Who in the world would fuck an Edna Zulma? As Edna stood there staring at her reflection in the long mirror, she wondered just that.

Wearing sensible mid-heel black pumps, an ankle-length black skirt, and a long-sleeve shirt that buttoned up to the neck, no way would she get any play in an outfit like this and with her dowdy name.

Now a Madame Z? That woman could get anything she wanted. Yeah, like jail time, she thought.

She shook her head. Enough of that old life. Time to start fresh. In the outfit she wore, it felt more like a prison than her confinement behind concrete and steel.

She adjusted her collar, convinced she could feel heat churning from underneath. Edna smoothed her hand over her hair, which was pulled back tight in a bun.

Despite wearing no makeup, she still thought she looked great for being almost forty. Of course, the makeup helped her not look so close to that age.

She would have to thank her genes for her not getting the telltale lines around her eyes and mouth. The old saying of "Black doesn't crack" fit her right now.

She wished she felt as young as the décor in her room. Back now in her childhood bedroom, Edna scanned the walls covered in New Edition and Michael Jackson posters. This was the Michael Jackson from his Off The Wall days--cute, dark-skinned, real. Then again, she couldn't comment on anyone's authenticity.

She peered down at her shirt and attempted to close the front of her blouse, opening due to her size of her breasts. If she could walk out of the house without a sermon from her mother, Edna would consider it a good day.

New adjustments consumed Edna's life now. Her small twin bed humbled her from sleeping in her huge California king-sized bed for the last few years, but it was way better than the musty mattresses in prison.

If she really wanted to be reminded of past pain, she could think about her days in D.B.'s Dungeon. A shiver traveled up her spine.

She took a deep breath. On the exhalation, her breath came out ragged.

"Come on, girl. No nerves." She shifted her weight back and forth, a mistake considering the crusty condition of her mama's house. The hardwood floors squeaked under her feet.

"Edna?" her mother called from the kitchen. "Eddie? Na-na?"

Edna rolled her eyes. She knew there was trouble when her mother started calling her by her old nicknames.

"Coming, Ma."

Her new living situation provided another crushing blow. After her incarceration, Edna lost her home, The Oh Club, the money Sire Darin had given her when he died, everything. She had to start from scratch, which included her relationship with her mother, a woman she hadn't seen since Edna ran away from home at the tender age of seventeen.

Fuck this. And fuck her new life. The hell with starting that new job today. Edna unbuttoned the cuffs on her shirt and started undoing her blouse. Who needed the hassle of the daily grind?

Now in her old life, if she had said "grind," men winced; that's what she wanted, what she needed.

No, what she really needed was a good fuck. Good luck getting that in this house with her mama watching over her every second of every day. If not her, then it was J.J. Kresty, her parole officer. Hell, the man wasn't even good looking enough to imagine while she masturbated.

Edna laughed. Yes, maybe that was what she needed to take the edge off. She rolled up her sleeves and peered over her shoulder to make sure her mother wasn't going to barge in on her. To give herself some extra time, Edna ducked into her walk-in closet full of clothes and shoes--unfortunately, not any of her old clothes or shoes.

She tripped over a toppled wedge heel before falling back against a rack full of clothes. Once on stable footing, she lifted her skirt, quite a hike at its long length. With the garment secured around her waist, she pulled down her pantyhose. Damn, she missed her stockings.

Now who would be mentally fucked today? Edna closed her eyes. The first image that popped into her mind was the one man she used to fantasize about for years and could never have: Winston Biggers.

She'd received letters from him while behind bars. Actually, the letters had all come from Maybelline--Mistress Mayai as Edna had known her--Winston's new wife. But Edna knew that May wouldn't mind her using May's husband as masturbation material.

Edna slipped her hand into her panties. Her other hand eased into her bra cup. While her index finger circled her nipple, trying hard to extract the pebble from the deep, she attempted to coax just a bit of wetness from her pussy. Aside from its own natural moisture, Edna could easily classify her cunt as being bone-dry.

