[Superior Pheromones] Sit down right next to Ophelia.

With her baby feeding on her left, it only seems polite to take her right. After all, sitting in that lonely loveseat would mean staring at her child feed... and that's not what you need next to your own impure thoughts right now. So you take your seat right next to her... and when she nearly leaps to protest, she looks you over, takes a few breaths... and smiles. "O-Oh my, I don't... I don't know if I've ever had another man sit this close to me before... well, maybe before my husband adopted me, I s'ppose."

"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't meawhat?" You blink. "Adopted, what?"

She looks to you, her eyes wide. "Ah, I mean married! Of course I... I mean..."

You look Ophelia over, scantily clad as she is, a few more times, looking for bruises or anything worse. You find nothing there... but now you have so many other questions. Another scan of the room confirms that, indeed, there are no other photos of other people. No other family. Moreover, and key here, was that you two were alone. Whatever Mr. Cross' policy was for her, such that this is the first time she's had a man near her besides the father of her son, was perhaps reflected in all the Jesus memorabilia. "Ophelia? I know you... I know you just met me, so you don't have any reason to trust me," you begin, speaking slowly and letting your words, and you hope your pheromones, sink into her, "but I'm only here because I think that... maybe... you're in some kind of trouble." She looks alarmed, and you quickly add, "And maybe you aren't! But you're distressed, right?"

"Dis... distressed?"

"Worried, troubled."

"Oh! Well, I'm..." Her frown deepens, and she looks down at her nursing child. "Heh... I don't know. I guess I never thought about it before, but... I guess I was a baby like this once, right?" She continues to stew in silence, and her body relaxes... and your urge to find out what her problems are seems to come through to her. "Mr. Cro-... My husband was a foster parent when he got me. I was eight, got dropped off at a post office when I was four, back when we lived out west... 'course, no one wanted a trouble-child like myself, but my husband set me on the right path, with home-schooling and prayer and the Lord's words... and before long," she declares with a smile, rubbing her baby's face as he continues to suckle, "well, he found the perfect wife in me. We got ourselves married just a year ago, and... little Lazarus here is our first..." She looks at you with tears in her eyes that betray her smile. "Well, it was quite painful, giving birth... and don't get me wrong, of course I love my son but... I really don't want more. But he wants more. So I asked for... well, one of the old ladies next door told me about something called 'birth control'?" She half asks it, as if the concept was too foreign to say comfortably. "Well she said it wasn't evil or nothing like the priest told me and... well, I thought I'd ask Danny about it."

She goes on about his anger, and spends more time focusing on that and how guilty she feels for bringing up so sinful a concept. It was clear that the first statements were just there to reference her big, stupid mistake... and you listen, frozen in horror, trying to not communicate how much worse that "background" was. Your current path made you a similar monster, perhaps... but there was science, and redemption or something like it, at the end of yours. This man... this was just wife husbandry! He pulled a Woody Allen and raised a wife! It was ten kinds of fucked up (or so you tell yourself here, at the start of your harem-building journey) and you wouldn't stand for it, goddammit! He doesn't deserve her, that's for sure... and looking her over, you can't help but feel like a hero for contemplating how to steal her away from him.

She briefly pauses her story to put little Lazarus to bed and, when she returns from the baby's room, you're standing there in the hall, eyeing her intently. She closes the door, and stares back at you... no longer hesitating, breathing heavily, and with those monstrous, life-nurturing nipples poking tents in her shirt. She's deep into your effect, now. She probably doesn't realize it, either. "I'm a bit thirsty, myself," you mutter, staring at her massive chest.

Her eyebrows raise slightly in alarm... but then they relax, and she smiles sincerely with an embarrassed chuckle. "I'm sorry, I... I didn't even think to prepare refreshments for you... what would you like to drink?"

"Thirsty and hungry," you continue, meeting her eyes, trying to transmit your growing arousal to her. Pheromones don't quite work that way, of course, but you don't necessarily understand that yet. "Could I... try your milk?" She blinks. "Please?"

"Of... course..." She almost adds the 'not', but her voice trails off.