Amy threw her school bookbag into the corner of her bedroom, nearly ripping the bottom of her huge poster of Matt Damon with angel wings, from a recent movie. She had only an hour to get ready and get to work, and her breath was already hyper and shallow. Untying Doc Marten boots can take time, and she knew she couldn’t be late today. “I just can’t, they’re all depending, um,” she paused for a moment as she tried to recall who it was that was depending on her, on her timeliness, but with a blink and a quick headshake, she jumped up, and pulled her gothy black and red lace blouse over her head. She carefully draped the yards of black silk and crimson lace over her desk chair, addressing the small marble bust of Albert Einstein in the corner of her desktop. “God I’m so dead, I haven’t done my paper on religious amalgamation in the twentieth century, Wendy could be dead somewhere, Carla’s been acting weird”, she trailed off. “Oh!” She leaned over to her desk and mashed the power button of her Apple laptop, nearly knocking over her half cup of coffee in the plain black cup. Friendly startup colors and tones filled her room, while she dropped the heavy black denim oversized pants to her floor. With a groan in her throat and displayed on her face, she closed the cover of the large school textbook concealing part of the keypad. Amy ran to the closet, parting the Rammstein crew from Britney Spears. She smiled. Britney looked so innocent from her first CD, the Rammstein group so evil. “Have they been bothering you?” She reached in and removed a pair of khaki pants, and thoughtlessly yanked a white sweater from a coathanger, sending it flying across the room. She leaped back to the center of her crowded room as Ophelia, by Wench, began to play on her MP3 / CD player. She looked down into the screen her head bouncing to the gothy tune. “OK, just a quick glance, maybe I got an email from Wendy, or” BLUEBLOOD “OK, um, just a quick little glance. Um, I may” BLUEBLOOD “Um, O.K., um, just a quickie one,, I um” BLUEBLOOD “Um, O.K., a quick, quick, should sit,” BLUEBLOOD I AM READY Amy dragged into her room, leaving the main light off. She stepped up to her desk, clicking the knob on her desk lamp, which except for her laptop, was the only thing on the shiny black work surface. A pale yellow glow filled the immaculately clean room, and she considered where to place her backpack. She sat it in the corner, against the bottom of the brand new poster. Two women, one in a full yellow latex outfit, the other in an orange one, were pressed on either side of a tall muscular naked man, their hands covering his genitals. Amy smiled at the picture, its powerful sexual energy, She had always liked the feelings it represented, hadn’t she? “God I am so exhausted.” Work had been difficult. Her thigh muscles were strained, and her hip flexors and tensors were screaming for a hot shower, and boo-boo-profen. She leaned over her vanity counter, removing the celtic knotwork rings from her fingers, and grabbed the small silver key. A quick well-practiced twist and the cold steel handcuffs dropped from her wrists. Another twist and the brass lock securing her tight black collar, sprung from her neck to the floor. “Crap.” Amy leaned over, her hips, thighs, and lower back muscles complaining the entire way down and back up. She yawned, pulling on the strings which held her black latex corset closed. Amy inhaled and leaned left and right, wriggling till it was loose enough to pull over her head. Placing it carefully on her counter, she then massaged her breasts, pulling them together, then separating them, and rolling her small orbs in therapeutic circles. Her hands worked downward, soothing her sore ribs. Amy stretched, and yawned again. The tight pink latex minipants slid over her small butt and down her oily legs with ease, and she casually stepped back and out of them. She stood for a moment and admired herself in her large mirror, letting her hands run gently where other hands had recently been, trying to recall the events, but staying satisfied in blissful erotic ignorance. She yawned again. The sun was an hour from dawning. “I wonder if I should dye my hair?” Using her toe, she picked up her clothing from the cluttered floor, and turned toward her closet. As she passed her laptop she gently pressed the button that gives it life. She scratched her head with her free hand, then clicked her media player. Christina Milian moaned, “When he’s a good boy, a really really good boy, why not let him lay with you,,” Amy yawned, a sleepy smile on her tired, mascara-covered face. The tired young woman looked to her desktop image for support- a black background, with the word Blueblood in bold, blue, capital letters. “Should I dye my hair? Should I just blow off that stupid school again?” The left closet door had a poster of Madonna and Britney in a heated, latex-clad embrace. The right door poster was the one she had for years, the tall muscular man, sweaty, wearing dark leather pants and an open vest, holding forward a gleaming chain and a dangling collar in front of his sexy, bare chest. At the bottom was the name of a song, in bright yellow- MASTER AND SERVANT. Amy rubbed her neck, remembering where her own collar had been, and shivered. She sat her clothes and the backpack into the closet, singing along with the hushed music, “Dip it low, mmmm.” “Is this backpack mine?” Amy stood and stretched. What she needed was a hot bath, and a few hours of sleep before class. She turned and sat down at the desk. The wayward student clicked a few buttons, opening her email. She stared at the computer for a few seconds, unblinking, unmoving. Her head shook lightly, and she gasped, and shut off the laptop, singing quietly, “pop, pop, pop that thing, I can show you how to make your man say, ohhh”. She stood and yawned. What she needed was a long hot bath with the right person to please, and receive pleasure. She stood in front of her opened window, and ran her hands over her body again. Lit by the yellow desk lamp, the growing crimson light of day, and the red L.E.D. on her laptop’s video camera, she danced to the club beat, sensuously tickling, tugging, scratching and pinching herself into heat. The music grew more intense and her body responded with curvaceous undulations. Amy’s eyes snapped open with sudden and startling realization She had to go, simply had to go. She needed him. She needed her. She needed them, needed it, needed, need. NEED. A quick zip of her backpack and she pulled the tight black tubedress of stretchy latex out. With the oil still on her body, it slipped over her head and shoulders, catching and pulling her short black hair. She tugged and wriggled, pulling the rubbery dress down with one hand then pulling her chest upward with the other. She centered the shiny tubedress till the bottom hem was over her hips and hiding Eve from Adam, while the top of the tube barely stayed covering her small perky breasts. She sung, “We can move, if you wanna, we can move,” Her body in slow, subconscious gyrations. Her nipples were taut, poking out of the thin, smoothness of the shiny black, oversized rubberband. Amy kneeled and grabbed her small patent black clutchpurse from her backpack, and the matching heels. She slipped the thin straps up over her heels, and as she stood, gasped in shock. Robert, in a white cabana three piece suit, and white brimmed hat, stood in her bedroom doorway. Behind him was the figure of an attractive police woman in uniform, Gail. Robert’s stare was burning through her, and yet not truly focused on her. His eyes were severe, caring, but hard as iron. In one hand he held some bird’s foot, the other hand reached toward Amy, reaching for her soul.