>You lie in bed, your hand already on the phone as the alarm goes off.
 
>You mutter and sit up only to wince in pain and flop back into bed. Your head is killing you!
 
>You remember through the pain that you were supposed to call the doctor today.
 
>You fish through the sea of useless contacts and dead numbers to the family doctor and call. After a lengthy wait time, you speak
with them and ask if they can come see you.
 
>You sit up slower and wince again as your head STILL kills you. Damn. You wobble and slouch as you get an estimate on their arrival.
 
>The doctor won’t be here until 10 in the morning. Urgh. You walk to the front door, hanging up on them and pocketing your phone and swing it open, your posture low.
 
>You wait for the excited maid to come in and knock you over or something but… Nothing. Are you too early?
 
>You stand up and squint to see… Oh dear lord, what?
 
>Ms. Screw, in maid attire, is dragging the mailman, in a headlock, up to your door. You lean on the door, the scenario a bit much for
you in your current state.
 
>You hear the mailman stammering and sputtering as they get closer.
 
“I-I-I wasn’t aware you were on THIS street, Ms. Screw! I-I promise, I’ll just give him the mail and leave, like a good boy, Okay?! Ow, OW!” He heaves, the woman holding him in such a way smiling down at him with an ominous grin.
 
>She stops at your door and smiles at you, while her prisoner weakly does the same.
 
“Ah… H-hi boss! Here’s your mail!” He stammers, holding out a stack of envelopes and a magazine or two.
 
>You slowly take them while shooting him a “Sorry” glance. As soon as you have the mail in your hands, Ms. Screw lets him go, and he shoots backwards down the stairs and onto the ground. Before you can ask if he’s alright, though, he’s off and running for his mail carrier and shooting off down the sidewalk.
 
“…I assume you and him have met on… hostile terms.” You say groggily, sounding more angry than you meant to.
 
>She turns and nods, making a sort of peeking motion. …He’s a bit nosy? Or so nosy that she has had to run him off?
 
>You chuckle and pat her on the head. Or try to.
 
>As soon as you step forward, you stumble and she has to catch you. She pulls you in close to her, and as you look at her, her smile small and eyes full of worry. You feel calmer as she holds you in place, unsure of what to do.
 
“Uh. Eheh. I c-called the doctor already… So I guess help me onto the couch?” You ask.
 
>She guides you inside and shuts the door, slamming it with her foot. You feel the wind from the door and tense a bit, causing her to hold you closer.
 
>You blush a bit as you realize she has no problem touching you or cradling you like a baby… And that you’ve practically spent quite a bit of time with your face on her somehow.
 
“S-sorry… I’m probably a big ol’ kid to you… Right?” You mutter to her, as she sets you on the couch.
 
>She pats your forehead and shakes her own, her smile small. You tilt your head and wince at the pain of it. Damn this tension headache… Migraine? Whatever…
 
>She pats your chest and darts off, probably not to do the laundry. You moan in frustration at yourself. How the hell did it get so bad...?
 
>You lie there with your eyes closed and hear her heels clicking on the floor. You don’t open your eyes for a bit, but after a moment of silence, you turn your head and look in her direction-
 
>Wow. Those aren’t the same design as they were yesterday. And man, are they close to you.
 
>The blood rushes to your head as you realize you’re face-to-rear with Ms. Screw. She’s bent over the table, looking at something. And you’re staring at her butt, the panties a bright purple with barking noises sounded out. They’re squeezing it rather tightly, making you wonder at the actual size of it-
 
>Okay, that’s enough, you damn perv.  
 
>You shoot up and begin coughing and heaving as you do. That couldn't have been good for you, since you’re entire face is now red and in pain.
 
>She whirls around and places a hand on your back, patting it softly as she sits down with you. You feel her pull you backwards and onto her lap, a pillow there already.
 
>You hack and heave, but she just calmly waits until the fit is over to place a hand on your head and stroke it softly. You stare up at her, her face calmer than ever… You think.
 
