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  The Mall
   
   A man and a woman, both in their mid-thirties, are walking in the Westminster Mall on
a crowded Friday night.  They need candles; then they’re going home where he will light
the candles, strip naked and then tease and pleasure her for as long as she likes.  They
could have gotten candles at a small shop near their house, but the candle shop at the
mall has some beautiful and relaxing pieces.  The top of the line, which, they both agree,
she deserves.  Also, the woman enjoys a public forum for the way she treats her man, and
so she suggested they go out to the mall.
   There are thousands of shoppers walking the central area of the mall.  
   “It’s so crowded,” she says.
   He agrees.
   “Would we have come to this mall a year ago?” she says.  “On a crowded Friday night?”
   “I doubt it,” the man says.
   “Why?”
   “Because I hate crowds,” he says. 
   “Do you still hate crowds?” she says.
   The man smiles at her.  “Yes.”
   She runs her arm around his waist and rubs his side lovingly.  She pulls him toward
her and kisses him on the cheek as they walk slowly.  “So what’s changed?” she says.  “Why
are we here?  On this crowded Friday night if you still hate crowds?  What’s changed?”
   “I realized that what you want is more important than how I feel.”  He kisses her
back.  
   “Did you now?”
   “I realized that making you happy is more important than how I feel about crowds.”
   “And who brought you to that realization?”
   “You did, Goddess.”
   They walk on a while longer.  She lets go of his waist, and the man again, as he now
does all day long, appreciates her beauty.  She’s wearing tight black Capri pants with a
pair of casual loafers, and a clingy stretch red top with no bra.  The outline of the ring
in her left nipple is visible, if you look for it, through the stretch fabric.  The waist
chain she wears is visible at the peaks of her hips, disappearing beneath her navel.  On
that chain, though no one can see them at the moment, are two keys that are for the slim
padlocks that hold the man’s cock in a chastity cage.  One key holds the device on; the
other runs through the Prince Albert piercing, so he can’t pull his cock out of the back
of the device. 
   “You look great,” the man says.  
   “My feet are so tired,” the woman says.
   The man looks around for a place for her to sit.  He gently leads her toward a free
spot on a bench in front of the falling water pool by the elevators.  She sits next to a
couple of high school kids, a boy and a girl.  She crosses one leg over the other at the
thigh, so that her right foot dangles.  As the man bends to his knee, he feels the tug of
his piercing where it runs through his cock and locks at the end of his chastity cage and
he moans with the reminder of her ownership of his cock.  He kneels in front of her,
places her shoe on the tile floor and begins to massage her foot.  She leans back and
moans.  The kids look at each other, then stare at the man on his knees.
   “That’s so nice,” she says.  “Can you believe we ever didn’t do this?”
   The man smiles.  “What were we thinking?”  He feels the muscular sweep of her calf as
he runs his hand up her leg to behind the knee and back down.  The woman is hard,
muscular.  Her will, her discipline to train her body is impressive.  She is 5’3” and 115
hard, muscular pounds.  As he runs his hand back down toward her foot, her overall mental
and physical strength overwhelm him yet again, even though this sensation is far from new
for him.  He rubs and kisses her foot for a while longer, feeling the damp warmth of her
sweat on his lips and cheek.  More people stare at them.  A woman nearly walks into a
wall, rubber necking to see the two of them.
   “Jealous,” the woman says.
   “Maybe,” the man says.
   “She would be,” the woman says.  “If she knew.”  She smiles and sighs.  “Move on.”  
   Move on, he knows from his training, means to slowly kiss the length of the sole of
the foot from heel to toe.  And he does.  Then, he puts her shoe back on.  She crosses her
legs again and he takes the other shoe off and massages her left foot.  After a few
minutes, she says, “Enough.”  
   He kisses the length of the left foot, replaces the shoe and stands.
   “Thank you,” he says.
   “Thank you,” she says.  She kisses him deeply.  He feels her tongue pull his to the
back of her throat.  His cock swells hard against the bars of its cage and his balls have
his now-familiar ache of need and denial.
   “I love you so much,” she says.  “How long has it been since you’ve come?”
   “Two weeks tomorrow,” he says.  This is true, though on 10 of the last 13 nights—he’s
counted—she has teased him to the brink repeatedly before smiling and ordering him back
into his chastity cage for the night.
   “Will you come tonight?”
   “I don’t know,” he says.
   “No,” she says.  “You won’t.”  She kisses him hard on the lips and he feels her hard,
lean body against his.  His cock swells and twitches in its cage.