The Mailgirl Chronicles of Stephens Academy, 1C posted Feb, 7

[Somebody]

Oh, I thought it was *mall* girl. I really should have my reading glasses on. This is a great start, though it sounds like she told her mom about it twice?

[EddieDavidson]

That's really neat. It reminds me to some degree of NIS, but with a kinkier side, and a little more objectification.

I especially like the idea that the girls are teased about their bodies as an incentive to stay fit, so they'll be better mail runners.

I could almost imagine a new program called the "TPP" - teacher's pet program. The mail girls are drafted or compete in small heats to be assigned a particular teacher as their sponsor. The incentive being the pet of the more handsome male teachers.

In this variation, the mail girl's primary "home" is not the central office, but rather making sure that particular teacher's communications are rapidly sent/recieved, and each teacher is free to impose their own particular rules/preferences.

The main character trys out for handsome Mr. Young's Pet, but ends up with stodgy old Mrs. Donevant, who wants things done in a particular way and brooks no mindfulness about the girl's humiliation in the process. "You volunteered for this, so stop your nattering. It doesn't matter if those boys are giggling while you alphabetize these books. I want you to pick each one up one at a time, dust it, and place it just so on the shelf."

I am glad you shared this with me. I would never have seen all of these stories collected all in one place. They are definitely an inspiration. I am happy to offer some suggestions/brainstorm either here or on in private if you want to bounce ideas back and forth to make this a special/different story. I think starting in the "traditional" way of being excited to be chosen/apprehensive is perfect. it's like setting up a blank canvas to a reader like me who has no idea what mail girl is.

However, my one recommendation would be to assume no prior knowledge of the series, and put the character through an indoctrination/training early on so that the new reader can follow along to the point of it all. When i initially thought of mailgirl, I was thinking "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds and nude young ladies are drafted to deliver postal mail through the community.

Carrying big boxes "wow, you've got quite a package, Mr. johnson", being chased by dogs, getting wet (literally from rain and arousal), dealing with heat, insects, and bad directions.

Then i thought perhaps a business, like the old movie "How to succeed in business without really trying", before there were emails, there were entire departments devoted to interoffice communication. You start off there as an intern (and reading the book one chapter at a time, rise to the rank of Vice President) only to discover that had you completely read the book you would have avoided being in charge of advertising.

But, now that I read a few of the other stories, i have a much better idea.

[flashharry]

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Go away

[BC101010]

What an amazing setup! I'm super excited for this addition to the Mailgirl universe!

[barelin]

“Danielle, time to get up…!” Mom’s chipper, matter-of-fact voice rang downstairs, slicing through my fleeting comfort.

Harper’s ears twitched at her call. He stretched luxuriously, paws extended like he had no idea what a stressful day meant. Then, sensing my reluctance, he nudged my arm with his cold, wet nose.

“Alright, alright..., I’m up,” I groaned, tossing the covers aside. Harper wagged his tail, clearly satisfied with his contribution to my morning. He trotted to the door with an enthusiasm I could only wish I had.

Dragging myself to the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror—bedhead, puffy eyes, and a face that seemed to ask, why does this day exist? I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would wash away the unease that had clung to me all night. But the anxiety was like a stubborn stain—it didn’t budge.

By the time I trudged into the kitchen, the smell of coffee and toast filled the air. Mom stood by the counter, sipping from her favorite mug—“Coffee First, Questions Later”—and smiled at me like nothing was wrong.

“Morning, kiddo. Did you sleep okay?” she asked her voice almost too bright.

I shrugged, reaching for a piece of toast. “Not really.”

She slid the plate closer to me. “Eat up. We’ve got a bit of a drive.”

At the table, Dad looked up from his phone, grinning like today was the best thing ever. “There’s my girl…! Ready to see my cousins…?”

I forced a smile. “Sure.”

The truth…? I wasn’t ready. Not even close. The thought of Aunt Melissa and her casual, probing comments about school—or worse, the Mailgirl Program—already made my stomach twist. I wasn’t sure I could handle it.

After breakfast, we loaded the car. Harper hopped into the backseat, curling up on his usual blanket. I climbed in beside him, grateful for his quiet companionship. Mom and Dad took the front, and soon we were on our way.

