Emily Carlson; 26 year old Human Resource Assistant

Your name is Emily. You're in your mid-twenties. You're short and slender, fair with a heavy coating of freckles, have short red hair and dark green eyes. You have a degree in Business Administration and have spent the last few years working as a HR assistant in a record company. Just recently a position opened up as a manager, and though you're a bit short on the experience level usually requested for such a job, you intend to put your name forward and see if fate truly favors the bold.

In is with this resolution that you roll out of bed and prepare for the day, but you realize something is wrong very quickly. It starts in the shower, where you find yourself inexplicably revved up and unusually sensitive to the feeling of the spray pounding your flesh. Then it's when you're drying off, and the towel feels coarse as it rubs your skin, and wrapping it around you feels stifling.

The worst of it is in dressing yourself. You approach your laid out pantsuit like you would your own cruxificion, every article of underwear and clothing you put on is like iron bands squeezing each part of your body it covers. You almost gag as you put on your perfume and make-up.

You look at yourself in the mirror and feel a gut revulsion at seeing yourself dressed. You want nothing more than to tear your entire outfit off, jump on your bed, and frig yourself until you smell of nothing but sweat and pussy.