Chapter 3

"C'mon, honey. Try and keep up, will you?" Lynn called out to her lagging son. Her long legs ate up the ground as her ruffled black skirt swirled about firm, tanned thighs. Strappy black sandals perched her feet on four-inch pedestals which rang loudly against the linoleum floor of the shopping mall, despite the crowds.

Justin might have been hanging back to scan the faces, legs, chests of the other assorted females doing their gendered duty at the Twin

Oaks Shopping Centre. That rationalization did nothing to explain why his gaze kept sliding back to that strip of flesh between his mother's skirt, and the hem of her filmy blouse, or why he seemed to be so fascinated with the way her skirt twitched back and forth in response to the movements of her hips. Of course, it might also have had something to do with the half-dozen or so bags he was carrying.

It had been a busy morning.

First, a trip to the nearest shoe-store.

"I hate those fucking salesmen," she told him, striding into the store. "Always trying to push shit on you that you don't want.

And they're always such fucking pervs. Brrrrr! It gives me cold shivers. So, could you give me a hand?"

"Sure," he shrugged, not looking at Lynn, but still blushing all the same. He'd been blushing all morning, ever since getting up to find his mom making breakfast in a tiny, wispy robe that left little to the imagination, and even less than that when she stood in strong light.

She seemed unusually bright this morning.

"A hand" had turned out to be running interference between his mother and the salesmen, asking for such and such a shoe in such and such a size, and helping her try them on. His fingers squeezed her cute little foot gently as he slipped one sandal off, and slid another pump on. His hands were luxuriating in the touch of her smooth skin, even if his eyes were religiously averted to the ground. The burgeoning erection in his pants was obvious to Lynn when he stood to ask for another size, or another colour, or another style. She began asking for boots, so he wouldn't be able to help from touching those long, long legs, caressing the kidskin shafts of the footwear almost as he would caress his own cock.

And I called the salesmen perverts, she thought to herself with an inward giggle.

Justin's strong young hands would linger on her knees, just under the hem of her skirt, as though they were horses, chomping at the bit to be let free to do their business.

Once, Lynn had let her bare foot idle in his lap, just for a moment, gauging the strength of his erection. Unless the lad was carrying a lead pipe in his pants, he had apparently recovered from last night's escapades nicely. She scrunched her toes once, then retracted her foot. "I think we've spent enough time here, don't you?" She asked, with an impish smile on her face. "We'll take these," she gestured at a pair of tall black leather boots, and a pair of fiery red pumps.

They window-shopped for a time, until they wandered past an American

Eagle.

"Oooh!" She said, grasping Justin's arm. "I need a new pair of jeans," as he tripped along behind her, Lynn immediately began sifting through first the clearance rack of denim outside the store, then started working her way inwards. "You can wander, if you want." She said, turning to look at him. "Just don't wander too far. See if there's anything here you want for the fall." She trailed off, vanishing among a collection of clothes racks. Lynn almost thought she heard him heave a sigh. Silly boy.

Fifteen minutes later, a call rang out through the store. "Justin, can you come here a minute?"

He found her, arm hanging out of the dressing-room door, a finger beckoning him over. With a nervous glance around the store, he sidled up to the door. "What?" He hissed through the opening. The hand grabbed his shirt, and dragged him bodily inside the dressing room.

"Well?" She asked, as soon as Justin had composed himself. "What do you think?" Lynn streched her arms skyward, posing herself for her son. The sleeveless beige t-shirt she wore lifted as her arms did, exposing the firm charms of her much-worked abdominals. A cartoon of a voluptuous woman was draped across her breasts, giving Justin the come-hither look that Lynn longed to give him. Instead of jeans, he discovered, she was wearing a denim skirt, barely a foot long, the fabric tight, faded, and slung low on her hips. It was especially tight around her ass, gripping the firm cheeks like an old glove.

Lynn made sure that he got the opportunity to look as she spun slowly for him.

"Is it too young, do you think?" She asked with a smile.

"N-no! I mean, it looks, you look, it's great." The words tumbled over themselves to escape his mouth. "But I thought you were looking for jeans?"

"Oh! Right. Lemme show you!" She bent over to pick up a neatly folded pile of denim, and she could swear she heard an agonized groan.