The drive was quiet, the engines hum blending with soft radio music. I stared out the window as the familiar streets of our neighborhood gave way to sprawling fields and bare trees. Harper rested his head on my lap, his warmth steady and grounding against the anxious coil in my stomach.

“You’re quiet back there,” Dad said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror…“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I lied, keeping my gaze fixed on the frost-dusted fields blurring past.

Mom turned slightly in her seat. “It’s just family, Danielle. No one’s expecting anything from you except to show up and be yourself.”

Her words were meant to reassure me, but they only made my chest feel tighter. Be myself. What did that even mean anymore? Lately, “I” felt like a moving target—especially with the Mailgirl Program casting its long, suffocating shadow over everything. I kept replaying snippets of what I’d overheard at school: hushed conversations about what it would mean horror stories about people who’d been selected, and whispered fears of who might be next. It was impossible to escape the weight of it.

The drive felt paradoxical—too long yet not long enough. Before I was ready, Dad pulled into my relatives’ driveway. Through the living room window, Sarah’s face lit up as she spotted us, her smile annoyingly enthusiastic. Harper perked up, his tail wagging in overdrive as the car came to a stop.

“You’ll be fine, sweetie,” Mom said, reaching back to pat my knee. “One moment at a time, okay?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. Harper barked, as if to say, you’ve got this. But I wasn’t sure I did.

The crisp winter air hit me as I stepped out of the car, sending a shiver through me. I tugged my sweater tighter, but the icy breeze wasn’t what made my skin crawl. It was the intrusive thought that wouldn’t let go—the image of myself as a mailgirl. I imagined the cold biting into my bare skin, with no barriers between me and the world’s judgment. The thought made my stomach churn.

Harper leaped out of the car, oblivious to my spiraling thoughts. His excitement was infectious, pulling me out of my head for just a moment as he bounded toward Sarah, who had come down the steps to greet us.

“Dani!” she called, enveloping me in a quick, perfumed hug. “It’s been forever! How’s life at the junior academy?”

“Busy,” I replied, my smile as thin as the layer of frost on the driveway.

Inside, the house buzzed with holiday energy. Aunt Melissa swooped in with her usual dramatic flair, Uncle Greg’s laugh echoed through the room, and Grandma wasted no time pinching my cheeks. I nodded, smiled, and said the right things at the right times. But the tightness in my chest never loosened.

Later, Sarah cornered me in the kitchen. She perched on a stool, her expression casual, but her tone sharp with curiosity.

“So,” she began, “is it true your school’s doing selections for the Mailgirl Program soon?”

I stiffened, my heart sinking. Of course, Sarah would bring it up. She always latched onto anything unusual, and this was practically a goldmine for her.

“Yeah,” I said, focusing on a bowl of pretzels on the counter. I grabbed one, crunching it loudly to avoid saying more.

“Okay, but…” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “They’re naked? Like, all the time?”

I shrugged, trying to keep my voice even. “That’s the deal.”

She stared at me like I’d just told her people lived on the moon. “That’s insane. Do you know anyone who’s been picked?”

Her eyes sparkled, and she launched into a detailed play-by-play of her last game. I nodded along, pretending to care. All the while, the tight knot in my stomach refused to untangle.

By the time we left, I felt drained, my thoughts still tangled in Sarah’s questions and my fears. As we drove home, I leaned against the window, Harper pressed against my side. His quiet, steady presence was the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Mom asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah,” I murmured, running my fingers through Harper’s fur. But it wasn’t true. None of it was true. The anxiety had become a permanent fixture, a weight I didn’t know how to shake.

I stared out at the darkening sky, wondering how much longer I could pretend everything was fine.

Thanksgiving morning arrived too quickly—the kind of day you dread but can’t avoid. I woke to the soft rhythm of Harper’s snoring, his warm body curled at my feet. Golden sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting faint shadows across the walls. For a moment, I stayed motionless under the blankets, pretending time had frozen, wishing it had.

I stared out at the darkening sky, wondering how much longer I could pretend everything was fine.

Friday morning came with a strange sense of relief and dread all at once. Thanksgiving was over—no more forced small talk or dodging questions about school. But the Mailgirl Program lingered in the back of my mind, a storm cloud I couldn’t outrun.

