“We need to get our own back on the sneaky bastards Mum,” chuckled Tara Tompkinson in a mmmoth Wetherspoons pub in the North West of England. Denise, Tara’s mum was ordering another two large glasses of Merlot and keeping a wary eye behind her, constantly smoothing her light summer dress over her ample hips.
“I can’t believe you find it funny dear,” moaned Denise, paying the student bar girl. “Oh bugger those students have taken the seat we had our eyes on. Oh well we can stand a bit longer but not too long.”
She followed her slender, blonde, tall, legal secretary daughter across the extremely crowded lunch time pub, her hand clutching the skirt she wished she hadn’t worn that hot breezy Saturday. Inwardly she frowned at Tara’s choice, being a glaringly white pleated light weight skirt, which was designed as a cascade of petal like pleats, each with a pointed tip and all different lengths. Walking behind her daughter, it was amazing that she couldn’t see her bum cheeks, it was so so short.
Trying to keep her dress folded tight to her legs, Denise carried an empty folded shopping bag and a large goblet of red wine, then slide through a jostling noisy crowd, wasn’t something she was used to. Normally she wouldn’t have to bother – about her dress. She just put on the most appropriate clothing everyday and got on with life. When Tara had picked her up in her Ford Mondeo company car and drove to the park and ride, transferring to the bus service, Denise had told her daughter about Norman Moulter, once; her and Tara’s dad’s golfing partner. The middle aged man about town had been prosecuted at the Surrey County courts for taking videos up women’s dresses in public places, some three hundred miles away from where the Tomkinson family were now based.
Tara had pulled the case news up on her device when they got into town, finding a seat off the beaten path and they had both viewed the case. A link on the screen led them to other cases and then to others, then to more obscure others which showed the actual videos. Denise was disgusted, Tara intrigued and wondering as always why men needed to do such silly things.
“Norman of all people, a previous Captain of the club, pastor at the Evangelical Church, traffic warden for Townber Primary School, part time barman at the Dog and Crook. Just not the Norman we know or knew before we moved up here ... funny that.” Denise murmured as they launched themselves into a bout of retail therapy, by sheer coincidence, in a place often plundered for other reasons by two brothers.
“Lonely too, since his wife died,” added Tara. “Must admit he was ... is so nice.”
“I hope it doesn’t happen to us today dear” Denis grumbled. “I’ve got a damn pad in.”
“Muuum! Stop worrying and they’re not going to bother about your pad, although it probably adds a bit of a frisson to their excitement,” Tara snickered as they entered Debenhams massive sprawling store, getting a fierce distasteful glance from Denise, reckoning her Mum’s dumpy squat shape wouldn’t attract too much low level video attention, regardless of the very short skirt she wore. “I mean I’ve got a string on ... two strings actually,” the 23 year old chuckled. She received a quizzical look from her mother.
“You know a tampon,”Tara whispered.”It’s alright, not leaking that much, the other string is my thong ... Ooo! Look ... I like that.” she gestured at some clothing.
The 45 year old golfing mother and 23 year old legal secretary were soon lost in dresses, tops, coats even hats with a wedding coming up. They were spotted by Degan, who eyed them, slid round some mannequins, ignored a heavily made up shop girl wearing a short skirt and patterned tights, displaying and offering a tray of expensive perfume samples and sidled near. The street cleaner from Uzbekistan actually preferred the mature, not outrageously attractive women, but as these two were together and totally absorbed in fancy clothing they would be an easy target. He lingered feigning impatience looking at his watch as if waiting for someone on the nearby changing rooms, somewhere he had never ventured with his concealed camera ... yet.
Denise was checking the hemline design on a dress and was stooping slightly to read the labels. Degan swooped, a matter of three feet, his bag cam swiftly positioned under Denise’s large backside. She pondered the garment straightening up but stayed still, then stepped back feeling the fabric, He skilfully slid his bag back in line with her thick but shapely limbs, when she unwittingly gave him a massive bonus by her new wide legged studying stance.
“Can I assist you sir?” asked a mature grey haired shop assistant approaching him. He saw her coming, lifting his low slung bag and slid away. A concealed camera on Degan’s chest, ostensibly a fancy ID device, captured the woman’s starchy face as he shook his head.
“No thank you, my wife is taking her time,” he chuckled in a friendly way, nodding his head towards the changing rooms.
“I see thank you,” she replied and moved round Degan to tend to Denise, who had whirled round at the sound of a man’s voice so close. Degan smiled to her as he sauntered away, his bag tucked under an arm.
Tara was absorbed in the lingerie sales area, holding two items in front of her at a full length mirror, trying both for the view before trying them on. One first, then the other, then the first, then the other not being able to decide. One was a pale mauve Teddy, the other a pale blue flimsy night dress.
