From: Whacko@aol.com
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: 1st Story: RAVEN (FemDom, humil, inc)
Date: Tue, 11 Jun 1996 06:07:41 GMT
Organization: Sense Networking http://www.oz.net
DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE OR OFFENDED BY

MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL OR POSSIBLY INCESTUOUS NATURE.



   The Ongoing Adventures of

   ************* RAVEN *************

   Amazon MommieBitch Porno Queen

   Ron Wood took another sip of whiskey from the shot glass, grimaced, then
followed it with a beer.  He smacked his lips, then reached for a
cigarette. Exhaling, he leaned back in the chair, feeling his back touch
the wall.  It was about time to order another round.

   He had been sitting in The Border for two hours, ever since he got off
work.  It was a nice, quiet place most of the time, neither full nor empty
of patrons.  Easy.  Relaxing.  A good bar to grab a quick alcohol hit
before getting home.  Most of the time, that's exactly what Ron did, but
tonight, he was in for a longer haul.

   He had called his wife from the pay phone on the street before entering
his neighborhood watering hole.  She had sounded distracted, but friendly.
Not bothered, in fact, she made him promise not to come home before
midnight.  She said she would wait up for him.  She had a surprise.

   Andrea was always full of surprises these days.

   Ron fingered his wedding ring and stared at the neon beer sign on the
wall to his right.  Her last big one was when he had discovered she had
cleaned out their savings account.  All seventy-five hundred dollars.  And
left for a week, to boot.  He remembered how mad he had stormed into the
house that evening she had called him at work to tell him she was home.  He
found her standing in the darkened living room, lit only by candlelight. 
Before he could get even one, furious word out of his mouth, she had untied
the shiny-blue, silk robe and let it pool around her high heels.  If it
hadn't been for the familiar purr of her sweetalk, he wouldn't have
recognized her.

   He had always thought he wanted to be comfortable.  A nice, steady job,
a good wife, a kid or two, in a house that he could buy cheap and fix up on
his weekends.  Marrying Andrea fresh out of high school, he had figured she
wanted the same things.  He had been mesmerized by her innocent vitality in
the beginning, then pleasantly surprised when that turned into a taste for
the fast lane.  It wasn't until she started working for Harcourt
International that he realized it was completely untempered.

   And now, the ride was too far along to reroute.  It was either push
forward or abandon altogether.

   Ron Wood was staring into his empty shot glass when the door opened.  He
did not see her entrance.  Just suddenly, the bar felt clastrophobic.  He
looked up to see the most phonomenal women he'd ever witnessed make her way
down the long, cushioned bar for a stool at its end.

   The temperature seemed to raise ten degrees.  The jukebox, on cue, was
between songs, and the Border, in hushed silence, echoed only the click of
her high heels.  It was as if everything had taken a deep breath and held
it.

   "Holy fuck," Rod said to himself as he watched the newcomer seat herself
at the end of the bar.  He reached for a cigarette, clumsily knocking over
the shot glass.

   Exhaling, he watched her, along with every other male in the bar.  Since
he was at the far end and in the shadows, he felt instantly voyeristic. 
And safe.

   Like a movie star instinctively finding the key light, she wiggled on
the stool, the spotlight from above basking her in warm, bourbon glow. 
Confortable, the crossed her legs, subltely flashing her stockinged legs
through the front slit in her tight, sweater dress.  Turning to the
open-mouthed bartender, her incredible breasts swung over the bar, throwing
shadows over its wood-glossey surface the size of bowling balls.  She had
the biggest set of tits Ron had ever seen on a woman in his life.

   He figured her for a show queen just blown in from Vegas.  She certainly
had the height, all, he noticed, in her impossibly-long legs.  She was way
too classy for a whore in this neighborhood.  She was strictly upper
penthouse material, probably just stopping for a quick drink before she
drove on to her Sugar Daddy's cliff home in Malibu.  He felt his cock
stiffen just being in the same room with her as she took a shot of whisky,
fired it, then ordered another.