>She leans forward to the coffee table and pulls a bottle of medicine from it, shaking it. She’s going to medicate you? But a doctor is coming…
 
“Ah… Ah… M-Ms…” You pant, trying to object to it.
 
>But she simply unscrews the bottle and pulls out a pill. She then sets it on the table and does this with two more bottles.
 
>You glance over to the table and your heart stops. It’s not the medicine that causes that: There are only three bottles.
 
>It’s the magazine that’s slightly farther away from all the other mail… And probably what she was looking at.
 
>She was looking at the Playboy cover, the girl on it wearing a spiked dog collar and other provocative items. Shit. Well, you either
take that in stride or panic about it.
 
>You cough nervously as she reaches for the glass of water and looks down at you.
 
“Arf. Arf Arf!” She speaks, but you aren’t too sure what that was supposed to mean.
 
>You open your mouth- and she puts the cup to your lips. You freeze for a second and then let her pour the water in, keeping it wide so it doesn’t spill.
 
>She nods and then drops the pills in. You swallow them, and she puts the cup back to your mouth, allowing you to drink some more water.
 
>You swallow a few more gulps and sigh, finding relief in SOMEONE taking care of you.
 
“Thank you… So much, Ms. Screw…” You mumble. She just smiles in response.
 
>You look away, embarrassed slightly by your current state… and what brought on that pseudo-attack. You bite your lip: Should you even talk about it?
 
>She begins patting your head and reaches over to the table again. She hands you the remote for the large flat screen sitting across the way, near the windows… Might as well. You flick it on and turn to a comedy sitcom.
 
>You close your eyes during the commercial breaks, and giggle weakly at some of the jokes. Ms. Screw laughs too, the jiggling orbs above your head causing you to stop silent.
 
>It seems like eternity, but 10 Am rears its head and you hear the door. You sit up slowly and let Ms. Screw hop up to answer it.
 
>After a minute, she leads the doctor in and she looks at you, an air of laxness about her. She sighs as she marches over to you, her bag rumbling with each step.
 
“I thought you young ones were supposed to be so full of vitality…? What happened, hm?” She asks, bending over to touch your head.
 
“I… Ah… Wanged my head a couple of times, Ms. Guess…” You say, struggling to not collapse backwards onto the couch. “I haven’t been feeling well ever since.”
 
“Hm! That doesn’t sound too good… Were you rocking out or partying too hard or something like that?” She asks, patting your head and looking intently at your face.
 
“Nah… I was just here with Ms. Screw when I took a nasty tumble. I hit my nightstand and my frame… and I tumbled and hit the floor, too.” You explain.
 
>You look toward Ms. Screw, but she’s gone… She doesn’t stay put a lot. Wonder what she’s gone off to do.
 
“Well then… Boy, with those bouts of trauma to the head, I’d dare say you have a concussion. A mildly serious one too, by the looks of the skin here…” She muses, softly patting the back of your head.
 
>You wince in pain, biting your lip. It still stings a bit. You shrug and lay down only for her to extend her hand in a motion to pull you up.
 
“…What?” You asked, a bit confused.
 
“C’mon, give me your hand. You need to be somewhere more comfortable than your couch. Plus, I still need to confirm the symptoms.”
 
>You allow her to raise you up and you stand there, wobbling a little from laying down for some hours. You see she grabs each of the bottles and makes a note of it.
 
“Mhm… You seem to know some of the ailments enough to take meds for them. Dizziness, Headaches and Nausea?” She asks.
 
>You nod slowly, not bothering to correct her that it was Ms. Screw that brought those for you. How much does she really know…?
 
>You’re led upstairs and to your room, Ms. Guess leading you while jokingly reprimanding you in a doctor-like way.
 
>You reach your room and she sits you on the bed, testing your strength, reaction times, sensitivity to light and all that…
 
>You do way below average, though. She smacks her lips a bit disapprovingly.
 
