Amy

A sliver of pre-dawn light sliced through the blinds, painting harsh stripes across your eyelids. You stirred, the lingering remnants of a dream clinging to your thoughts. Suddenly, a jolt of panic ripped through you. Your arms were immobile, yanked taut and secured to the bedposts.

There, in the dim light, stood Amy, a classmate from years ago. A sickeningly sweet smile played on her lips as she balanced a plate piled high with bacon and eggs. Her attire was a jarring contrast to the domesticity of the breakfast offering. A flimsy apron barely contained her overflowing chest, and beneath it, the unmistakable outline of a bulge strained against the thin fabric of her panties. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she cooed, the innocent lilt at odds with the predatory glint in her eyes. "I hope you're hungry. I made this special for you."