The hustle and bustle, chaos and serenity merging into one swarming pool of browsing and buying. Schoolboys on lunch break, groups of young women between gym and date night, businesspeople idling away the time gazing into stores as they walk on by. Like the cosmos, a shopping center contains a microcosm of all known phenomena, swirling galaxies of impenetrable young men speaking far too loudly, binary systems of couples hand-in-hand, black holes, musicians at pianos drawing in crowds and sucking in the nearby energy.
And in the middle of all this, a shooting star...
...
The car journey brought Savannah Gray, from am outside point of view at least, nothing but dread. A dread so sweet it seemed to blur the lines between excitement and panic. The two are often sister emotions. When one is in a state of panic there are certain physical and mental manifestations that make themselves known. Sweaty hands, increased heartrate, thinking about the future and what is coming to name but a few. And yet, the same can be said for excitement depending on the person.
In this case, the person is Savannah Gray who, for the last 15 minutes or so, had been staring out at the passing cityscape from the back seat of her Mummy's car. It was mid-afternoon, and the crisp cold air had made the inside of the car less than comfortable for the bare bottom for Savannah, who was shaking moreso from the temperature than from the actual thought of being publicly paraded in her chastity device.
"Come on Savannah, we're here." Said with a smile and a loving pat on the thigh.
Mummy had opened the door to the car and Savannah sat motionless for a moment, in a state of paralysis. Now normally a person might be crying or on the edge of a panic attack in this scenario, but Savannah is not one to cry at being exposed in public.
She's a sissy, a slut, and she was on the edge of something else. Her clitty had been straining in her little metal cage all throughout the journey. Somewhere, deep in her soul and in her bones, was an excitement so pure that it sent her mind into a state of foggy emptiness. And she had been sitting in this emptiness when a hand reached out and grabbed her own. Mummy's hand.
"Silly little girl, always daydreaming. Now let's go, we have outfits to buy darling!"
Mummy marched on with confidence, hand intertwined with her little girl's, and as they made their way through the parked cars towards the front door Savannah held on tighter and tighter to her pillar, her keyholder. Like a child using stabilisers on their bicycle to avoid falling, Savannah felt that as long as she kept hold of her Mummy, she was grlunded and rooted down. Maybe if she let go, she would just dissolve into nothing, or at the very least she might float up into the clouds. Up there, there are only birds to judge you. Sure, occasionally there's a plane filled with families and holidaymakers, but they would fly on by and never been seen again.
But Savannah loved to be judged. Objectified. For she is an object, not to others but in her own mind. What's wrong with being an object? She always loved objects. Pretty objects, shiny and pleasing to the eye and to the touch. She frequently remembers, fondly she would add, waiting for her mother to go to work and locking the door to the apartment. She would instantly strip and begin dressing up in her mother's stockings, her panties and her garter belts. She would try walking in her heels despite her feet being far too big for them. She spent more time in her mother's dresses than her mother did, this she was convinced of. She even found, whilst rummaging, a bullet vibrator. She would slip it down the front of her stolen panties and lie there waiting for inevitable premature orgasm, after which she would fill with guilt and shame and return everything where she found it. 20 minutes later, another premature orgasm would follow, for she had very little time between post-orgasm shame and the urge to be a slutty panty thief. Stealing underwear from your girlfriend or your roommate is one thing. But to steal panties from your own mother, and to vibe yourself off in them, staining them with your schoolboy jizz, is something else entirely. Its positively Freudian, I think.
'Freudian' is one if those words nobody seems to actually be able to pin down. Like 'Machiavellian'...
The door to the shopping center had been surrounded by a small group of young women, maybe 23 years old. They looked like, simply from that unknown aura we all seem to be able to recognise and describe in humans, like they were all in the same class. Maybe a theatre group, Savannah thought at first. But their postures suggested dancers.
Great, a group of dancers in t-shirts and warm leggings all staring. They all, like the whole rest of the world it seemed, were staring. Some in disbelief, some in horror, but all staring. Two of the group blushed, but their expressions were not of disgust or horror. Disbelief, maybe, but more of surprise. Their faces portrayed an emotion more akin to 'impressed astonishment'... Okay, this is it, if your thought was 'my God, I could never ever have the courage to do that', this is the expression that would manifest on the face of someone incapable of not showing off each thought in an expresssion.
