The excitement had become almost unbearable. The desire to stroke himself was intense, bordering on irresistible, but he endured, not wanting to draw attention to his movements. He knew his satisfaction would come soon enough.
He watched her as she walked under an avenue light and caught the shape of her body through the flimsy material of the knee length toga she wore. She was young and firm. Ripe. He felt another pleasurable tingle in his groin, and a whispered moan escaped his lips. How your juices will run, he promised himself. How your juices will run.
He had stalked his prey for several days and the moment was almost upon them, they would soon be united. In following her he had learnt her little routines, her character and manner, the give away signs that revealed weaknesses and strengths. She was slight in build but he knew she could be cunning and argumentative. He had sat behind her at an Inn of Bacchus only yesterday and heard how she had gained a gallon of Red by complaining about the acidic taste of the glassful she had been served. Small pointers as to how she might react, how fragile or how mighty she could be in extremis. He had decided she may be tough and require some work.
He didn't quite understand why he had pursued this one. Normally he could point his finger at something – the hair, the eyes, an inviting smile – but this one was different. Rather than one thing it was everything. He had seen her for the first time and a chill of excitement had passed from his head to his toes, every hair on his body had stood to attention. The chill had ended at a point between his legs where a fire had burned ever since. During his pursuit he had ruminated on his choice, questioning his reasons but he concluded that he had chosen her simply because he knew that her juices, when they ran, would be as sweet as nectar.
He placed his hand over his left breast as if for reassurance, felt again the hard cold bulge there, and his heart leapt. The touch was almost sexual, so soft was the touch and he closed his eyes, running his fingers down the length of the shape concealed within the fabric of his toga, the silk gloves he wore adding an extra dimension to the sensuality of his caress. They'll be running for you soon my beauty, he thought dreamily.
He watched her turn a corner. Yes, yes, he thought, mentally rubbing his hands, pleased that the fruits of his labour were coming to bear. He knew exactly where she was heading, down the Boulevard to the main public square. He knew exactly where he would pounce, where her juices would run. Provided the unexpected didn't occur. It had once before and he had been lucky to escape without leaving his image stamped on someone's mind, or any other clue to his identity. It had made him more wary but also more cunning in the hunt.
He turned a corner and sudden, bright panic gripped his mind. The unexpected had occurred – she had disappeared. Startled by this turn of events, he stopped and quickly scanned the length of the boulevard, taking in each Doric column, but she was nowhere to be seen.