“Decisions decision,” giggled Denise strolling to join her. Degan had his eye on them from the shoe displays where he tried various trainers. The sales assistants were getting a bit sick of him due to the number of footwear he was trying on. He lingered knowing there was often good camera work to be done round there.
Suddenly he was distracted by the porky figure of a black woman, he guessed in her early 30s dragging a disconsolate child who was chewing a lollipop. The mother parked her tired, worried frame and two piles of shopping, having sat opposite Degan, her thin, well worn, black miniskirt shooting high up her thick thigh almost level across the line that carved her rotund belly from her thick thighs. The child found some toys put out by the store. Acres of shiny ebony/brown coloured flesh rolled and wobbled, her legs constantly in motion, sometimes one on the knee of the other, sometimes apart when she bent reaching her boots. The experienced upskirter moved his bag nearer his legs so it was dead opposite the frustrated black woman who was in the process of removing her DMs, the laces being tangled. He unclipped his chest camera device and fiddled with it at low level as if checking the battery.
“I’m going to try these two on Mum, maybe if I give you a call you can pop in and help?” suggested Tara. She got a nod and found an assistant to allocate a cubicle, then disappeared inside.
Denise sat thinking much good I’m going to be choosing sexy nightwear for my glamorous daughter. She pulled her skirt hem as far down as possible, only revealing eight inches of her upper limbs as there were several men wandering around, some single and aimless, therefore now suspicious since the news about Norman, dear old Norman. Some bored behind wives or girlfriends.
Mrs Tomkinson dropped off her sandals and shifted her feet as Degan approached from her front. The bag was slung low and he walked right up to Denise, bag on the floor.
“Excuse me lady, do you know which the way to exit on Main Street please is?” he asked, leaning down to her, the bag between his feet planted on the floor. His chest camera would be capturing lovely down blouse videos of her buxom body down the vee neck of her summer dress.
“Er ... yes down that aisle to the end, past the checkout ... there,” Denise answered.
As she told him, pointing after swivelling on her chair, he was sure the camera in the bag had got more. He thanked her and wandered in the directions. His mobile phone whooped, the ring tone causing a mild stir as it mimicked the siren sounds of a Tashkent police vehicle. It was Myskof his older brother telling him he had arrived at a designated door with Sidic his young daughter. Degan grinned, the plan swinging into action, a trifle late but no doubt Myskof had enjoyed the scenes so far. Now it was his turn and together later at home.
He scooted as quick as he could through the big store, transferred the bag to Myskof, collected the car keys, suggested the first point of interest. The two East European natives reversed their roles, this time with little Sidic in tow.
Tara fussed with the Teddy, then one a different colour, then retried the first one, took that off, peered at the labels, fingered the material, checked her Samsung device smiling and grimacing in turns, answered a text, pondered her garments once more and unlocked the door.
“Mum can you com ... Oh... ?”
Denise was engaged in a conversation with a stranger. The long haired well dressed tall rangy bearded man holding hands with a darling little curly blonde haired waif. Myskof hoped the plan would work. It did – plan A and plan B. Denise took the child’s hand and went to where Tara’s bare arm was waving, following her into the small room.
“Mum? What ... who is... ?
“That nice foreign chap said he needed to rush to the toilet and couldn’t take the little girl in and could I look after her ... what’s your name sweetie? ... Oh yes Stich ... so I thought the cubicles are big enough she’ll be safe with us, it’ll only be a little while.”
Degan, slouched low in a car, an Acer laptop on his lap, drooling with anticipation as the image on the screen went from superb views up Denise’s skirt, to a low level view of Tara’s bare legs, Denise’s knees, the surrounding store area, tiny patent leather shiny black shoes and back to Tara’s lower limbs. The brothers were masters of technology, Myskof lecturing in IT advance products at the University, Degan managing a retail outlet and online store dealing with many products including WiFi, routers, receivers, transmitters, CCTV and mini cameras.
For all her dumpy low level build Mrs Tomkinson, had good legs. The bag cam was so close at times to suggest he could even feel the tiny blemishes and goose bumps on her lower limbs. She had a fidgety habit of shifting position and stance and the bag operator needed extreme concentration while talking to the subject and manoeuvring the bag so not to alert her by nudging her legs. Degan licked his lips at the sumptuous – to him – image of her fleshy buttocks with their secondary creas and lower fold of flesh. She wore black briefs, which he had spotted through the free swinging shape of her garment. Denise was starting to get a wedgie, but the cream of the image was the white folds of a sanitary pad wrapped round the edges of her underwear.
At one point, he could see past the black underwear, through the vee form of her buttocks and up her back, such was the brilliance of light at that juncture, showing the fleshy skin of her back and very bottom edges of Denise’s black bra. Suddenly the scene changed to motion in a changing cubicle, the slatted ceiling, a series of small bright spot lights, advertising posters on the wall, hooks with garments hanging, big fussy smiles on Denise’s face, condescending smiles from Tara then the magnificent image of the tall willowy blonde posing a pale mauve slip of a garment.