   He watched her rummage through her purse for a cigarette, mesmerized by
the way her billowly, jet-black mane streaked across her cheek for a second
until she tossed it back and lit her smoke.  Exhaling, her exquisite face
pivoted on a long, alabaster neck, giving him a chance to study just how
beautiful she really was.  Suddenly, her violet, green-tinged eyes met his
across the darkened bar and his heart immediately jumped in his chest like
from an electrical jolt.

   A man who was sitting at a table behind her rose and came up to her
side. As he spoke, she eyed him quickly, then turned back to the bar.  He
sat down on the stool next to her, blocking Ron's view.

   Shit, he said to himself, shifting his weight on his chair to give his
hard-on more room to breathe.  He tried to look around the man to get
another glance at her.  Well, I need another drink anyway, he smiled,
standing up and making his way to the bar.

   The minute he could see her, he looked, and caught her eyes coming out
of his crotch.  With a shaking hand, he motioned for another drink as he
sat down 4 stools away.

   The guy sitting next to her was jabbering away, smiling and moving his
hands.  She looked at him a couple of times with a polite smile, but mainly
stared straight ahead.  The bartender brought another round and the man
immediately threw some money on the counter.  She smiled again, shook her
head, and pushed his money back to him, but he grabbed her hand in protest.
Instantly, her hand flew up out of his grasp as she slapped him hard across
the mouth with the other hand.

   Everyone in the bar was watching, leering anxiously at the action. 
Incredilous, they stared in silence as the man's temper flaired and he
reached out to grab her.  "You bitch!" he growled, leaning forward to grab
her by the shoulders and push her.  As smooth and as sudden as a striking
snake, the raven-haired Temptress caught his grasping fingers in her fist
and yanked back and down.  Even over the jukebox, the bar's patrons could
hear bones break.

   Ron missed the first of her lightening movements.  He was staring at her
incredible tits as they swelled and jiggled in the vee-buttoned bodice of
her dress.  The man tipped on his stool as she continued to pull his
crushed hand downward.  With his free hand, he grabbed at her for balance,
but, in calculated anticipation, she slipped her other arm inside to
deflect his grip.  Forcefully, she latched her fingers into his hair and
slammed his face into the bar's wooden surface.

   Dead weight, the man slumped to the floor, blood gushing from his broken
nose.  She quickely vacated her stool and stood up so he could fall without
getting blood on her beige dress.

   Seconds passed before anyone even breathed.  Then, the man's buddy rose
threateningly from his table and took a step toward her.  The bartender
yelled something Ron didn't hear as he watched her turn methodically toward
her new adversary.  She raised her arms in front of her defensively,
fingers outstretched.  Then, wiggling her red-painted claws in his face,
she said, "Come on, fucker.  I'd just love to rip you open and end your
life right here, right now."

   Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Ron watched the man hesitate.  What had
happened in a heartbeat, now ended with a sigh as the man's shoulders
slumped.  Ron felt his pants unbearable tight in the crotch and realized he
had a throbbing hard-on.

   "Lady--" the bartender started.

   "Hey," she interrupted, "he grabbed me, you saw it.  I don't want any
trouble."

   "Okay," he snorted, then, to the other man, "Lew, get your asshole
friend out of here and to the hospital.  Looks like he's got a lot of pain
ahead of him when he wakes up."

   Lew bent down and helped his friend into a sitting position as he began
to gain consciousness.  With another guy's help, they lifted him between
them and headed toward the door.  Ron got a last look as the man raised his
bloody face, his eyes glazed and befuddled.  When he turned to look back at
the woman, she was staring directly at him.

   She smiled warmly, they exhaled with relief.  "Phew.  I'm glad that's
over.  Buy me a drink?  I could sure use another."

   Like a kewpie doll in the rear window of a Chevy beanerwagon, Ron nodded
his head foolishly.  She retrived her purse, then walked past him toward
his abandoned table in the darkened corner.  When he turned back to the
bar, the bartender had already set his drinks.  Ron hastily reached into
his pocket for money, but the bartender shook his head.

   "On the house, buddy.  Just do me a favor.  Get her out of here as soon
as possible, okay?  That woman's a killer."

   She was standing, waiting for him, when he got to the table.  Up close,
he realized she would be taller than his 6-foot height even out of her
6-inch high heels.  He got a quick whif of perfume mixed with female sweat
as he sat down.  He found his palms sweaty as he handed her a drink.

