Wanda Williams breathed a sigh of relief as she checked her watch. 9:56 am. She had made it on time. Punctuality was important. It would be so rude to be late when Daniel had been so kind to meet her 2 hours before the comic shop even opened.

She checked herself in the mirror. Not that she was flirting with Daniel--the young man was 12 years her junior after all--but she did like to look nice and her soft red hair had a way of working its way out of its scrunchy. She tucked back a few errant locks, smiled winsomely at her reflection, then left her car and entered D-Man's Comic Emporium.

Wanda had to admit she was starting to enjoy her Sunday morning visit to the comic shop. She wasn't here for her own pleasure, of course. It was maternal duty that brought her here each Sunday to pre-approve her son's reading material. But she had to admit she took a guilty pleasure from reading the four-color adventures every Sunday. They were a lot like soap operas, really, if you looked past the superpowers and spandex.

Wanda chuckled at the irony of her newfound enjoyment. Her attitude this morning was a far cry from what it had been the first time she had come here four months ago. She had been seriously pissy, determined to have the place shut down. All that over a nipple. Wanda smiled and shook her head. All the stress of the divorce had made her a little nuts.

Of course, she did have to protect Cameron from inappropriate material especially if he was to have any hope of not growing up to be a philandering asshole like his father. He was only 14, after all. He was hardly at a stage in his life where he needed to be seeing breasts or some of the other naughty things in some of the comics. She was within her rights to be upset. But it had been foolish to blame Daniel. He had ended up being quite responsible about the whole thing. He had apologized profusely for selling her son the offensive comic and she had calmed down.

He had a very calming voice, really. That was her first sign that he was trustworthy. He explained to her that, had he realized the comic in question contained offensive material, he never would have sold it to a minor. The problem was that the publishers had abandoned the Comics Code Authority seal so there was no uniform mark of what was and wasn't suitable for minors. He tried, of course, to screen them himself but there were so many titles that sometimes one or two slipped through the cracks.

At some point in the conversation--she wasn't sure when--Wanda had an epiphany. It wasn't this nice businessman's responsibility to screen her son's entertainment--it was hers.

Once she realized this, the solution was obvious. She didn't quite remember if she had thought of it first or Daniel, but they both agreed that the ideal solution was for Wanda to review the content of any comics Cameron might buy before Daniel sold them to him. Daniel had even been so kind as to let her come by Sunday mornings after church before the shop opened so they wouldn't be disturbed. He really was quite reasonable about the whole situation and Wanda had gained a new respect for the young man. Owning his own business before the age at 24 was quite impressive, really. He was a great role model for her young son.

"Hello Wanda," grinned Daniel once he had opened the door. His dark eyes were bright and mischievous as always. She had mistaken his grins for mockery at first but now she realized it was just his cheerful nature. He was genuinely happy to see her and always glad to help.

"Hello Daniel," she said as she stepped inside and Daniel locked the door behind her. "I wanted to thank you again for letting me do this before you open. It's so nice of you to give me your full attention."

"I appreciate the help, really," he said. "You're doing me a favor. I've got such a large stock and I don't have enough confidence in my few employees to screen everything for suitability. If I can tell other parents that I only sell their children comics pre-approved by an upstanding member of the community like yourself, they'll feel more comfortable letting their kids visit my shop and I'll make a better profit! It's definitely a win-win situation!"

"Well, it's refreshing to see that kind of attitude," she said, eyes sparkling at the young man. His scruffiness, while slovenly at first glance, had become somewhat endearing. She was really starting to enjoy his company, perhaps more so than was really proper--but there was no harm in it.

She followed him to the lounge area of the spacious comics shop filled with tables, couches, and chairs where customers could read or groups could engage in role playing games. Just like every Sunday, there were two large stacks of comic books on the glass coffee table, both new and used. One stack was for her, the other for Daniel.

They sat side by side on the over stuffed couch, far enough apart that decorum was maintained but close enough that they could show each other questionable material and discuss it. Wanda took the latest issue of the Batgirl from the top of her stack and began reading. Daniel had learned which comics she secretly enjoyed and always put one of them on the top of her stack. He was very thoughtful.

Wanda could feel the young man occasionally glancing at her as they read and she wondered briefly if it was appropriate. Still, she did have very nice legs and she took a guilty pleasure from the young man admiring them. She uncrossed and recrossed them. There was no harm in it, really.

She finished the next comic more quickly, finding nothing objectionable in either and went on to the third. The cover of this one was odd. It was made by a small independent publisher with a high gloss paper but there was no clear image of superheroes or villains. Instead, there was a garish display of color, shades of purple and black and yellow in bold swooshes and dizzying swirls. Wanda couldn't help staring at it, although her eyes could find no purchase anywhere. She had seen something like it before but she couldn't quite remember.

"I... can't... see it," she said.

The calming voice of Daniel came to her rescue.

"Just relax, Wanda. It's a special 3-dimensional cover. You just have to relax, let your mind drift... just relax, Wanda. Relax and you will see it. It will all be clear very soon. Your eyes unfocus, your mind opens, your imagination awakes and you will paint your own story. All your secret, naughty dreams, all your guilty pleasures: They write the story. You go to a place where nothing is real; there is only the fantasy, only the adventure..."

Wanda sighed. She could see it now with her unfocused eyes. A vision of herself: wild, beautiful, sensual. A vision of herself clad in purple with black and gold. Defiant, unruly, playing by her own rules. She was never afraid to use sex and violence to achieve her goals. She was The Vigilante Vixen!

