Chapter One

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 long-sleeve shirt that was buttoned 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 her new life. 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 that was pulled back tight into 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. So long as 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 humbled, 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 the old nicknames she was given by friends and family as a child.

"Coming, Ma."

Her new living situation was another crushing blow. After her incarceration, Edna lost her home, The Oh Club, the money Sire Darin had given her when he passed, everything. She had to start all over 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 unbuttoning 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.