   "Thank you," she said softly, taking the seat kitty corner from him, her
knee brushing his as she sat down.

   "That was some show," he smiled, trying to keep his eyes off her
presented bosom over the top of the table.  "You a black belt or
something?"

   "That asshole was lucky I didn't break more than his nose and a finger
or two.  I've been dealing with fuckheads like him all my life.  Some
idiots just think a girl that looks like me is merely a wet pussy waiting
to swoon over their big dicks.  I've had to learn some tricks in my 29
years."

   "I'll say," Ron laughed.  "You're fast."

   She leaned back in the chair, blatently arching her big tits at him. 
With her palms in her lap, she squeezed her arms into the sides of her
breasts, causing more cleavage to leap out of the bodice of her dress. 
Unable to stop himself, Ron glanced at her display, fairly certain another
button had come undone since she entered the bar.  Catching himself, he
quickly looked up into her eyes smouldering out of the top of her
eyesockets as she flirtingly lowered her chin.

   "Am I coming on too strong for you, cowboy?" she breathed, dazzling him
with a smile.

   He smiled back embarrassingly, then looked away.  "Whoa," he laughed
self-consciously, "you're one sexy lady."

   "I'm only teasing you, kinda," she said, lengthingly the last word for
emphasis.  She touched his knee again with hers under the table, then left
it there.  "Don't worry.  I don't bite.  Really, I don't.  But, I admit, I
like to choose my company myself.  Some men think I'm an aggressive bitch.
What do you think?"

   "Hey, I'm easy," Ron said, forcing a laugh.  He knew his face was red as
her liptstick, so he tried to cover his nervousness by changing the
conversation.  "So, do you live around here?"

   She laughed, her eyes twinkling with mischief.  Leaning forward, she put
her hand on his forearm.  "What's your name?"

   "Ah, Ron."

   "Well, Ron, glad to meet you.  My friends call me Raven," she said,
saluting him with her glass before she took a drink.  "And, yes, I do live
around here.  I am really just a bored, divorced housewife, out on the town
tonight to have a little fun.  How 'bout you?"

   "Yeah, I'm just on my way home from work.  Thought I'd stop in here--"

   "You married?"

   "Ah," he stumbled.  He shivered as her hand slid down his arm and a long
fingertip tapped the gold band on his left hand.  Again, he flushed, "yeah,
I'm married."

   "Good," she smiled in open friendship.  "I like married men, especially
if I'm not married to them."

   He blended an easy laugh with hers.  The mental picture of his wife he
had been holding all night suddenly flashed cruelly before his eyes. 
Again, like a thousand times tonight since her phone call, he saw her like
he knew he would when he got home.

   Andrea sitting on the bed, her back propped up with pillows.  The sheets
were in disarray, glowing orange from the candlelight.  She was wearing one
of his favorite baby-doll nightgowns, the bodice open to show off her naked
breasts.  Even in the dim light he could see the numerous, purple hickies
covering the firm upper slopes of her tits.  Her tiny waist was
garter-belted, but one stocking was hanging torn from a long leg.  More
welted hickies ran up both inner thighs.  Upon seeing him, she smiled
through a mask of ruined makeup and bed-tousled hair, then slid down into
the bed, arching her sore and used body before him.  Rolling over, she
presented her ass, peeking devilishly over her shoulder to see his
reaction. Her firm butt cheeks were glowing an intense red from a recent,
prolonged spanking.  Wiggling her bruised bottom in his face, she raised
onto her knees.  As her legs opened, her freshly-shaved, quivering sex came
into view.  Sloshing liquid dripped from between her bloated pussy lips
onto the sheets below her.  She smeared her hand into the manmess, then,
with her dripping hand pulled back the sheets to reveal their 1-year old
daughter cuddled nakedly beside her.  Laughing, and holding his eyes with
the cruel points of her own, she slowly began spreading her lover's
pearl-colored scum over the sleeping baby.

   "How about another drink?"

   Ron blinked back into reality in time to see Raven push her chair away
from the table.  "I'll get it this time," she said, turning her legs toward
him and slowly uncrossing them.  He caught a tempting glimpse of smooth
thigh above her stocking top as she stood, her big, thrusting breasts
rising upward inches away from his face.  He watched her butt roll with
ball-bearing precision toward the bar as his wife's voice faded in his
mind.

