Updates weekly, a big thank you to any and all readers for trying out my fuckery.

Full of angst, drama, sexual gratification in the kinkiest form, and violence.

Thank you to my betas: Cookie, Mia, and Steph.

But enough of my nonsense. Let's get Raw...

The Prologue

Phil Dwyer could smell her pussy dripping even from across the cold, steel table.

He swallowed hard, pulling on his tie to breathe just an infinitesimal amount of air. The average woman he visited here, their tresses hung over their eyes, a protection of curtain to conceal their guilt.

But not her.

Instead she laughed, a sound that sent chills down his spine. He ought not have been paying attention to the way she flirted blatantly, her long eyelashes the only shade to view her promiscuous gaze she had on him.

Phil grumbled under his breath, silently willing his erection to disappear. It didn't.

And she knew it.

He squirmed in his seat, fully aware of the sexuality that poured off of her like honey. The way her legs spread openly, even though her hands were bound by the rounded cuffs around her wrists.

She can't hurt you, he thought to himself. Only torture you.

"You know why I'm here," he eventually coughed out.

"Why yes," she answered sweetly, her brown eyes the opposite of innocence. "It's always good to see you again, Phil."

His whole body shook, raptured by the transcendence of her ecstasy giving aura when she mentioned him by name. He faintly made an effort to try to remember why he was here.

"Miss, I am in the unfortunate position to give you bad news."

Her gaze flickered, and Phil swore he saw a second of fear, but it was gone before he could truly acknowledge it.

"Well, spit it out. I haven't got all day," she spat cruelly.

"See, that's the thing," Phil said slowly. "I'm afraid you do. The DA is trying to put you away for a life sentence, without the possibility of parole."

The orange jumpsuit with her personal inmate number meant nothing to her.

The policemen who were supposed to make sure she remained in her chair were not fast enough.

The handcuffs restraining her were simply, not enough.

She was on his lap, legs straddled around his waist before he could react. Her small hands grasped his neck tightly until his face turned slightly purple from the lack of air.

"You tell them that just won't do, Phil. I'm getting out of this shithole, with or without your help. So you tell them, Phil, Mr. Highly-Paid-Lawyer, that I am not staying here. If I've got to fuck my way out of here, then so be it. I will not die here, understand? I will not die here!"

The guards had finally jumped into action, but it was too late. Phil was frightened out of his mind. They pulled her away as a sneer crossed her face, and she winked at him as the buzzer opened the locked metal doors.

"They aren't fucking me over!" she yelled, just as her body was dragged through to be returned to her cell.

"I've already fucked them."