"Now, turn around," she gave him the 'spin' signal with her hand.

"Unless you want to see your mom with her pants off." Justin obeyed, and soon found himself facing a full-length mirror. It was his choice as to whether or not he'd watch the skirt fall down his mom's beautiful, long legs. Or whether or not he'd ogle the stark white thong that contrasted so beautifully with her tanned asscheeks.

Or whether or not he'd touch himself surreptitiously as she wriggled her curves into the skintight denim.

They left American Eagle with two more bags.

Their next visit took the pair to a Garage, where Lynn picked up a whole host of tube and tank tops in a rainbow of tight, clingy fabrics, all of which fit into one bulging bag.

The smallest bag of all read "Victora's Secret." It contained Lynn's new bikini, which consisted of three scraps of fabric arranged in the most cock-stiffeningly manner possible, a fact to which Justin could attest.

Now they found themselves wending their way towards the food-court, for lunch.

"Aw, shit," Lynn muttered not quite under her breath. The Bottled Blonde Bitch. Cassandra Smythe. One of the other women working on

Lynn's floor, Cassandra was a pretentious, overpriced, oversexed whore who had fucked her way up to Lynn's floor and had designs on the next one up. Rumour had it that the cost of Cassandra's hair dye had exceeded the price she'd paid for the titantic sillicone baloons that shimmied and shook with each step. And she was shimmying and shaking her way towards them, halooing all the way. Justin's eyes just about popped out of his head as she approached;

"Let me do the talking, sweetheart," Lynn told him in an aside before

Cassandra got into earshot.

"Lynn! Darling!" Came the cry, as soon as she was within shouting distance. Her neon pink tube top, bright against her deep, chemically- induced tan, was almost as loud. It announced her availability to anyone with eyes and a cock. "It's so good to see you!" The pair shared fake cheek kisses. "It's such a nice day, isn't it?

The fresh air must do you old folks a power of good, as my daddy used to say." Her eyes sidled over to Justin, and raked him in such a blatantly hungry way that he felt, for the first time, what the term "maneater" really meant.

"And who is this treasure you've been hiding away?" Cassandra turned her full gaze and her full cleavage onto him, and the array was dizzying. "You haven't got caught up helping this little old lady across the street, have you, darling?" She inched closer to him, so that the tips of her gargantuan breasts were almost touching his chest.

"Justin and I were just shopping," Lynn replied coldly.

"Really," Cassandra gushed. "Trying on some fresh rags, darling? And why haven't you brought this delightful young man to any of the staff parties? Afraid someone's going to steal him from you?" She turned her gaze back to Lynn's son. "How about it? Are you ready to trade in last year's model for something a little more 'modern'? A little something with a few more curves and a lot less mileage?"

Lynn was flabbergasted. Cassandra was a filthy whore, yes, but she never thought that she was so brazen as to proposition someone else's man right in front of said someone. Justin was clearly floundering as the garish bitch nonchalantly rubbed her rubber boobs against him, but all she could do was gape in silent horror. What if he said yes? What if all her teasing had simply horned him up to go off with this, this, unholy fucking bitch?!

Then, a sudden steely gaze came over Justin's eyes. "Less mileage?

You? You've got to be kidding. You look like you've had so many cocks in you it'd be like trying to fuck a canyon." Cassandra took a shocked step backwards. "And what's the deal with those fucking pontoons? Are you expecting a flood or something? Now this," and he slipped his arm around Lynn's shoulders. She was shaking like a leaf inside, expectant. "Is a classic chasse; nice, tight lines; all the original bodywork; and she purrs like a kitten when you treat her right. Trade in this? For that? You've got to be kidding."

Cassandra, the Bottle Blonde Bitch goggled, then jawed, then fumed, then stormed off, wordless for the first time in her life.

Lynn squealed with delight and, taking Justin's face in her hands, kissed him repeatedly on the cheeks. "Thank you! Thankyouthankyou thankyouthankyou! You've done something I've never seen anybody else do - you shut that whore down. Thank you baby." She stared into her son's eyes, and suddenly an idea popped into her head. Why not take advantage of the situation?