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.