   "And don't you dare come home before 1 o'clock tonight.  You wouldn't
want baby Kendra to miss her nightly feeding, would you?"

   He watched Raven saunder back to the table, a drink in each hand.  Every
pair of eyes in the bar recorded erotically-swaying pulchritude with
ill-concealed lust, but it was his eyes she was staring back into. 
Suddenly he felt his confidence return, throbbing through him like his
restless trouser trout thumping below the table.  Even though this powerful
woman scared the holy shit out of him, he felt ready to take on her
challenge.  Somehow, he hoped, their upcoming contest would give him the
strength necessary to break the stranglehold his wife wielded over him--and
his innocent daughter.

   Raven sat down, her knees pointing at him.  With a michevious smile she
delibertly loosened a button at the slit of her dress, then another. 
Making it obvious she wanted him to watch, she slowly crossed her legs with
a high, wide arc.  She gave him a long, sensuous look up the complete
length of her legs, tantalizing him with the thick darkness of her crotch
before the dress fell into place.  Leaning forward on the table, she said,
"Scoot closer, Ron, let's make a toast."

   Closer now, with his leg running hotly the length of hers, she raised
her glass.  "To tonight," she breathed, "may it be rewarding for both of
us." Setting down her glass, she dropped her hand onto his leg below the
table, gently caressing his thigh.  She did not object when he did the
same.

   "You know," she continued, "I have to admit my little fight a minute ago
kinda got me, ah, stimulated." She uncrossed her legs, giving him access to
the silkiness of her inner thighs above the stocking tops.

   Ron shivered as he ran his fingers lightly up the garter clasp along the
outside of her leg.  "I hope that's not your standard form of petting," he
laughed, bringing his hand over the top of her leg.

   She laughed with him, then said, "And what if it is, Ron?"

   "Well then, I guess I better dig up some armour."

   She removed her hand from his leg and placed it over his on her thigh.
At first, Ron thought she was rebuking his advances, but she squeezed him
affectionately, tugging his fingers between her soft thighs.  She clamped
her legs together, trapping his hand in the incredible, perfumed heat of
her flesh.  She ground her gams together against him, wiggling in the
chair, as her hand snaked up his imprisioned arm, pulling herself closer to
him.  Within seconds, her gorgeous face was close enough for
breath-tasting, a full, thrusting breast flattening into his biceps.

   Withholding the kiss, she whispered, "Don't worry.  With me, all you'll
need is a wetsuit." For emphasis, she re-grasped his hand, parted her legs,
and guided his outthrust fingers between them.

   "Oh, Jesus," Ron quietly gasped as his fingers grazed the liquid fire
dripping from her pussy.  She left his hand there to explore while hers
re-gained his leg.  She crested his knee with her palm, then dropped her
fingers inside his leg, immediately grazing the straining, trapped plum of
his penis.

   She shivered in delight, a big tit burrowing deeper into his arm.  "I
knew you were big the moment I saw you walk to the bar," she said softly,
folding her wiggling, serpentine fingers over the massive girth of his cock
just below its head.  She shivered again, arching her hips against his hand
and trying to suck his fingers into her hot, wet, cunt maw.

   "You can't--" he tried to protest.

   "I don't give a fuck if anybody's watching.  I want your big cock right
now," she hissed, squeezing him, then began an up and down motion along his
straining shaft.

   "You don't understand," he said, withdrawing his fingers from her pussy
to grab her caressing hand.

   But it was too late.

   Raven felt his cock buck in her grasp.  Instant anger flushed her
beautiful face.  Her first thought was to crush his rebellious penis in her
fist, squeeze so hard her fingernails cut through his pants and into the
pumping, veined shaft.  Pull him out of the chair by his insulting balls
and stomp them to pulp against the barroom floor.  But sanity preveiled at
the last moment.  She squeezed, but lovingly, helpfully, as Ron deposited
his premature seed down the leg of his pants.