“Well. You’re not in the best shape to do anything strenuous right now, so I’m afraid any parties or events will have to wait.” She states, writing down something as you flop backwards into your pillow.
 
“Didn’t plan on that, doc.” You mumble.
 
“Well, the usual “treatment” for a concussion is just to get a lot of rest until you feel better. No exercise that’ll jumble your skull even more, no deep philosophical debates with friends.” She jokes.
 
“Not a lot of chance of having any of those with my friends. They’re probably out somewhere getting smashed right now.” You say, a bit sadly.
 
“Poor them! If I see them, I’ll give them the same prescription. If anything serious arises, just call again and I’ll come back out. Until then, rest. Okay?” She asks, walking to the door and turning.
 
>You simply nod, feeling tired from the thorough inspection. You burrow underneath your comforters and pull out your phone, the batter on 89 percent. Perfect.
 
>You sit there and simply browse the internet, squinting when the light of the phone becomes too much. You pause as you hear a rumble in the distance.
 
>You peek from your comforter cocoon to see a pile of clothes in the room. Huh. You shrug and continue on, not minding that Ms. Screw’s getting some much needed things done.
 
>You hear more footsteps and more clothes being thrown into the pile. You peek out of the blanket and see her twirl and take off, basket in tow.
>You sigh and shrink back under them, turning off the light and laying there in a weird state of apprehension and embarrassment. You just can’t shake the odd feeling of her looking at the magazine knowing it’s yours… And being so fine with it that she doesn’t skip a beat in taking care of you.
 
>You sit up and look over at the pile of clothes. It’s pretty big… Did she do one of them already and then bring up another?
 
>You think about getting up and rifling through them yourself, but the doctor said to just lie in bed and get better. Besides, in your current state, you’d just end up falling in and getting buried.
 
>You sigh and lie back down. You hear some rummaging in the kitchen… Huh. Okay then. You simply fuss a bit until you fall asleep again.
 
>…
 
>You’re having another dream… Except you’re in your body this time. You’re sitting in a dim room… The living room? The TV is on… And there’s a silhouette… of a woman with wild hair, perched in front of the TV.
 
>Nothing but static buzzes from the TV as she crawls into focus, her violet eyes glowing beneath the sea of sky-blue hair. Her outfit is nothing short of non-existent: She has nothing but a leash and her undergarments on.
 
>You try to sit-up or move or even open your eyes some more, but nothing happens. She suddenly bounds over the table and onto your lap, a giggle escaping her lips as she firmly sits on you.
 
>Your body moves on its own, reaching around her to cradle her back and pet her at once. She pants happily as she returns the favor, her hands snaking to your chest and rubbing you back.
 
>You suddenly slouch to the right and she follows, pressing her face against your chest. You can’t see much but her smirking up at you while you feel the faint sensation of her hands roaming farther and lower until she finds what she wants.
 
>You gasp as her smile widens a bit. She suddenly sinks her teeth into your chest, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you yelp at the sudden warmth and touch. That’s not the only thing that jumps in response though…
 
 -----------------------------------------------------------
 
>You snap straight up and exhale, your face burning red. You blink a couple of times to make sure you’re really awake and get rid of the dirty, dirty thoughts you just had.
 
>You look over to the side of the bed to see the pile of clothes is gone… Did she fold them and take care of it while you were asleep? Those were a lot of clothes…
 
>You suddenly hear footsteps and look toward your door. Ms. Screw has a proud smile on her face as she steps in, a large bowl of something in her hands. It smells good… and you admit that you’re a bit hungry.
 
“H-hey… Ms. Screw.” You say, trying not to look anywhere but her face. “What’s that…?”
 
>She walks over to your bedside and sits, allowing you to see what’s making that delicious smell: Soup. You can tell there’s a lot of
veggies, meat and cheese in it just by looking at the surface of it: That can’t be from a can.
 
“…D-did you make it while I was…” You ask, taken aback.
 