"Come on, baby. Just a little for mama. Please." She circled her clitoris with her thumb, then squeezed her eyes closed. "I need it."

Winston's image popped back into her head. The one she saw, the one she imagined, stood in front of her wearing a suit. As though she'd asked him to, imaginary Winston started disrobing, slipping off his expensive suit jacket and laying it carefully over the back of a chair.

Edna's thumb worried her poor clit until it became almost painful to touch. What the hell was wrong with her? Getting wet and getting off had never been a problem. Her masturbation subject may have been the problem.

Never again would Edna fall for another corporate type. She'd fallen for that damn professor, Sire Darin. Then she wanted Winston.

Edna deduced that the more straight-laced the guy looked, the more twisted he must have been. She'd been through enough weirdos in her life. She didn't need to get involved with another one.

Determined to have at least one orgasm before heading to work, Edna slipped her hand out from between her legs, yanked her pantyhose down and off from one leg, then kicked that foot up and braced it on the closet wall. She returned her hand to her pussy and tried again.

Edna closed her eyes. Imaginary Winston had his shirt off and started to work on his slacks. In her mind, she imagined Winston's cock pressing against the front of his pants. When she just concentrated on his penis and not his face, she felt herself starting to get wet.

"Yeah, that's it. You're getting it."

Now with his pants off and boxers down, Edna really let her juices flow. She leaned her head back. Her heart pumped so hard she heard the beats in her brain. Edna squeezed her tit, massaging it as her body trembled.

"Come here," imaginary Winston said.

In her fantasy, Edna stood before him naked already. She took Winston by the hand, and he led her to a bed. He pulled her down to the feather-soft mattress, then got on top of her. When he plunged inside of her in her fantasy, Edna let out a yelp in real life.

She slipped in a second finger, creating a thickness she attributed to the size of Winston's dick. The leg supporting her body buckled.

The last thing she needed would be to collapse in her closet, half-dressed and with her fingers in her pussy.

As the scene got intense, so did Edna's fingering. So close. She felt herself finally reaching that peak. Her breath came out in pants.

It didn't take long for the imaginary part of herself to climax. Though not right there yet, Edna knew her relief approached. She just needed a little bit more.

Imaginary Winston continued thrusting as he looked down at her.

"I'm almost there."

Damn it, so was she. Edna felt the slick walls of her vagina tightening around her fingers. The heat inside seared her fingers, fusing them together to make one amazing piston, pumping hard inside of her.

Winston, with his arm around her waist, turned over onto his back, carrying Edna with him to position her on top. Edna rode him hard, circling her hips and pushing him in deep.

"Oh, shit!"

Just when she came close to erupting in real life, Winston said in a guttural growl, "I want you to get off and put your mouth on my--"

"Edna!" her mother screamed.

But Edna couldn't stop yet. As she pinched her nipple, her fingers delved deeper inside to hit her spot. "I'm coming! I'm coming!"

"Good. Don't want your breakfast to get cold."

Edna bit her lower lip to suppress her scream just as an orgasm rocked her body. Every cell and nerve in her throbbed as goose bumps coated her flesh. As soon as the fireworks display that had exploded in her eyes dissipated, she eased her eyelids open.

Taking a deep breath to slow her heart rate, Edna eased her foot down from the wall and planted it back on the floor.

Shit, she couldn't do that every morning, not with her mother around.

Before straightening out her clothes again, Edna wiped her fingers on the towel she'd used after taking her shower that morning.

She pulled her pantyhose back up and slipped her skirt back down.

Time for business.

After buttoning her cuffs again, Edna slipped on her jacket and tried to button it.

"Damn!" Even with the jacket, Edna's recently enhanced breasts stretched the front so much that the shirt gaped open, exposing her black lace bra. Knowing her mother, she would say something about her outfit and she just wasn't in the mood to get into it with her today. Not today.

After wiping her sweaty palms down her skirt, Edna grabbed the old glass doorknob and stepped out of the bedroom. A heavy smell of bacon, fried eggs, and toast hung in the air. Not surprising. Edna's mother always cooked like every day was Sunday.