   Removing her hand, she lit a cigarette, straightening herself in the
chair.  She looked quickly around the room, knowing every man in the bar
had enjoyed their little show.  She blew smoke out of her nostrils in
irritation, then rapidly fired booze from her glass down her throat.  She
did not look at him.

   "I'm sorry," he finally said.

   She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, then shrugged.  "Yeah,
it's too bad.  What a loss."

   "Hey, it's not like I'm now a cripple for life or something.  Just give
me a minute--"

   "Looks like you already had your minute, Pony Boy."

   "Jesus, look, let's get out of here and go somewhere we can be alone. 
The night is still young and you're the most gorgeous fucking fox I've ever
seen!  Wouldn't you rather continue this in private?"

   "Continue what?" she spat, raking him with her fiery eyes.  "Another
hand job for you and more excuses for me?  I want to be fucked by a man
tonight, not jacked-off too by a little boy."

   "Man, you really are a bitch, aren't you," Ron replied.  Anger and
frustration melded as he glanced down to where his pants were sticking to
his leg.

   She turned and leaned into him agressively.  "That's right, I am a
bitch," she hissed.  "A full-blown, balls-to-the-walls, in-your-face,
capital B, Bitch!  Man, I'll take your cock through heaven and hell and
back again and have you begging for more.  After you spend a night fucking
with me, your wife will never be able to give you a hard-on again.  Shit,
from now on, every woman you ever desire will have my face.  You cum in
your pants just being near me like every loser in this bar dreams about. 
And now, you say, you can handle me.  Give me what I want.  Just give you a
minute.  Bullshit.  You're out of your league, Pony Boy.  And FuckMe in the
ear for thinking you were something special."

   She sat there in smouldering silence while Ron took another gulp of his
drink.  Looking at her, he thought she was even more beautifully radiant
than before, if that was possible.  Encouraged that she didn't get up and
leave, he tried again.  "Look, okay.  I made a slight error in strategy,"
he forced a laugh.  "But, give me another chance to prove myself.  Let's go
somewhere a little more, ah, intimate, that this hellhole of a bar."

   She turned her head and looked straight at him, one eyebrow arched. 
"Okay," she smirked, "I'll let you prove yourself.  How about we go to your
house.  I'd like to meet your wife."

   Ron laughed.  "You're kidding."

   "No, I'm not," she said, standing up.  "Come on, let's go."

   Hestantly, he rose.  Flashing him a sudden, wicked smile, she grabbed
his hand and made for the door.  Dragging him along behind her, she looked
like a huntress bringing home a fresh kill.

   In the parking lot, she said, "Let's take my car," and headed for a
smoke-windowed, Mercedes sedan.  By the time he entered, she was already
seated behind the wheel and rumaging through the consol.  Bringing out a
glass vial filled with cocaine, she tapped it with her fingernail.  "A
little toot for the road?" she asked merrily, not waiting for his reply.

   He watched her inhale the powder, still amazed at how big her tits
really were.  With her seat in its furthest positon and her dress still
unbuttoned and bunched up with her in sitting position, Ron once again
admired the incredible length and shape of her lovely legs.

   "Here," she said, leaning forward and putting a tiny spoon in his nose.
After snorting once, she did his other nostril.  Then, giggling, she said,
"This coke's cut with an aphrodiasiac, I should tell you.  It makes me
wild. As for you, well, I'm your aphrodaisiac, right, Donkey Dick?"

   Ron laughed, the drug instantly buzzing him.  The world seemed to
magically change.  Suddenly, everything became sharp and edgy, yet soft,
floating, and sensuous.  It was almost dreamlike, but crystal clear.  Maybe
that was why he didn't even question her when she undid her belt and began
unbuttoning her dress.

   "You really like to expose yourself in public places, don't you," he
said, half-kidding her as he watched the last button become unhinged.  With
her hands, she held the tight, stretchy fabric together, denying his eyes
the feast of her flesh.

   "Are you objecting?" she smirked, opening and closing her dress with a
swift, cape-like movement.  He caught a quick glimpse of her taut,
alabaster skin trussed in lacy and scanty underpinnings.  "Why not?  I like
to be looked at.  In fact, I take supreme pleasure in driving men
completely insane."

   "Is that what's in store for me?"

