The torment of younger girls, giggling--it drives me to some paroxysm of lust. It comes on like a hot wave, and I can't move very quickly. Not every young woman does this to me, just the ones who notice me and shift their demeanor. A lowered blouse, a raised(more) skirt. a cigarette lit and ripe with symbolism.
Some silky-skinned thing with legs for miles stops me and asks if I have a lighter even though I have noticed her lighting a cigarette herself. I oblige, making my ring very apparent. It's as if I didn't even have hands unless they were meant to be gripping her thighs. I shake as I try to operate the Zippo.
She whispers something very appealing into my ear. A flash enters my mind--I have her tied face down to my kitchen table and I strike her buttocks repeatedly with my belt. She screams through her gag.
I return to myself and she looks concerned at my thousand yard stare. As I lean in to return a whispered enticement, I find my resolve. "Please stop."(less)