>She simply nods, a smile on her face as she stirs it with the spoon that she brought along. She scoops up a bit and looks over to you. …She really intends on feeding you?
 
“I… I…” You try to mount a defense, but you really can’t.
 
>She tilts her head, her smile shortening. You sigh and look into her eyes, noting the confusion in them.
 
“It’s… Been a while since anyone cared for me like this. I’m a little embarrassed, but I’m really grateful…” You say, looking down awkwardly. “I… I really appreciate this, Ms. Screw.”
 
>You feel her hand gently stroke your head, reassuring you that she knows. You look up and her smile is one of understand. You smile back, feeling the warmth from her.
 
“Ah… Right. The soup. Okay…” You shift, leaning forward. “I’ll let you feed me.”
 
“ArfArf! Arf…?” She responds, lifting the spoon full of soup to your lips.
 
>You open wide and let her guide it in, tasting the concoction. You marvel at the hotness for just a second before the flavor hits you.
 
>Damn, that’s good! You taste the chicken and broccoli, the cheese bringing out the flavor in both as you chew and swallow.
 
“Mmmm. That’s really good, Ms. Screw.” You say, nodding your head in appreciation.
 
“Arfarf.” She responds, scooping up some more to feed you.
 
>This goes on for a few minutes, you eating each spoonful that she feeds you and feeling a bit better as you have some good food in
you.
 
>After the bowl’s empty, she stands, practically wiggling from satisfaction.
 
“Thank you, Ms. Screw. That really hit the spot… The clothes are all done, right?” You ask, unsure if she was able to finish them if
she made THAT good of a stew.
 
“Bark!” She responds, gesturing to your closet and drawers.
 
“Oh. Wow. You’ve been really busy, huh? Would you like to be let off early, then?” You ask.
 
>She stops wiggling altogether and looks serious as her smile shrinks. She shakes her head quickly, and then walks toward you.
 
“O-oh, Um-“ you stammer, the reaction catching you off guard, but her movement also silencing you.
 
>You sit there in amazement as she pulls you into a big hug, her hands rubbing you on the back. You feel happy, and then a large pang
of guilt at having such lewd thoughts about her.
 
>She pulls back and searches your face, not understanding the expression on it. She tilts her head, trying to find a reason why you
look so odd.
 
“O-oh, it’s nothing… Thanks a lot, Ms. Screw. If you don’t want to leave early, I don’t mind you milling about a bit more.” You say, trying to smile at her.
 
>She just hugs you again and then pats your head as she leaves to take the bowl to the kitchen. You sigh. Just keep your feelings about her in check, you raging perv, and you won’t end up hurting what you’ve got now.
 
>To your surprise, she comes back and sits with you while you’re in bed, seemingly happy to listen to you try to make conversation.
 
>You ramble on about why you live alone, why your house was such a mess, why none of your friends have come to visit and why you don’t have your folks around… They’re all touchy, but you just vent and get it out of your system.
 
>Ms. Screw just sits there, letting you speak and pat her as you confide in her. You feel a lot better getting all that off your chest, and having someone actually willing to listen helps a lot.
 
>After a few moments of sitting in silence, you look down at her and smile. She looks up and you, her breathing calming as she grins at you.
 
“I really enjoy your company, Ms. Screw.” You state, giving her a hug.
 
>She quickly returns the affection, pushing you into the pillows with a bit of force. You feel your face get hot as you stare up into her eyes, remembering the glow she had in them in your dream…
 
>A beeping noise snaps you out of it, and you look down to her arm. She lets out what appears to be a cute growl at it before turning it off.
 
“It’s alright… I’ll be fine, with all you’ve done for me. I’ll be up bright and early in the morning to let you in.”
 
>She bounces happily and jogs to the door, turning and looking back at you for a second before continuing on her way.
 
>You slink down into your covers as you hear the telltale signs of the door slamming shut. You need to get some rest.
 
>And that means no more fantasizing about Ms. Screw.
 
>…You can’t be blamed if it DOES happen though…