But most people were not so... whatever the word is to describe these two girls. Most were harsh judges. But Savannah had been round the sissy block a few times. She'd masturbated in museums, parks, cinemas, on buses and even in her mother's bed (she would sometimes sniff her used panties whilst doing so. Even a therapist would have a journey unpicking that one, one imagines). She'd fucked her hole with a dildo whilst staying in a Croatian hostel, whilst people slept and listened to audiobooks not 3 feet away from her naked body. She'd humped her pillow whilst saying, loudly and solely to enjoy the feeling of having the words come from her own mouth, that she never wanted to fuck a pussy ever in her life. She had made eye contact with men as she walked home after being pounded by a man filled with severe mummy issues (and daddy issues. In fact, being called "daddy" rendered him a slobbering mess of tears. Savannah spent a few hours, after having her wonderful booty destroyed I may add, reassuring him that his childhood was all in the past and that he was now a very successful man making his way in the world, whilst sucking his balls down her throat with such vigour that she herself cried during the whole act. She prided herself on having a very nurturing touch despite her proclivity to take cock like a champion.) These men, having not ever prepared themselves for this eventuality, had been greeted to a sight that Savannah is sure to this day ruined one or more of their sexual lives...
They had been stumbling back from a club when, right in their path appeared a 5ft 7, equally stumbling, drunken wreck of a 'girl'. Slightly chubby (she wasn't always the slim cock-holster she is now) and wearing fishnets as black as their cocks. Pink leotard, complete with fully erect femboy hog on full show. Black fur coat, open and blowing in the wind. She sauntered between them, or should we say 'under them'. They were all at least 6ft 4, and towered over her. If they so desired, they could have picked her up with one muscular hand. As she passed, they all, even if they told themselves they didn't want to, simply had to turn to see if this little thing had what they all felt she wouldn't.
"Oh shiiiit man that ass cannot be real!"
"She has to be trans!"
"But where's her tits man?"
A shout emerges from the group,
"Hey, is that ass real!? C'mon dont lie to us baby!" This one was definitely interested, thought Savannah.
"You want to find out!?" She had turned her head slightly to face them and held her arms out like an open invitation.
Inaudible mutterings amongst the men followed, obviously discussing said proposition. At least they were being philosophical about it, even if only as a result of the alcohol.
"I have FIFA back home. You boys can fuck around pretending to 'score' and he can rail me if thats what you wanted to hear."
And thats how it came to be, 6 grown black men walking a small femboy slut home in the cold, one of them on his way to have dirty sex with a man for the first time whilst the others pretended to play FIFA. In reality, they all would listen intently as Savannah drained him dry over and over again until she emerged alone holding a joint.
"I think your boy needs some water." She was completely naked and smelled like semen.
Savannah went on that day to take a shower joined by a different member of the group, the drained man went on to direct theatre, and the whole gang became close friends. She still keeps in contact with them actually.
...
After the initial shock and trepidation, Savannah soon found herself walking amongst the day's shoppers almost oblivious to the fact that all she was wearing out in public in winter was the tiniest of cock cages. In fact, the cold weather made her little clitty shrivel up and the cage became far more comfortable, so at least there was that. And people judge you if you're wearing boat shoes for god sake, what's the difference between that judging and this judging? It's all the same.
And Savannah isn't above judging. Whilst old men looked at her in complete disgust, she was returning the favour, silently judging their hunched posture and their lack of care in their appearance.
"Sissy, Mummy has to use the bathroom for a moment. Go sit over on that bench and wait for me."
Her Mummy walked off, and left Savannah in the middle of the chaos. Savannah found a seat directly beside an older couple, and opposite a girl on her phone leaning against a wall. The girl was obviously taken aback by the sight in front of her. Savannah had sat down and left her cage dangling over the edge of the bench, her balls swaying gently, and the girl, maybe 21 years of age, could simply not focus. Her eyes would not leave her. It would have been uncomfortable if Savannah didn't love being looked at with every ounce of her being. She blew her a little kiss after some minutes, which caused the girl to fumble her phone and drop it on the floor. Savannah let out a little giggle and the older couple joined in to her surprise.
Older people tend to go with the flow more, porbably as a result of being closer to death and having seen more of life. Oh, theres a naked young man, completely shaved and wearing something on his penis in the shopping center? Well you know, kids these days.
