It was Wednesday afternoon as I walked into the car park in front of Mr. Epstein's studio. As I got to the door, I could see the receptionist twenty yards inside the large open foyer. Next to the door was an intercom and, when I'd pressed the button, I could see the male receptionist inside talking towards a piece of equipment.
"Good afternoon sir, may I ask your name?"
"Philip Thomas," I replied with what I hoped sounded like a mature assured tone.
"Please come in Mr. Thomas."
I approached the receptionist, walking as maturely as an eighteen-year-old can.
"Your mother will be out in about an hour, Mr. Thomas. She asked if you would wait for her."
As he said these words, he indicated some seats around the outside edge of the room. I took one behind him so I could look around without causing attention.
The walls were covered with pictures of various young models in what I guessed were fashionable outfits. The lingerie pictures were the most interesting for me and I could feel a hardening between my legs as I looked at them.
At forty-three, my mother was clearly a lot older than the models looking down at me. I thought back to how all this had come about.
My mom had been a model in her late teens and early twenties. It was when her 'annoying bust and butt', as she called them, grew too large that her career finished. However, she had still kept in touch with her main photographer, Dick Spicer, who had kept her connected with the business by sending her invitations to modelling events. After a time he retired, but was able to keep sending her invitations.
Mom loved attending the catwalks and in time so did my twenty-five-year-old sister, Brenda, who, unfortunately for a modelling career, was also blessed with big tits and a big ass. It was at one of the recent events that Dick Spicer met mom and Brenda, and told them about the opportunity that had just arisen in our town of Carville.
It appeared that Bert Epstein, who had a studio in Carville, was looking for models with fuller figures for some specialist catalogs. Mom and sis sent in some photos with the result that mom was invited to two modelling sessions, one for evening wear and one for lingerie, and Brenda for a lingerie session.
Dad seemed completely disinterested in mom's upcoming modelling sessions. He was away working a lot, demonstrating some media presentation equipment. He used to take mom to help him, but now he took Gloria, his work assistant. He always seemed tired at weekends and I heard mom complaining to my sister about his lack of sexual interest, which I couldn't understand as I had seen some Viagra pills in his travelling toiletries bag.
Mom was self-employed selling costume jewelry on the internet. She didn't make much, but it was a hobby she enjoyed as it seemed to connect her to the fashion industry. My sister's husband, Douglas, was in the military and seemed to be away in Washington most of the time. My sister did some part-time work but generally was bored at home.
It was not surprising then that both women jumped at the chance to do some modelling. The money was good. For the evening wear modelling, mom was being paid a thousand dollars for taking part in the photo session and would get another three thousand if her photos were used in the 'Ladies Catalog', the 'magazine for the discerning lady'. In addition, mom told me, she would be keeping the dress, which would have been tailored specifically for her, and any make up, such as lipstick, which regulations stipulated could not then be applied to another model.
I sat there in the waiting room watching staff come in and collect an electronic pass from the receptionist at the desk which they then used to open the door next to me to go into the photographic studio. After a while I realized that the door was slow to close behind them and, if I wanted, I could slip in unnoticed, tailgating them.
I noticed a man approaching the door, trying to read his phone at the same time and, as I was bored, followed him in.
I was in a big studio and, as the man I followed dashed off to the right somewhere, I found it easy to stand behind some hoarding props at the back. I could see mom at the front being photographed. She looked gorgeous in a long turquoise dress that clung to her curves without losing her elegance. Her hair was coiffured in a bun that had light tresses hanging, carefully designed to look unintentional. A fringe made her face even more beautiful. She was a natural blonde, but her hair had been colored more golden.
It was not surprising how good she looked. The taxi had arrived at seven this morning to take her for her first dress fitting. After that she was going to the hair stylists for cutting, coloring and blowing; then back for more dress wearing and adjustments, before finally attending make-up.
It had been well worth it. The female photographer was clicking away, taking orders from Mr. Epstein who was sitting behind a bank of computer screens, looking at the photo results. He was a small man and could only just see, when he needed to, over the screens at the live action.
Every now and again, he would shout to mom to change her position. Mom complied, moving gracefully on her stilettos. She had always been able to walk elegantly in heels since her early modelling days.
He would also shout words of encouragement, "You're a credit to your children, Mrs. Thomas. You're a 'mommy' model."
Mom didn't look so happy at being reminded of her age, but continued to follow any instructions he gave.