“Maybe it’s better without my bra,” Tara announced, fiddling the Teddy up, unclipping her small white brassiere and smoothing the Teddy. Her perfect perky, upturned, high nippled boobies quivered under the transparent fabric. The watcher in the car shifted his laptop to lower it’s weight onto his knob end.
Denise thought it looked just the same, watching Sidic, who was watching Tara.
Tara removed the Teddy and tried the other colour, exactly the same design and then tried a slightly different version which had a popper gusset.
“This was a bit different, sort of kills two birds with one stone,” Tara chuckled, holding the black silk one piece to her naked front. Sidic stared, transfixed.
“Can’t see the point of that darling,” suggested Denise, not comfy with so-called trendy stuff – poppers under your fanny ughhh!
Degan was near to shouting at his Acer ... try it on. Tara tried it on letting the gusset pieces flap front and back. She popped the poppers together, smiling down at the cute little Uzbek girl who had got off the seat, wandering around, peering up at the tall woman’s tight butt from behind.
“Doesn’t look right somehow,” groaned Tara. “Bugger it ... oh sorry darling ... shouldn’t have swore.”
She stripped off her thong, at the same time seeing her tampon string as Sidic did. She fumbled in her crotch and stuffed the string inside her quim out of the way, then fastened the poppers.
“You supposed to try them without undies dear?” queried Denise frowning, pursing her lips.
“Not really I suppose. But I’m clean.” she got on with posing and decided that was one of the garment she would buy. Sidic wandered further round, picking up tiny pieces of silk, cotton and other materials piling on the seat, then took a closer look as inquisitive children do up Tara’s bare bum as she bent and fussed with another piece of female frippery on the seat.
Degan filtered a hand under the laptop and fingered his cock ... this was superb, good girl Sidic, she could join the voyeur group officially soon. Maybe toilets and showers next.
Tara and Denise left the cubicle with chosen products, luckily just as Myskof returned after a quick piss then hunting round the changing rooms in the junior clothing department. He found it virtually impossible to get the bag near enough to the much smaller gap round the under edge of the walls to capture a view. He spotted a large black woman joining a small wiry black man, an irritable looking child being dragged along between them - screaming. Many shoppers turned and frowned at the din. The big black woman browsed round the night dresses that Tara had chosen from, the man sat with the unhappy child and Myskof saw an opportunity once he had collected Sidic.
“She was so good,” gushed Denise. “Not a peep. She just wandered round looking at all sorts didn’t you Stich... ?” she chuckled, cupping Sidic’s chin and kissing the top of her forehead. “And isn’t that a gorgeous little ornament?” Denise fondled to blue shiny pendant on a short gold necklace hanging just below Sidic’s chin.
Degan shrank in horror, thinking Oh know she’ll spot it seeing a beautifully manicured wrinkled, liver spotted hand moving the gadget housing one of his hidden cameras. It fell away to his relief and he saw images of Denise smiling until images of Myskof replaced her.
“It’s Shidkckiic actually but I doubt you will get your tongue round that, pronounced Siditch,” he chuckled. “You weren’t to know. Thank you madam you’ve been most kind. Come on sweetie.” he strolled off with the little girl happily reunited with her dad.
The Tomkinsons walked one way, the foreign man and child the other, aiming for the massive rear end and incredibly daring skirt and short fat shiny blue/black legs. He noticed she was not hobbling but awkward in her shuffling gait. Rondy Newman had bought herself new two inch stilettos and made the sorry mistake of wearing them from the box that now held her old shoes. Myskof eyed the distance to where her partner was having a rough time with the unruly child. He sidled in round two aisles until close to her. Her skirt was ridiculously tiny for a female her size, but he knew Degan would enjoy a full blown uppy having viewed his earlier efforts at the shoe department and his failure. Degan’s eyes opened wider and licked his lips.
His brother got almost two minutes of captures up Rondy’s skirt and Degan was so pleased she had returned to the scene. Enormous thighs stopped at a distinct black fold, then ballooned out to even bigger mountains. Because of her hurting feet, Rondy shifted a lot, wobbled and tried different stances. Her sticky, sweaty legs unstuck and came apart often and in two lingering views the slender patterened cotton of a little pair of briefs, with a bright blue pattern to the edge, revealed it’s minimal self. Degan looked around to see where he could sneak to and wank. His cock was nigh on bursting.
“I’m trying this on honey chile,” beamed Rondy to the little man with her, brandishing a transparent long night dress. “Oh dear Jeminee, please behave for a little while,” she pleaded with the kid.
Myskof moved swiftly as the man spoke.