"Tell me your story," Daniel prompted.

"My name is Wanda Williams," she said, her voice low and sultry and cynical. "I once believed in law. I once believed in order. I once believed in righteousness. I was so naive."

"I was the first woman ever to be elected mayor of the city. I was going to clean the streets of drugs and crime, not just making token arrests of small time thugs but also going after the organization, those wealthy men working behind closed doors to profit off the degradation of the city. I had discovered that virtually all the money from criminal activity in the city was flowing into the portfolios of the heads of 5 large corporations and that the CEOs of these companies formed a secret order called The PALM.

Unfortunately, I didn't discover how deep their influence in city government was until it was too late. They had scrutinized my investigation from the beginning. When I was on the verge of finding the evidence I needed to blow the lid off the whole mess, the PALM decided to take me out.

They drugged me out of my mind--turns out my personal assistant was in their pocket from the beginning--and then they administered this experimental aphrodisiac. For 8 hours I was reduced to a raving sex maniac. With cameras rolling, they presented me with prostitutes, both male and female, lobbyists I had worked with, even farm animals and Republicans. I let them all fuck me, begged them to, and then screamed out for more.

The press was merciless. Everyone abandoned me, including my husband. The lobbyists, all of them on the PALMs payroll, testified before the city council that I had abused my office for them in exchange for sexual favors and drugs. I was impeached and disgraced. Everyone expected me to go curl up in a corner and die of shame.

But I didn't.

I took to the streets. The very wave of crime and decadence I had sought to purge from my city became my sanctuary, my sanatorium, my womb. The whores and junkies welcomed me into their society. If any of them recognized me from my previous glory, they were respectful enough not to mention it. There is no more polite society than that shared by those with nothing left to loose.

But despite the welcome of the ravel of the street, I did not become one of them. I did not give in to despair. I did no loose that fire in my belly. I stoked it and fed it with my all-consuming dream--a dream of vengeance!

The universe loves irony. In bringing about my downfall, the PALM had given me the tools of my revenge. Perhaps they didn't foresee the side effects. Perhaps they didn't care, thinking they had dropped me so low that I would be forever impotent. But if they thought that I was a bitch to deal with when I was mayor, it was only because they had no idea what sort of bitch was going to rise from my ashes.

They had taken everything, but they took too much. Along with my reputation, they had taken my sense of shame, my mores, my inhibitions. Really, it was this more than anything the drugs gave me that is the root of my power. There is no depth to which I wont sink in my quest for vengeance.

Beyond this, the drugs physically changed me. The randiness subsided enough that I could think clearly, but it never truly stopped. It tends to build up if I go to long without a good tumble and I go a little crazy--not that I let it build up very often. I don't have to. Not only am I always horny, I have an almost supernatural seductiveness. No one, man or woman, can resist my come-ons for long. Once they give into my seduction, they seem to give their will to me. After a good fuck, my victim can't help but tell me anything I want to know, do anything I tell them to do. It doesn't last, but I've learned to capitalize on my afterglow influence.

The final power the drugs gave me might have been intentional. I had an absolute perfect memory of what they did to me, one that replayed in my head over and over in my darkest hour. But as I recovered, I found I could stretch my memory back further. With a little practice, I could recall every document I ever read about the PALM.

Armed with these abilities, I began my war against the PALM. Combining my photographic memory and my ability to recruit temporary assistants, I soon found ways to siphon off cash and equipment from the supply lines that fed the organization. With these resources, I financed my underground lair. Once I had that, I was ready to make my presence known.

I needed a new identity. Mayor Williams was weak. She was naive. And now she was dead. The new Wanda was strong, seductive, and deadly.

I decided to take on the role of a costumed vigilante. I made my self a cloak of black and dark purple to help me blend in with the shadows. Beneath the cloak, I chose an outfit that would best capitalize on my seductive powers: Knee-high dark purple boots with crotch-crushing steel toes and spiked heels, a purple and gold bustier to display my supernaturally seductive flesh to my victims and a G-string, easily removed, with a gold-embroidered head of a hungry she-fox guarding my hungry, will-consuming cunt! To conceal my identity, I made a purple vixen-eared cowl, announcing to my prey just what kind of horny, vicious beast hunted them.

The PALM had used my sexuality as a weapon against me. Now that weapon was in my hands and I was ready to turn it against them. I am the Vigilante Vixen!"

Wanda fell silent, save for her hard, impassioned breathing as she felt the raw power that her fantasy gave her.

"Good, Wanda, goood," came Daniels guiding voice. "In the weeks that we've been meeting, The Vigilante Vixen has sprung from your subconscious desires. Your imagination has given her form and created this incredible fantasy. Now, at last Wanda, you are ready to live the fantasy."

From under the sofa, Daniel retrieved a large flat box. He opened it.

"Here is your costume, Wanda. Put it on and live your fantasy. Put it on and become The Vigilante Vixen."

There it was: The deep purple cloak, the fox-eared cowl, the boots, the gloves, the gold-trimmed bustier, the G-string with the golden head of a vixen at the crotch.

It was time. Time to leave behind the weakness that was Wanda. Time to discard the rules that caged her.

"Now remember, Wanda, when you hear me say Narration you must listen carefully. The narrator will tell you where you are and what you need to do. Only by listening to the narrator can you live your fantasy. You want to live your fantasy, don't you Wanda?"