Harper’s soft, rhythmic breathing was my only comfort as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sunlight streamed in through the curtains, but it felt pale and cold compared to yesterday’s golden glow. I was grateful for the quiet, for the momentary reprieve from family chatter. But I couldn’t shake the tension that had been building for weeks now.

Mom’s voice floated upstairs. “Danielle, you’ve got plans with Carla today, right? Don’t leave her waiting too long!”

I groaned softly, dragging myself out of bed. Plans with Carla had been the bright spot of my week—something to look forward to, even in the shadow of the looming program. I threw on jeans laced up my sneakers, and grabbed my phone. Harper looked up from his spot on the bed, his tail wagging slightly, but I shook my head. “Not this time, buddy,” I said, scratching behind his ears.

The walk to Carla’s house was brisk, the air crisp and biting. Frost clung to the grass and the edges of car windows, glittering under the weak winter sun. My breath puffed out in small clouds as I walked, hands stuffed deep into my pockets. I tried to focus on the crunch of gravel under my sneakers, the distant hum of traffic, anything but the swirling unease in my chest.

Carla’s house came into view, a modest two-story with a neatly shoveled walkway and a wreath hanging on the door. I smiled faintly, the sight of it familiar and comforting. But when the door opened, all of that comfort evaporated in an instant.

“Hey, Dani—” Carla’s voice greeted me, but the words barely registered because all I could focus on was her. She stood there in the doorway, completely naked, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her cheeks were flushed, whether, from embarrassment or the cold, I couldn’t tell. Her eyes darted around nervously like she wanted to be anywhere but here.

“C-Carla,” I stammered my voice barely above a whisper. My eyes widened, and I instinctively stepped back, unsure of what I was even seeing. “What—why—?”

She looked away, her discomfort palpable. “Just come in,” she muttered, stepping aside to let me through. “It’s... it’s a long story.”

I hesitated, the chill outside suddenly feeling preferable to whatever was happening here. But curiosity—and concern for my friend—pushed me forward. I stepped inside, the warmth of the house a sharp contrast to the icy air outside.

Rachel was sitting on the couch in the living room, her face a mix of surprise and awkwardness when she saw me. Unlike Carla, she was fully clothed, bundled up in her usual oversized sweater and leggings. She gave me a small wave, her expression unreadable.

“What’s going on?” I asked my voice low as I turned back to Carla.

Before she could answer, another voice cut through the air. “Oh, good, Danielle’s here,” Carla’s mom said, stepping into the room with an air of casual authority. She was carrying a laundry basket, her demeanor calm and collected as if this were the most normal situation in the world.

“Carla, go sit with Rachel. Danielle, take off your coat and shoes,” she said briskly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You girls should all get comfortable—this is something you’ll need to get used to.”

“Get used to... what?” My voice wavered, a cold knot forming in my stomach.

“The possibility of being selected,” she replied, her tone matter-of-fact, like she was talking about a pop quiz or a new school uniform. She set the laundry basket down and straightened, looking at me with a mixture of expectation and sympathy. “If one—or all—of you are chosen for the program, you’ll need to be prepared. This isn’t something you can ignore or avoid. It’s better to start adjusting now.”

My heart pounded in my chest. I looked at Carla, who had sunk into the couch beside Rachel, her arms still tightly crossed. She didn’t meet my gaze, her face flushed and tense. Rachel looked equally uncomfortable, her hands twisting in her lap as she avoided looking at Carla.

“I—I don’t think this is... necessary,” I stammered, taking a step back toward the door.

Carla’s mom frowned slightly, her expression softening but her resolve unshaken. “Danielle, I know this is uncomfortable, but pretending it’s not happening won’t make it go away. If the program comes for you, it won’t give you a choice. The best thing you can do is start accepting it now.”

“Mom, stop,” Carla said suddenly, her voice sharp and trembling. She looked up at her mother, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “This isn’t helping. It’s just—can’t we just have a normal day?”

Her mom sighed, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. “I’m trying to help you, Carla. I don’t want you to be blindsided when the time comes.”

