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Presently out of this I
began constructing definite scenes of violence. I was able in
imagination to lie in the thick and stress of conglomerated
deliciousness of thighs struggling to hold me; I was able to
imagine at least six bodies encircling me with passionate
contact. At the same time I had an ingrained feeling of my own
physical smallness in relation to the limbs whose contact threw
me into such paroxysms of delight. A new and sufficiently
ludicrous invention took possession of me; I imagined myself
strapped to the thigh (always, I think, the right one) of the man
on whom I chose, for the time, to concentrate my desires, and so
to be worn by him during his day's work, hidden beneath his
garments. I was not conscious of any difficulty due to my size.
The charm of bondage and compulsion was here, again, in the
ascendant. I fancy that it was in this connection that I first
anticipated whipping as the delightful climax to my emotions,
administered when my possessor, at the end of his day's work,
unclothed himself for rest.


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