Rita Yaldo

eyes like restless beams scanning her environment, stalking her quarry. Even to the most jaded of sensibilities, the nature of the girl’s prey was transparent. There was an electrifying sensuality about this girl; a hedonistic indulgence in her sexuality. It showed in the way she smoothed the hem of her dress sensually against her legs; the way she brushed a lock of her hair back into position, pausing to stroke it in evident enjoyment; the hint of a pout in those lovely lips and the smoky lustre to her huge eyes as pleasurable thoughts crossed her mind. This was a girl enslaved by her senses, so in thrall to her sensuality that even a cold Monday night in Zurich Hauptbahnhof was a potential playground for pleasure; a hunting ground for the gratification of her all consuming libido. There was little