Carla shook her head, burying her face in her hands. Rachel reached over hesitantly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

I stood frozen by the door, my mind spinning. The room felt too warm, the air too thick. My fear of the program, the relentless questions from Sarah yesterday, and now this—it was all too much. I wanted to say something, to defend Carla; to push back against the overwhelming inevitability Carla’s mom seemed so certain of. But no words came. I just stood there; feeling like the ground beneath me had shifted into something unsteady and dangerous.

Eventually, Carla’s mom sighed again, softer this time. “Fine,” she said, picking up the laundry basket and heading toward the stairs. “I’ll leave you girls to it. But don’t think this conversation is over.”

As soon as she disappeared, the tension in the room eased slightly, though it didn’t disappear. Carla let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping. Rachel gave her a gentle squeeze on the arm, her expression softening.

“I’m so sorry,” Carla muttered her voice barely audible. She looked at me, her eyes red-rimmed. “I didn’t know she was going to do this. She’s been... like this ever since the announcements started.”

I crossed the room and sat down on the arm of the couch, my legs feeling unsteady. “Carla, you don’t have to apologize. This isn’t your fault.”

She nodded weakly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just hate this,” she whispered. “I hate all of it.”

Rachel nodded in agreement, her voice quiet but firm. “Same.”

We sat there in silence for a while, the weight of the situation pressing down on all of us. For the first time, I realized just how real this was—not just for me, but for everyone. And the worst part...? There was no escaping it.

[barelin]

I sat at the kitchen table, still reeling from everything that had happened earlier at Carla’s house. My mind was racing with questions I didn’t have answers to, but one thing kept surfacing: the Mailgirl Program. As much as I wanted to push the thought away, it felt like a shadow hanging over everything.

Mom sat across from me, her brow creased in that way it always did when she was trying to choose her words carefully. She held her coffee cup in both hands, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on the ceramic. After a moment of silence, she broke the tension.

“You’ve been quiet since you got home, sweetheart,” she said softly. “Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

I hesitated, the words caught in my throat. But finally, I exhaled and let them out. “Carla’s mom made her... you know... take everything off in front of us. She said it was to get used to the idea. To prepare for... the program...”

Mom’s expression shifted slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I see,” she said carefully. “How did that make you feel?”

“Uncomfortable,” I admitted. “For her and me... It was... strange. Like, it felt wrong. But then her mom made it sound like it was something we all might have to do eventually. Like it’s normal... And that scares me.”

Mom set her cup down and leaned forward slightly. Her voice was calm but serious. “Danielle, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. It’s something your dad and I decided when you were much younger—when you were in kindergarten.”

I frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

She sighed and folded her hands on the table. “When you first started school, all the parents of children who might eventually be eligible for the Mailgirl Program were given a choice. We were told that every eighth-grade girl would be automatically included in the selection pool unless we specifically chose to remove your name from consideration.”

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. “You had a choice? You could’ve taken my name off the list?”

Mom nodded her expression unreadable. “Yes. We could’ve opted out. But at the time, it didn’t seem like something we needed to worry about. You were so young, and it felt like such a distant possibility. Your dad and I talked about it, and we decided not to withdraw your name.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. I stared at her, struggling to process what she was saying. “Why didn’t you?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Why didn’t you just take me off the list?”

She sighed again, her gaze steady but full of emotion. “Because we didn’t know what the future would hold, Danielle. We didn’t want to make a decision for you that might limit your options later on. At the time, the program seemed... different. Like it might be an opportunity, even if it wasn’t one we fully understood.”

“An opportunity...?” I echoed, my voice rising slightly. “To do what...? Be humiliated? Be treated like... like...”

“Danielle,” Mom said gently, cutting me off. “I know it’s hard to understand. Looking back, I wonder if we made the wrong choice. But we weren’t the only ones. Almost all the parents of your friends—Rachel’s, Carla’s, everyone you know—made the same decision. We all thought we were giving you kids the chance to decide for yourselves when the time came.”

I leaned back in my chair, the weight of her words settling over me like a heavy blanket. “So, I’m only in this because of a choice you made years ago?”

She nodded, her expression pained. “Yes. But you’re not alone in this, Danielle. And if it ever comes to the point where you’re selected, we’ll figure it out together.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I wiped at them angrily. “It just feels so unfair. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t even know if I could ever do something like that. It’s terrifying to think about.”

