My child asked me today, “Why do you write, mommy?”
It’s been ten years since she was born and yet, I remember it almost as if it happened yesterday.
Would I have done some things differently? Probably.
Would I have changed a single thing about her? No, because I love her exactly the way she is.
“I write for you, my child. There are so many things I have learnt which I want to share with you and yet, I know now is not the time but I fear, tomorrow we may never find the right moment. One day, you will read what I have written and understand the journey that brought us here. Hopefully, you will take these learnings to make your life even better once you yourself become a woman.
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“Father, forgive me for I have sinned.
Terrible things have been done to me. It arouses me. Pleasure at being used by a man I barely know in exchange for money. Even though I never sought him out in the first place, I cannot resist temptation. I have to go back for more.”
Tony Woods is bored. Money doesn’t excite him anymore but corrupting the straight-laced, naïve Ophelia does. He has no qualms making her into his personal sex toy.
Ophelia Wilde isn’t the same woman she was before. A year ago, she was an abused wife, unfamiliar with life’s pleasures. Now, her senses are on fire but she’s dying of shame, desperately trying to juggle her conscience and her wallet.
Trapped by her lies, she struggles to hide her sins from her new-found love, Josh Summers, living in fear of discovery every day. He is drawn to her vulnerability, seeking only to protect her from the big bad wolves out there, not knowing that she already belongs to one.
Will Ophelia find a way to leave Tony and escape the chains of her past, or will her misdeeds destroy Josh’s trust in her? Can their love survive the weight of her guilt?
Having just delivered a baby, faced with engorgement as her breasts overflow with milk, where does a woman turn to for help? The one closest to her, the one whom she believes can save her, the one whom she puts all her faith into finding a solution for her .. her hero, her saviour, her husband.
Breastfeeding is never easy for a new mother and when her body becomes a stranger to her in the middle of the night, behaving in ways unfamiliar to her, giving her pain beyond anything she ever imagined before, she turns to the love of her life for help.
But often … can love be enough when the solution is not what she expects? Desperate times call for desperate measures … but is she desperate enough? She wants to be saved, but when his actions take her beyond her comfort zone, pushing her into the realm of the unknown … is it enough for the ends to justify the means?
As a man, he wants to be her hero, her knight in shinning armour ~ the one who keeps her safe … but how can he protect her from herself? How can he stop her from turning on him when the solution he presents to her is something she isn’t ready to accept?
And yet despite everything, she still wants her hero to save her.
Even now, the words were ringing in my mind, “Suck it up, Megan. Stop being such a whinny baby. Tiredness and exhaustion are part of motherhood. Get used to it. This is only the beginning. We have all gone through it before and survived.” – Crazy for Milk
It is hard to imagine a parent, an older sibling, the in-laws or even a friend saying those things when you’re just struggling to cope and make sense of everything. I know many of the mothers I have spoken to shared the same experience.
Recently, a friend asked whether anyone had actually said those words to me. My answer was a resounding YES! It happened when I had reached out for help and received a lecture in return ~ one of my inspirations for writing that scene between Megan and her own “evil witches”.
At first, it looked like ordinary lingerie, just with a little more frills when I opened up the red-ribbon-tied, white gift box and pulled aside the shiny, cream coloured tissue paper. It was only when I tried to unravel the mystery of how the different bits and pieces of satin, lace and thin garter straps fit together that I came to a slow, panicked realization of how it was meant to be worn.
Blushing an equally deep red to match the satin, I held the tiny piece of material up to the bright florescent lamp on the stark white ceiling. With barely enough fabric to block out the light, it was salaciously sexy and the most provocative outfit I had ever seen.
Talk about putting icing on the cake, I winced, the blood rushing to my cheeks. Someone, please save me! He can’t seriously expect me to wear this. The most exotic thing I have so far is the sheer lace babydoll he gave me for New Year’s.
“Go ahead, put it on,” he said, as he put his legs up on the corner of his cluttered, dark brown office desk, leaned back in his high-backed, black chair and lit his Benson & Hedges cigarette, savouring the sight of my blush.
The front of the panty was made of exquisite, intricately designed lace, that left nothing to the imagination as it changed midway to a wine red satin thong, that fit snugly between my butt cheeks, hiding nothing of me from behind. The lace was secured to my hips by a satin belt that made an upside down “T” as it rose upwards in a slim faux diamond strip, where it met my neck, in the form of a delicate, black, one-inch wide lace choker, leaving the two soft, pale mounds of flesh bared and inviting.
I stood there, waiting, goosebumps chasing themselves up and down my skin but I couldn’t blame it on the cold even though it was the middle of January. The heating was on and it was warm inside his small office. Overly exposed, that’s how I feel. Shivers ran through my body every time the cold, metal clips hanging from the end of the garter straps grazed my skin.
“There is a pair of matching black silk stockings as well. Why don’t you put those on?” he suggested, drawing another puff from his cigarette and exhaling slowly.
With barely any room to maneuver in that tiny grey box of a room he called an office, I gingerly pulled the stockings out and turned to the chair on my right, lifting up my left leg and perching my foot there, so I could carefully roll the stocking up.
It was unnerving the way his eyes traced the side profile of my twenty-eight year old body — the fall of my long, wavy brown hair past the crook of my neck; the curve of my slender, bare shoulder which led down the snowy white skin of my lightly toned arm until it met my bare hand, resting on my hip; and the smooth roundness of my tight ass.
“Very nice, Ophelia, very nice indeed,” he remarked once I had finished putting the stockings on and spun around to strike a pose for him, stifling a hysterical laugh as I looked self-consciously at myself.
I look ridiculous! I thought to myself uncomfortably, as I rolled my eyes, an awkward imitation of one of those lingerie models I used to see in magazines. This is so not me.
“Don’t do that, Ophelia. You look amazing dressed like that. I am so happy you wore it for me,” he smiled slyly as he cleared the surface in front of him. “Now, come lie down on the desk in front of me. It is time for dessert and if it is as delicious as I fully expect it to be, we can invite some guests.”
My heart rate jumped as I sucked in a startled breath. Oh, shit! What have I gotten myself into?
A single mom struggling to make it on her own, Ophelia winds up with a sugar daddy. What is she willing to surrender to enjoy the benefits of this no-strings-attached arrangement?
Kathryn Michaels 