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Amber was never one for early mornings. She hated leaving her bed before 10 o'clock. She would turn over and bury her head under the pillows until there was no other choice than to get up. She liked to blame it on her body chemistry: she wasn't a morning person. So why would she be up, at the bloody crack of dawn with a grocery bag dangling from her shoulders and actually awake? Amber kept on asking herself that same questioon and kept coming up with the same answer: because she was an idiot.
Maybe idiot was a strong word. Maybe she was just bad with numbers. Hell, the only way she'd managed to pass high school's version of math or whatever the hell they wanted to call it was because her teacher was rather more interested the sum of her clothes on his floor. Not that she'd done that back then for the grade. He was the hot teacher all the girls were panting after. She'd been hot back then, hot enough for that teacher to forget about his morals. She estimated she was even hotter now, for the right type of guys, with her curves and large breasts. She dressed to emphasise those generous gifts from nature, but bot to appear too slutty. Just tight jeans and a black little T-shirt that road up just high enough to show off her belly ring. She had her curly, red hair stuck up in a pony tail and just a splash of make-up, foundation and eyeliner and deep, dark red lipstick.
But that was in the past and this was the present. The present where she had given herself, as a present, to her friend for his birthday. It had been either that or the can of beans in her fridge. A slight miscalculation in her funds had led her to get a new tattoo, a sparrow taking flight on her left shoulderblade, but no money for the birthday present.
Smooth, Amber. Really, really smooth. And of course her paycheck came in yesterday, a day after the birthday party. Oh well, so she'd spend the next twenty-four hours doing whatever her friend wanted. She figured he would just make her clean and probably have her cook.
She pushed her glasses back into place. They sometimes slid down the pridge of her nose a little. Right then. Time to get cracking. Amber squared her shoulders and marched up to the front door. He wanted breakfast? He could get the best damned breakfast he had ever had, but he'd have to get up for it, if he wasn't already. She didn't have a key to his place. She jammed her index finger on the doorbell, waited five seconds, then did it again, just because she felt like being just a wee bit annoying before her twenty-four hours of obedience.
And she was going to be obedient. She'd already screwed up enough with the no money for a gift bulnder, thank you very much. Years later, her friend would look back and decide that this was the best gift he'd ever had.
Maybe idiot was a strong word. Maybe she was just bad with numbers. Hell, the only way she'd managed to pass high school's version of math or whatever the hell they wanted to call it was because her teacher was rather more interested the sum of her clothes on his floor. Not that she'd done that back then for the grade. He was the hot teacher all the girls were panting after. She'd been hot back then, hot enough for that teacher to forget about his morals. She estimated she was even hotter now, for the right type of guys, with her curves and large breasts. She dressed to emphasise those generous gifts from nature, but bot to appear too slutty. Just tight jeans and a black little T-shirt that road up just high enough to show off her belly ring. She had her curly, red hair stuck up in a pony tail and just a splash of make-up, foundation and eyeliner and deep, dark red lipstick.
But that was in the past and this was the present. The present where she had given herself, as a present, to her friend for his birthday. It had been either that or the can of beans in her fridge. A slight miscalculation in her funds had led her to get a new tattoo, a sparrow taking flight on her left shoulderblade, but no money for the birthday present.
Smooth, Amber. Really, really smooth. And of course her paycheck came in yesterday, a day after the birthday party. Oh well, so she'd spend the next twenty-four hours doing whatever her friend wanted. She figured he would just make her clean and probably have her cook.
She pushed her glasses back into place. They sometimes slid down the pridge of her nose a little. Right then. Time to get cracking. Amber squared her shoulders and marched up to the front door. He wanted breakfast? He could get the best damned breakfast he had ever had, but he'd have to get up for it, if he wasn't already. She didn't have a key to his place. She jammed her index finger on the doorbell, waited five seconds, then did it again, just because she felt like being just a wee bit annoying before her twenty-four hours of obedience.
And she was going to be obedient. She'd already screwed up enough with the no money for a gift bulnder, thank you very much. Years later, her friend would look back and decide that this was the best gift he'd ever had.