   "What's in store for you is that you are going to prove that you're
worthy of me, kiddo, remember?"

   "And what's that?  Seeing if I will fuck you in front of my wife? 
Seeing if you can break up my incredibly-happy marriage?" he smirked
scartastically.  "Well, let's get on with it.  It'll be a pleasure to turn
you loose on my wife.  Just promise to give her the same loving treatment
you gave that guy in the bar tonight, okay?"

   "Do I detect some bitterness in your happy marriage, Ronnie-poo?" she
smirked back.  Reaching for a cigarette on the dashboard, she let her dress
fall away, then lanquished back in the seat, on full display.

   It was at that moment Ron knew he would do anything to have this wanton,
teasing whore.

   "You like?" she said, low and throaty, her back instinctively arching
out as her legs stretched their full length.  She thrust her semi-nakedness
at him like a trophy, the implicit challenge of it hardening her eyes. 
Watching him visually suck up her carnal charms, she felt her adrelinine
surge through her torso, tingling her clitoris.  It began to thicken and
bloat, thrusting its way of of its hairy encampment so it too, could be
lustfully admired.

   He was speechless.  He felt his crotch explode with a rapidly-growing
erection.  His eyes raked her big, billowing breasts that seemed ready to
bust the lacy half-cups of their scanty prison.  Her garter belt nipped her
waist, emphasizing but not shaping its hour-glass perfection.  Hips that
burst wide in wanton roundness were accentuated by the pencil-thin lines of
her garter clasps, drawing his eye to the suppleness of her impossibly-long
legs.  But her crowning glory was also her obvious center.  Framed in the
beige lace and silk of her garter belt, the sensuous fabric was were
window-dressing to the thick and prominent bush of her crotch vee. 
Raven-black like her namesake and head hair, it was a tangled, curly mass
of unrestrained, pubic abandonment, pointing into the soft, wet mystery of
her overpowering sex.  Ron felt blessed just gazing at her pussy.  It was
the exquisite treat of a lifetime, still to be explored.

   Not waiting for him to answer, Raven whispered, "48DD-24-38.  I stand
6'8" in my favorite shoes that I never take off, even when I'm bedded.  I
weigh 145 pounds and I guarantee you'll feel every ounce when I sit on your
face.  Every man who has fucked me--and there have been thousands--says I
am the fuck of their lifetime.  I have broken up countless marriages and
caused a number of suicides.  Men have murdered other men for me.  I am
sexually insatiatable and completely untameable.  I like to break men as
much as I like to fuck unbroken ones.  Do you still want to continue?"

   Ron struggled for speech.  Finally, a long "yessssss" silibated through
tightly-pursed lips as all defenses and rational thought crumbled before
the Goddess Raven.

   "Good," she smiled, running her hands slowly down her flanks, arching
her heated skin into her own carresses.  "Now, if you can't pull a 10" cock
or bigger out of your pants, then get out of this car, now."

   Without hesitation, Ron unzipped his pants and fumbled his massive boner
through the opening.

   When she saw his cock, Raven's eyelids dropped to half mast.  "Oh yeah,"
she breathed, "you definately pass the first test.  I like men who are
unusually large.  Light my cigarette, will you?"

   Ron pushed in the dash lighter.  Waiting for it to cook, they both sat
in silence, chewing each other up with their eyes.  He still had a hand on
his cock, slowly stroking it unconsciously.  It didn't even occur to him
that he hadn't even kissed his Playmate of the Century yet.  When he
brought the lighter to her cigarette tip, she slowly snaked a free hand
around his pants python, brushing his aside.  She inhaled, filling his
vision with her bursting tits.  He reached toward one of her big baubles,
but she immediately slapped his hand away.

   "Don't touch me," she stated, "not yet, anyway.  Since you seem to be
short on self-control, I'm going to have to test you some more.  Let's have
some more cocaine, shall we?"

   After they packed each other's noses, Raven raised her seat up and
started the car.  She did nothing about her gaping dress.

   "Where are we going?" he asked.

   "Well, I've decided to take you home with me," she answered, putting the
car in gear, then reaching back for his penis.  "I think you might make a
decent bed toy after all.  Is your wife going to be mad at you if you don't
come home tonight, Ronnie-Poo?"

