panties to the floor.
“Lift your foot,”
I waver. Although I’m only wearing my pants around my ankles, my slacks and panties are still the last pieces of clothing on my body and the last impediments to my transition from a benefits representative to a mailgirl candidate. Then, as a surge of sexual energy overcomes me, I lift my right foot and Anne removes my slacks, panties, and shoe from my right leg. No sooner than she had done so, I lift my left foot and Anne strips off all that was left of my clothing. Standing completely naked in the stairway, I shiver in exhilaration.
Anne picks up my clothes, walks over to a mail chute, opens it, and to my amazement, stuffs my blouse and slacks in the mail chute and dangles them precariously in the chute pinching only the tiniest bit of fabric at the very tips of her thumb and forefinger.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32