A tiny teen nymphomaniac

Izzy woke with a groan, the blaring alarm pushing away precious sleep. She fumbled with one arm, trying to get a grip on the bleating cellphone. A clatter announced that it had instead fallen to the floor.

She hadn't slept well; not well at all. Call it what you like: nerves, excitement, racing thoughts—the end result either way was an Izzy who spent the entire night tossing and turning, in and out of sleep, and was now wishing that such thing as an alarm clock had never been invented.

Still grumbling, Izzy pushed herself up onto her elbows. She briefly debated trying to go back to sleep. It was a hard fought argument with herself, but eventually reason won out and she pulled a hand up to wipe sleep from her eyes. She really should have taken some melatonin, but it just seemed like such an old person thing to do. Lesson learned, she supposed.

After sitting up in bed for a minute or two, still dazed, she finally swung out of bed. Padding barefoot out of her room and down the hall to the bathroom, she finally hit a bit of good luck in that it was unoccupied. Slipping in, she closed and locked the door before anyone could challenge her exclusive claim to it.

The shower was cold for the first few seconds, which—along with making her yelp—finally **** some awareness into her, blowing away some of the fog of sleep. As she went through the motions of cleaning her smooth, lithe, petite form, her mind wandered. Today was the day...