A cashier at the local mall

Faint squeals of happinessness echoed throughout the small jewelry store, and into the ears of the mall-goers outside. The sounds of yips and gasps brought a smile to many of their faces; the pure sounds of a pet exclaiming its joy to the world was heartwarming even to the stone-faced security guard.

"Stop! Sit! Kneel! Who's a good girl?"

Your pet whined, erect nipples easily visible through her shirt. Puffy lips broke out into an earnest pout, and blue eyes looked up to you as she sought to convince you through sheer cutnessness that she was worthy of such acclaimed praise. The young caucasian woman, on the cusp of entering her twenties, had her mid-back length blonde hair puffed up here and there - the consequences of rolling around on the floor a moment ago.

"Is it you? Is it you?"

Eagerly nodding her head up and down, she then puffed out her chest in pride. Her lack of bra was as clear as day to all of the other shoppers in the store. But shoppers would be a misnomer, as there was no shopping currently taking place. Rather, the other three young woman, formerly browsing the wares, had been caught up in the kaleidoscope of ecstacy and lust that poured off of the cashier, and were now trying, and failing, to hide their coos and remarks.

"I'm going to get diabetes! It's just too cute!"

"Shh! Let us not draw attention; I do not want to distract her. Else, she might not be praised!"

The last woman giggled and said, "I thought that pets weren't allowed here, but I'm glad security made an exception."

You paid your fellow animal-lovers no mind and, with conviction as undeniable as the stars themselves, shouted, "Yes you are!"

You could nearly pinpoint the moment a flood of dopamine rushed through the blonde's veins. She visibly shuddered and her eyes almost rolled up to the back of her head. Dropping your gaze along the length of her body, and only now noticing a name-tag with a beautifully written 'Rebecca', you beheld that her nipples were as sharp as any of the diamonds in the display cases.

"Do you want to keep playing?" you asked. Of course, you already knew the answer. Ever since you - somehow - obtained a type of sexual privilege a week ago, the answer had always been the same in some way, shape, form or other.

Disheveled, the librarian nuzzled and pleaded into your feet.

Two close friends looked at you with sparkling eyes and begged.

The barrista shamelessly debased herself with her supplication to her owner.

A whine of deep need broke you out of your recollection of the fantastic fucking week - and mentally patting yourself on the back for the pun - you carressed your chin in thought, looking for a moment like a philospher of old.

"I would love to, but you have been naughty, you know?"

Her mouth opening in shock, and with a high-pitched yip communicating more than any string of words, she expressed her desire to know what wrong she had committed. Naturally, even that dreaded phrase couldn't dim the spark of pleasure visible in her eyes. Indeed, the contrast only made it shine even brighter.

Choosing to demonstrate with your actions, your right arm reached out and gave her left breast a nice squeeze. With her barks of glee functioning as music to your ears, you rhythmically prodded your way to her puffy areola and pinched.

Gasping repeatedly, the tenseness of her body proved a testament to those who could read such anatomical language: she was absolutely soaking her panties. You paused, and mentally added the addendum 'should she be wearing them'. She had already shown her naughtiness once, hadn't she?

"It appears my pet chose not to wear her bra. The shame," you uttered, smiling.

Her head folding in remorse, and with chunks of hair falling over her forehead, she nevertheless failed to hide her own grin of anticipitation.

"You need some discipline!"