Edna washed her hands thoroughly. Better than those drug sniffing dogs, Edna's mother had a warped gift of being able to smell sex. Edna slathered scented lotion on her hands, just in case, before heading to the kitchen. On the trek, she prayed in her head.

"Good morning, Mother." As expected, Edna kissed her mother on the cheek.

And as Edna suspected, a plate filled with a heaping mound of yellow-and-white scrambled eggs, a half-a-hog amount of bacon and three pieces of toast waited for her at the table.

At the sight of the spread, Edna's stomach compressed. To calm it, she put her hand to her belly and rubbed it a bit.

"Ma, this is too much." Edna sat down at the plate.

When she noticed her shirt gaping open, she curved in her shoulders to minimize the show. She would have to do that all day at her new job.

"You're going to need your strength for today." Her petite mother wiped her hands on a ratty dishtowel that should have been tossed in a rag bag years ago.

"I'm nervous enough as it is. I don't want to put too much in my stomach." Edna took a sip of orange juice to coat her dry throat.

"Nonsense. A good breakfast will get you through the day."

So would a good lay. Edna's mind wandered about thoughts of her former life, her former sexual life. As Madame Z, owner of the hottest BDSM club in Norfolk, Virginia, she had men crawling on their hands and knees to be with her. They would do whatever she'd asked them.

Wait. Asked? More like commanded.

"Lick my pussy," she would say.

"Yes, Madame Z," they would always respond. If they didn't, it was a sharp boot heel to a plump sac or a twist to a tender nipple.

Edna crossed her legs to douse the smoldering flame. While in her mother's house, all she would have would be her vivid imagination. No sex. No fun. No luck.

After these last two tumultuous years, maybe her reputation and body needed a break.

Edna lifted a piece of toast already slathered with enough butter to clog a rhino's veins. She took a bite. The crunch must have alerted her mother.

The woman whipped around with a wooden spoon in her hand and promptly smacked Edna on her knuckles.

Although her mother had lost some of her strength from back in the day when she used to hit Edna with her trusty spoon, it still stung her hand nonetheless.

"Ow! What was that for?" Edna waved her hand back and forth as though the motion would ease the pain.

"You know better than to eat before saying grace." Her mother sat the spoon down on the table, took a seat next to Edna, and took Edna's hand, still sore from the discipline.

Thank goodness the woman didn't know what had just crossed Edna's mind or what her disgraced daughter had done moments before. She would have probably gotten her belt and spanked the flesh off of her hide like she used to when Edna was a kid. Some scars had a hard time fading.

Edna bowed her head. As her mother spouted a prayer on the spot, one that included a wish for Edna to have a great day at her new job and to come home safe, Edna prayed in her head to just be able to get through the day.

Since Edna had never worked a "normal" job, a job that didn't involve sex in any way, shape, or form, this would be a whole new experience for her.

"Amen," her mother said.

Edna nodded. "Amen."

"Now you can eat. And I'm making a lunch for you. You still like Spam sandwiches, right?"

While Edna's mother's had her back to her, Edna contorted her face into a gagging expression. She hadn't eaten Spam in years, not since she left the house.

When her mother turned back to her, Edna masked her disgusted expression with a smile.

"Sounds great." Edna solidified the lie with a thumbs-up gesture.

"By the way, you look nice. Your aunt's clothes fit you well. Good to see someone could use them after she passed." Her mother pointed to her, then continued cutting large, thick slices of the processed meat and frying it in her cast-iron skillet.

"Thank you."

Edna wanted to say, "Thank you for making me the least attractive woman on the planet. Thank you for stripping me of my identity. Thank you for making me into you."

"You're welcome," her mother responded. She pointed to Edna's chest. "I'll see if I have any safety pins in my room to close that up for you."

Edna glanced down, not that she needed to look. Her shirt had gaped open again. She curved her back in, although at this point her cover had already been blown. Her mother had already seen all that she needed to see.

Maybe life would be better outside of the house, less judgmental.

She could only hope.