   "To hell with my wife."

   She laughed, turning the car up the road.  "That's the spirit."

   They drove through the darkness in silence.  She continued to hold onto
his cock, but didn't stroke it, merely hefted its mighty weight in her
hand. Although all his physical attention flowed in and out of his boner,
Ron's mind began to wander.  Again, the cocaine made his mental images
crystal clear and vivid.

   Pictures from his wife's recently-created scrapbook flashed behind his
eyes, bringing darker yet stimulating images with them.

   Andrea's Big Adventures, she called them.

   Poloroids.

   Andrea, in her final term or pregency, laid out naked in a non-descript
hotel bed, looking at the camera with a sloppy, drunken smile on her face,
rubbing a shiny wetness from her spread-eagled cunt up onto her
whale-distended, white belly.  Sperm, or urine.

   Andrea again, this time in their living room, late-afternoon sun
flooding the windows, baby Kendra beside her on the floor, while she stood,
flaunting her nakedness at the camera, one hand squeezing a milk-swollen
breast and the other sunk into her pussy.  A strange man's clothes were
scattered over the couch in the background, obviously the photographer's.

   Another nude study, this one more recent, of her in their living room,
late at night and cluttered with beer bottles, overspilling ashtrays, and
discarded clothing.  Again, she was the center of the picture, but with
fully-teased hair and thick slut makeup.  Her arms were raised over her
head in calander-girl pose, showing off her new breast implants.  Wearing
only a thin garter belt, black, seamed stockings and high heels, the camera
froze her in the middle of a dirty, bump-and-grind dance.  Baby Kendra was
laying on the couch behind her, flanked by two, buck naked niggers jacking
off to her Mother's nasty show.  The strobe had red-eyed them, creating two
demonic-looking ink blots.

   Then, a couple of pages of addendums to the same evening, showing Andrea
with a black cock in her mouth, then two, then closeups of her impaled
pussy and asshole.  More quick flashes of her, full length, in various fuck
poses, then closeups of her smiling face dripping with a sperm mask.

   Followed by page after page of shots taken in their bedroom, this time
of her lovers.  Young boys, middle-aged men, more niggers, mexicans,
sailors and taut-bodied marines.  All naked.  All flaunting stiff cocks of
various sizes and lengths.  All including baby Kendra naked in the sheets
beside them.

   The newspaper boy, then his junior-high school friends.

   Their real estate agent.

   A man they had recently bought a used car from.

   A young waiter she had drug home after dinner one night.

   Bar pick-ups in two-somes, three-somes, then gang-bang size crowds.

   Page after page fluttered through Ron Wood's aching brain, his mind map
of sex gone psycho, then stopped on one, burning image, the most recent in
the porno scrapbook, and his wife's current, and most disturbing,
perversion.

   Baby Kendra's nursery, wallpapered in pink elephants and teddybears, her
white, bar-sided crib in the background.  Mommie was decked out to the
nines in black lingeree, kneeling before a camera-amputated naked man
sporting a standing cock the size of Secretariat.  With her smiling face
making eye contact with the camera, Mommie held their naked daughter like a
sacrifice to the huge, jutting phallus.  With infant curiousity, baby
Kendra had both hands on the veined stalk while she merrily gummed the
smooth and shiny cockhead.

   His mind tried to strain past the edges of the photograph as the
Amazonian, black-haired Dominitrix, her deadly-spiked fingers still curled
around his throbbing cock, whisked him through the black labrinth of
surburban streets.  If he could only just see the man's face, Ron Wood knew
he would kill him.

   "We're here," Raven stated flatly, easing the big Mercedes into an
opening garage.  She released his cock to shut off the motor as the big
door closed behind him.

   Reality came back to him like a series of bursting bubbles.  He looked
at his guide through blinking, clearing eyes.  Intensified by the booze and
drugs, he suddenly realized he was in the rarified presence of a Goddess.
Maybe she would help him with her omnipotent powers.  At that moment,he was
willing to offer anything, even his soul.

   "Come on, Ronnie," she smiled cunningly.  "It's showtime."

   To Be Continued. . . . .

   (This is the first story on an ongoing series.  Please attach a post if
you want more)