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Excerpt
CORPORATE DESIRES
by Bridget Midway
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.
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 she was incarcerated.
Actually, the letters had all come from Maybelline, Mistress
Mayai as Edna had known her, Winston’s new wife. But Edna
was sure that May wouldn’t mind Edna using her 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
desperately tried coaxing 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 it. What the hell was wrong with her?
Getting wet and getting off had never been a problem. The
problem was probably due to the subject.
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.
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