You are a spiteful man, you are a perverted man, you get off at the body of underage lasses and their variants, you have no redeeming qualities whatsoever. You are a selfish man who has never done anything to help anyone in any way. Your life is one of self-indulgence and debauchery.
You are a sadistic man who enjoys torturing little wenches. You enjoy tormenting others and you enjoy watching them suffer. You do not care about anyone else's feelings or needs. You are a cruel person who does not show mercy.
The only purpose of your existence is no other but to fulfill your deviant desires, to put your filthy meat rod inside a tight, puffy fanny, enjoying her squeals whilst the monster you keep inside your pants stretches her reduced slit. Only thinking of these acts awakens an animalistic lust inside you — the dark passenger is knocking on the door
his hunger must be satiated, and you know exactly what it must be done.
You slowly stroll around the silent town; most lights either show some malfunction — barely illuminating a meter around itself — or are outright broken, you couldn't have asked for a better situation. Not that it wouldn't have been an issue, this is not the first time you... wander around. It's such a pity that a filthy pig like yourself is so successful on its craft, you almost feel bad. Almost.
The poor illumination in addition to being a splendid aid for concealing your "activities" also hinders your task a little bit. However, that little figure around the corner you would never mistake for anything else.
"Oh my, do we have a victim or what?" You ask yourself while approaching the feeble being standing not so far from you.
She looks young for a few reasons. One is that you can tell just by her facial features that there haven't passed many winters since her birth. Although you can't quite put your finger on it, something about her face just screams trouble. What is so special about this little fucktoy that is slipping your senses?
The other reason that she looks young is because of her clothing. It looks more like something you would see toddler wear rather than an adolescent lass but, even if her dress covers most of her features — or more precisely, the absence of them — you can spot the shape of her budding breasts through the fabric witch, combined with her lithe figure, is enough to make a mentally ill subhuman like yourself droll with desire.
You try to conceal your arousal — since it would, of course, frighten the child to see your face in this state and it would take severe measures to "take care" of it, no need for that —, slowly approaching the ingenuous colleen.
It seems your steps weren't at all quiet because, before she is on your reach, the lass lets out a muffled yelp and backs away defensively, turning to face you. You would have preferred she hadn't noticed your presence, talking is not why you are here for.
"Hello, little one.