“What… what’re you doing, Mom?” Kyle accused. He had his pants back on practically in the same breath from the time he was released from the captivity of Roberta.

            “Oh, just the same thing as you, honey. I’ve got to know if they fit, after all,” she said, realizing halfway through the sentence it was a white lie. That wasn’t really why she was about to try them on.

            “But… you already bought them.”

            “The store’s just over that way, Kyle. I have the receipt and I’m sure they’d take them back. But I do need to get a feel for them. I’m not a one-size-fits-all kind of woman. Besides, I could use a man’s opinion on these babies.”

            There was no further discussion on the matter. Skin flushed and her hair standing on end from the bizarre and unexpected toe-tingling entertainment gleaned from playing dolls with her son, Roberta stood. She stepped out of her clunker heels, padding in her nylons on the ratty carpet, and commenced pinching and poking beneath the hem of her skirt.

            “Uh… Mom?”

            “Just one second, dear. I almost have it.”

            “Why do I have to watch this?”

            “You don’t, honey. I’m not even getting undressed. Don’t be so dramatic,” Roberta scolded.

            She stepped through the leg loops of her previous pair of underwear, blanched and sweat-stained after dozens of trips in the wash, and let them fall at her ankles. Amused at the sight of her six-inch child turned fully around with his head tucked down into his chest for visual protection, the mother next dangled the much more exciting crimson leopard panties from her thumb.

            “New year, new me!” Roberta chimed happily. She lowered her new purchase toward the floor to more easily slide her generous thighs through the opening.

            “It’s not even the new year, Mom.”

            “Only making light of the situation, sweetie. Besides, I think you ought to try viewing yourself in a similar light. This program you’re in now? I think it’s going to help create a whole new, more productive you. Now, be a doll and tell mama whether you think these panties are doing all they can for me?” With the crimson panties firmly snapped to her hips, Roberta drew back the curtain of her skirt and stepped nearer to the table, for the benefit of her son’s gaze.

            Kyle’s face contorted into a grimace of profound distaste. He looked on the verge of gagging. Indeed, he was faced directly with a rather grim sight.

            Roberta’s prominent camel-toe bulged with its twin crescent-moon shapes against the fresh red fabric, her nether regions clearly either engorged and open for business, or simply hanging slightly agape at all times after too many entrances. Kyle could see the front of the brand-new panties already spotted with dark, sticky liquid through the cloth down the length of her crotch. Centered at the lacy waistband, a veritable shrub garden of glistening brown pubic hair protruded. Its bushy volume contributed to the puffed appearance of the panties between Roberta’s roomy thighs, and a great deal of her pussy’s hairy adornment extended beyond where even plus-size panties could conceal.

            Kyle felt as though his stomach would turn over and rot right inside him.

            “I’m waiting, hon. What do you think?”

            “Looks fine,” he belched, gripping his sides.

            “You’re just saying that, aren’t you?”

            “No, I’m not.”

            “Fantastic. Now the rear, all right?” Roberta narrated pleasantly. She pirouetted around, shifting her fanned hands to the back of the skirt, so that her son was now faced with the pillowy hills of her rotund ass swelling against the hapless panties. Already a significant cluster of the plus-size drawers had sucked into the woman’s crack, merely by her shifting on her toes to turn around. A distinct valley dipped low between the boulder-like mounds of her rump.

            If he was sure of nothing else, Kyle had a feeling no store would accept these panties back, even with a receipt. Merely by putting them on, his mother had subjected them to the violation of two distinctly revolting orifices on her body. He only managed a nod in response to his mother after she looked over her shoulder, impatient for positive reviews on her new crimson-leopards.

            “See? Now was that so difficult, dear? Helping someone out who’s already helping you out by doing all the legwork. All you have to do is put on the clothes. No price checking, no walking around. The way I see it, that entitles me to a little motherly support.” Roberta balled up the old panties and tossed them in the shopping bag like garbage.

            “Uh-huh.”

            “What was that, Kyle?” Roberta questioned sweetly as she slid her pudgy nyloned feet back into their respective black heels. She folded her fingers prayerfully at her waist as she leered down at her half-dressed boy, her frizzy locks forming an imposing canopy around her stoic countenance.

            “Nothing, Mom. Your new stuff looks good,” he grumbled, on the verge of choking with each word.

            “Why, thank you, sweetie. That’s very nice of you to say.” Roberta divided the small pile of usable shrinker clothing from the rejects with her finger, then brought her palm to bear back against Kyle’s legs. In the manner of a forced trust fall, the teen wiped out directly into his parent’s waiting hand, which quickly coiled him up in her greedy digits.

            There was no way any of this was normal, Kyle decided. The whole system had to be warped. That was the only explanation for how he’d managed to find himself in this scenario, as repugnant as it was compromising.

            “I think we can easily call today a successful shopping run, don’t you think?” Roberta asked, though she didn’t wait for an answer either way before she jammed her son back into her doughy cleavage.

            She shoved him in good and deep this time, until she felt his little legs bottoming out against the heaving cup of her bra. Once he was buried in warm flesh and fabric, Roberta took hold of her bust from either side and gave the whole rack a ponderous sway. The lunar texture of her breasts momentarily molded to either side of Kyle’s fidgeting form, briefly forming spread-arm snow-angels into her skin before the weight shifted again and her breasts jostled to the opposite side. With every swing, the six-inch man was subjected to colliding sacs of humid, freckled skin and excess mammary girth.

            Roberta purchased the new doll outfits for Kyle with a smile on her face and a song in her heart. She even made sure to lean further than was necessary over the counter, giving the cashier a generous view of the lucky little boy imprisoned between her breasts.

            After such a major confidence boost in the changing room, Roberta didn’t cast her glance to a single pillared mirror on her march for the nearest parking lot exit. The woman held her head high, her shopping purchases slung over her arm and her fingers coyly teasing her son’s shrunken head budding between her tits.

            What use was there in languishing on her bodily imperfections when, deep inside, where it counted, she felt this stellar?