Harriet Burnside is a luscious black-haired beauty, 35 years old, and recently widowed. Her husband, Ben, had crashed his luxury SUV two years ago and died, along with the three high class hookers that were his passengers. Ben was a very successful heart surgeon, very handsome and not immune to the charms of the many women who find money and power irresistible in a man; many of the staff nurses had been among his conquests. Since he was legally drunk at the time, their insurance company had fought the widow tooth and nail, finally settling for just enough to allow Harriet to pay-off the car Ben had been driving, his funeral expenses, and little else. Unknown to Harriet, Ben was also a degenerate gambler and liked to treat his "lady friends" to the best of everything; this left the young widow in financial straits even though she made $40.00/hr as an RN. Ben's family had never really accepted her, and except for a trust fund for their 5 yr old, Kaley's, college education, they had not felt compelled to help her with the huge outstanding bills their darling son had run-up.
Ben was a few levels above Harriet's "station"; he was a Stanford-educated cardiac surgeon and she, though a college grad, was a lowly RN; that had mattered not a whit to the pampered, highly-sexed son of privilege: what DID matter was her 42DD-28-40 physique. None of those willowy, pinch-faced high-society brats for Ben; he preferred his women with abundant curves, not the "no hips, flat ass" types like Cameron Diaz or Paris Hilton. Harriett was quite striking besides, and it hadn't taken long for the playboy doctor to woo, then bed, then wed the tremendously-stacked young nurse, much to the chagrin of his family.
Harriet had ben taught the kinkier side of sex by the high-ranking son of a multi-millionaire: light bondage, three-ways (Both MMF and MFF), submission, and, of course, anal sex. The last was his favorite. He delighted in reaming his big-butted wife's back-door with his 10" cock-staff, then stuffing it in her mouth for a thorough cleaning. That had ended when he died; Harriett had been so busy working, taking acre of her children, and grieving that she'd had a sexual relationship in 13 months, after her fling with a doctor who worked at the same hospital and since the birth of her youngest daughter.
The rift between Harriett and the high-and-mighty Burnside's had increased ten-fold when Harriett's fling with a married staff cardiologist had resulted in the birth of an out-of-wedlock daughter, Megan. The heart surgeon had sworn that he would leave his wife and marry Harriett, and for a few months assisted the widow with pre-natal expenses; then, one day, Harriett had arrived at work to discover that the bastard had finangled a position in France as Chief of Staff in Paris' most prestigious hospital, leaving Harriett in the lurch. The baby was now 13 months old, and though things were a bit tough, the mother of two was managing to keep her small family's head's above water. She hadn't spoken to her in-laws in months, and her many calls to ask for help had gone unanswered. Her tenuous financial situation had taken a dramatic turn for the worse when her newborn daughter, Megan, had gotten sick six weeks ago and Harriett, battling valiantly to keep the creditors at bay, was reduced to calling her mother-in-law one last time to plead for assistance. Marian Burnside, the haughty matriarch of the wealthy family had told her in the coldest, most un-sympathetic voice possible: "The Burnside's feel no responsibility WHATSOEVER to assist you with the care of your bastard whelp, as you saw fit to dishonor our son's memory with your slatternly behavior. Really, dear; you must have no morals or sense of decency at all if you expect our help after your shabby, common behavior