Suddenly Mr. Epstein shouted he was changing the background color and, with the hit of a button, the white background changed to a very pale blue.
Mom jumped at the sudden change and Mr. Epstein laughed. "Everything is technically advanced now, Mrs. Thomas, the old traditions are no more."
After another twenty minutes of the photographer taking shots from different angles, Mr. Epstein seemed to be near the end.
"I just want some shots taken with a deeper shade of lipstick", he shouted.
At that moment a woman came in by a side door, holding her electronic pass, and walked up to mom. Mom pursed her lips and the make-up artist applied the new shade. The woman then disappeared out of the side door.
The photographer took some more photos, but Mr. Epstein did not seem interested in the result and soon called a close, whereupon everybody else except mom and Mr. Epstein miraculously disappeared.
At this point Mr. Epstein moved away from his control panel and sat on a couch facing mom. Mom walked towards him and stopped nervously about two yards away. I could see why he had not been interested in photographs with the darker lipstick shade. Mom no longer looked so elegant. Her deep ruby lips gave her face a very sexy appearance, which was not what the catalog wanted.
"How have I done Mr. Epstein?" she asked nervously.
Mr. Epstein smiled, "Honey, you were very good. Your photos stand a great chance of me putting them in the catalog."
Mom smiled gratefully.
Then Mr. Epstein continued, "Of course I could decide now that they would definitely be in the catalog. In which case, I would be paying you four thousand dollars now, instead of one thousand."
His hands started to undo his trouser belt.
"My friend, Dick Spicer, tells me that when you were modelling for him, you had one skill in particular that he really appreciated."
His belt was now fully undone and he'd started unbuttoning his pants.
The look on mom's face was a very sardonic smile.
As she walked towards him, she said in a very sarcastic tone, "So not all the old traditions are dead yet?"
I could see now why he'd wanted her to wear the dark lipstick. He'd made her mouth sensuous and inviting, primed for fellatio.
As she knelt in front of him, he'd already slipped his pants and boxers off his legs and was sitting back with his hands behind his head.
"I guessed that mommy could do with the money," he said smugly.
His relaxed demeanor told me that this was not the first time he had expected his model to do her duty.
His cock was looking thickened but was not erect. The carpet mom was kneeling on looked worn, probably, I thought, from his previous performers.
I couldn't believe that mom was going to do this. I knew that the extra three thousand dollars would be very welcome to her at the moment, but I thought that she could never be unfaithful to dad.
I was wrong. Whether it was the money or the satisfaction of appearing in a published catalog I didn't know. She grasped him in her right hand and leant her head forward, sucking him into her mouth. He gave an appreciative groan as she bobbed her head quickly a few times. As she paused momentarily for breath, I could see that he had a hard erection. She bent forward again, but this time slowed it to a steady rhythm.
Mr. Epstein murmured appreciatively. "Oh boy, Dick was right. You really know how to suck cock, Mrs. Thomas."
I thought that his crudity might make mom stop but, if anything, it seemed to encourage her. With each bob, her head started taking his cock deeper down her throat. I could see her hands were busy scratching and squeezing his balls.
Mr. Epstein was groaning loudly now. "Oh Mrs. Thomas, you love my big cock don't you, you dirty mommy slut!"
It seemed to me that Mr. Epstein's description of the size of his cock was somewhat exaggerated. Mine was a good deal bigger.
As mom continued her deepthroating, his cries became louder and louder. And when mom, keeping one hand tickling his balls, pushed her other hand underneath him, he was shrieking in pleasure. I knew he was climaxing when he grasped her head and screwed his face up in ecstasy.
Seeing that a conclusion had been reached, I pushed the security button next to the door and let myself back into the reception area. The receptionist was at the street door talking to a cop as they both looked at smoke which was coming out of a building up the street.
On the spur of the moment, I walked up to the receptionist's desk and grabbed an electronic pass from out of his drawer, then sat back in my chair until mom came out of the studio looking pleased with herself. She was carrying a bag with the dress she'd been modelling. She also seemed to have a bag with the shoes and another with some make-up.
She sat down next to me while the receptionist called a taxi, not saying anything but continuing to look smug.
As we left, the receptionist said, "See you again on Friday, Mrs. Thomas."
He was referring to the lingerie modelling session which was mom's next booking.
In the taxi on the way home she was in a world of her own and didn't seem to notice that I was quiet.