Mom reached across the table and took my hand in hers. Her grip was warm and steady, a lifeline in the chaos. “I know it feels unfair, sweetheart. And I’m sorry if our decision back then has put you in this position now. But I need you to know that you’re stronger than you think. No matter what happens, we’ll face it together. And if you’re scared, that’s okay. It’s okay to be scared.”

I nodded, unable to speak as a tear slid down my cheek. Mom squeezed my hand, her voice softening even more.

“This isn’t something you have to figure out tonight or even tomorrow,” she said. “But I want you to know that your feelings matter, Danielle. Your voice matters. If you ever feel overwhelmed, you can come to me. Always...”

For the first time all day, a small sliver of comfort began to seep through the fear and uncertainty. I didn’t know what the future would bring, but at least I knew I wasn’t facing it alone.

I sat at the kitchen table, fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve as I tried to steady my nerves. The conversation with Mom was still replaying in my head, her words heavy with meaning. I wasn’t sure where the thought came from—maybe it was Carla’s experience, maybe it was everything piling up in my mind—but something inside me pushed me to speak.

“Mom...?” I began hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up from her coffee, her expression patient but curious. “Yes, sweetheart...?”

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. I wasn’t sure how to ask, how to even explain what I was feeling. But I forced myself to keep going. “Can Me... I mean, on my terms... Can I try going, um, clothing optional? Like, at home or maybe other places I can control?”

The words hung in the air, and my face burned as I realized what I’d just said. Mom’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, I thought she might be shocked or even angry. But then her expression softened her gaze steady and thoughtful.

She leaned back in her chair, taking a moment before responding. “That’s a big thing to ask, Danielle,” she said carefully. “Can you tell me why you’re thinking about this? What’s going through your mind?”

I swallowed hard, trying to organize the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. “It’s just... if this is something that might happen, I feel like I need to be prepared. Like, I want to be able to control it, at least a little, before it’s completely out of my hands. I don’t want to feel... powerless.”

Mom nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “I understand why you might feel that way,” she said. “And I respect that you want to take control of the situation, even in a small way. But, Danielle, you also need to understand something very important.”

Her voice grew firmer, though still gentle. “If we go down this path—if you choose to start practicing this at home or in controlled settings—you need to be prepared to take instructions. That means if your dad or I—or someone like Carla’s mom—says it’s time to take it all off, you’ll need to follow through, no matter what. There can’t be hesitation or second-guessing.”

The weight of her words settled heavily in my chest. I looked down at my hands, the reality of what she was saying sinking in. “Even if I’m not ready?” I asked quietly.

Mom reached out and placed a hand on mine, her touch warm and reassuring. “That’s why we’d only do this if you truly feel ready to take that step,” she said. “You can’t half-commit to something like this, Danielle. If you want to try it, you need to be prepared for what it means—both the freedom and the responsibility that comes with it.”

I nodded slowly, my mind racing. “So, if I decide to do this, it means... I have to be ready for anything?”

“Within reason, yes,” Mom said. “We would never put you in a situation that made you unsafe or uncomfortable beyond what you’re trying to explore. But part of preparing for something like the Mailgirl Program—or even just the possibility of it—is learning to let go of some of those fears and hesitations.”

Her words made sense, but they also terrified me. The idea of letting go, of exposing myself in such a vulnerable way, felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure if I’d fall or fly.

“Can I think about it?” I asked finally, my voice barely audible.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Mom said, squeezing my hand. “This is your choice. I just want you to understand what it means before you make any decisions.”

I nodded again, my thoughts swirling with uncertainty and resolve. This wasn’t a decision I could make lightly, but part of me felt like I was already on the path. Whether I was ready or not, the shadow of the Mailgirl Program loomed ever closer, and I knew I couldn’t ignore it forever.

Mom’s voice broke through my thoughts, soft and encouraging. “Whatever you decide, Danielle, I’m here for you. We’ll figure this out together.”

I managed a small smile, grateful for her support even as the weight of the situation pressed down on me. There was so much to consider, so much I didn’t know if I was ready for. But at least I knew I wasn’t alone.

End of Chapter 1