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"No thanks, I'll just take the sausage. No bun, please."

Shrugging as if he didn't expect you to say yes anyway the boy takes a big meaty sausage from a heating rack and plops it onto a plate.

"Five bucks if you get a drink. I'll even make it a jumbo since you're so cute," he grins, and you feel yourself blush.

"Coke please," you mutter, feeling a little bashful. Why would he think you're so cute? You're only ten after all... Eleven, you remind yourself, then remember the clothes. Oh. So that's why he thinks you're cute.

"Th-thanks," you say with an automatic smile, feeling embarrassed all over again. Clutching the drink to your chest you rush off, looking for a seat out of sight of the school bully.

Ducking behind a big pillar next to some garbage bins you sit down, satisfied that she won't see you here. There's only a few guys in the area, all of them older men. One looks like a snoozing senior citizen, another is engrossed in his newspaper, and the last one seems to be opening some items that he just purchased.

"And none of them are looking at me," you say, feeling happy about that. Well, maybe not happy. Actually, you find yourself looking down at yourself and wondering why they aren't looking. After all, you're pretty much naked. And you know that you're pretty. There were several men in your neighborhood back home who used to tell you that.

Lifting the long, thick sausage to your lips you hesitantly touch it with your tongue, testing it's heat.

"Fresh," you murmer, feeling the heat radiate from the surface. You blow on it, letting your tongue lick it a little to test the heat. When that doesn't burn you it gives you the confidence to hesitatingly slide the sausage up to your lips, ready to jerk it away if it feels too hot. Leaving it there for a moment you decide to slide it into your mouth.

It's at that point that you notice that the man with the newspaper seems to be looking your way. Is he staring at your outfit? Is he marvelling at how scandalous it is? Or maybe he's thinking what a pretty little girl you are?

Slipping the sausage out of your mouth, un-sampled, you give him a smile, waving with the hand not holding your lunch. He ducks his head like he's been caught and you grin, wrapping your hand around the sausage. For a moment you grimace as you realize that your hand will now be covered in grease, but you decide to use the moment to test the sausage's temperature by rubbing your fingers up and down its length.

"Oh great, he didn't give me napkins," you mutter when you remove your hand. Using your tongue you start to clean yourself, sucking one finger clean after another as you look around for a napkin dispenser.

The old guy seems to still be sleeping, and the shopping man is pulling something out of a box, but the newspaper man is looking at you again. You remove a finger from your mouth and smile politely, finger-waving, and resume sucking the grease from your fingers as you look at him. Why is he staring, and should you be doing something about it? Give him the finger, maybe? Ignore him?

"Oh, napkins! And right behind me. Duh, you're so dense, Stephi," you tell yourself, channeling what Tiffany would probably say. Thinking about Tiffany makes you think about what else she'd say or do.

Gulping, you turn back to the man, toss your hair, and as you pull a finger out you give him another smile. This time you add a wink, and stand up from your chair. While your face turns red you place the sausage on its plate and gather the sarong in your hands until it's bunched in front of you. Strange, you didn't realize it had that much stretch, but all you want is to make it so that as you stand and turn your back to the man the sarong won't obscure your ass.

Making sure to part your legs you bend over farther than necessary, knees on separate chairs as your reach for the counter. Unable to reach the napkins, you look over your shoulder you give him a shrug and arch your brow before standing up. One foot lands on something soft, and you reflexively kick it away in disgust before moving the few feet to the bins. You lean on top, jutting your ass out as if making a tough choice. Waggling your bum back and forth you try not to die of embarrassment at the thought that your entire butt - and probably your hot little cunny - is on full display to the man.

Fifteen seconds later you pull out a hand-full of napkins, and hoping the man can't see how red your face is you slowly go back to your table, making sure to lift you leg way up before sliding it side-ways and over your chair. With legs on both sides of your seat your lower yourself slowly.

Something devilish - or Tiffany-ish, your suppose-  prompts you to pick up the sausage, which 'accidentally' slides between your legs and along the length of your slit. You freeze at the sensations that crash through you, and spend a lot longer than intended running the sausage back and forth between your thighs.

Blushing furiously you pull it back in front of you and plop yourself down a little less gracefully than you'd intended. Without thinking about where it had just been you push the sausage past your lips. And remember. With wide eyes you look up at the men. Sleeping, fiddling with some gizmo, and staring at you. Gulping, and focusing on the one looking at you, the taste of your own pussy fills your mouth. Well, mostly it's the taste of sausage grease, but you think you can taste something else. And now that you do you find that you can't bring yourself to bite down on it.

Pulling it out you look down at the long tube of meat and put it on your plate. Maybe you'll just bring it back to the store with you. Nodding at the idea you stand up, looking around at the men again.

Newspaper man seems to have moved a lot closer to you, which makes you panic a little until you realize he's just picking up some rag or something from the floor about ten feet away. The senior is still snoozing, while shopper man is just pointing his camera at you.

Camera? You stare at shopper-man, one foot on the floor, the other on top of the still-warm seat, and see him wave at you. For some reason you find yourself waving back and smiling, just as newspaper man stands up again.

Turning, you walk away, deciding that Tiffany and Emma have had more than enough time to buy clothes.

Your bare feet register the change between the smooth tiles of the food court and the more patterned tiles of the main mall. At that time you also register the fact that your pussy is feeling a breeze. Looking down you realize that your sarong is gone, leaving your bottom half completely naked in the middle of a mall.



[[LaaGLG_Stephanie/"I believe you wanted me to return this. In exchange for a favor," newspaper man says from behind you, holding up your sarong]]

[[LaaGLG_Stephanie/After freezing for a long moment you run back to the clothes store]]

[[LaaGLG_Stephanie/A group of people are walking in your direction. You need to hide]]

[[Category:Life as a good little girl]]