Shopping Mall Milf Hunt

Sometime later...

The polished floors of Westfield Mall gleamed under the fluorescent lights as George waddled through the crowded shopping center, his eyes darting between female shoppers like a predator sizing up potential prey. His stained khaki pants were slightly too tight around his bulging waistline, and dark sweat patches had formed under his armpits despite the mall's air conditioning.

"Fucking jackpot," George muttered to himself, popping a breath mint to mask the lingering scent of fast food as he spotted a woman browsing alone through a rack of summer dresses at Macy's.

She was around thirty, with chestnut hair pulled back in a practical ponytail and a wedding ring that caught the light as she examined price tags. Nothing extraordinary about her—just an average suburban wife out for some weekend shopping—but that was exactly George's preferred target: married women with something to lose.

His new "powers" worked better on them. The fear of being exposed as unfaithful—even when they weren't—made their minds more susceptible to his manipulation. It was fucking beautiful how easily they fell for his bullshit once he planted the seed of doubt.

George straightened his wrinkled button-up shirt and slapped on his most professional expression. He purposely bumped into her as she moved between clothing racks.

"Oh! Excuse me," the woman said automatically, stepping back.

"No problem at all," George replied with practiced smoothness, noting how she instinctively wrinkled her nose at his proximity. The slight look of disgust only aroused him further. "Actually, perfect timing. I couldn't help but notice your ring. Happily married?"

The woman's expression shifted from polite to guarded. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"George Pullman, Infidelity Inspector," he announced, producing a fake business card from his wallet with a flourish. "I'm conducting routine screenings in this area."

"Infidelity... Inspector?" She squinted at the card, confusion evident on her face.

"It's a relatively new public service," George explained with an authoritative nod. "We analyze risk factors and early warning signs of potential infidelity to help preserve marriages. Preventative intervention, if you will."

The woman's brow furrowed as she processed this information. Thanks to George's abilities, the complete absurdity of his claim didn't register. Instead, his words seemed to trigger a mixture of curiosity and anxiety.

"I don't think I need anything like that," she said, attempting to hand the card back.

"Most people don't think they do," George countered, not accepting the card. "But statistics show that 68% of marital infidelity occurs without prior warning signs visible to the spouse. I'm Jennifer, right?"

It was a common enough name to guess, and he watched her reaction carefully.

"No, I'm Rebecca," she corrected, looking slightly unnerved that he'd tried to guess her name.

"Ah, my apologies, Rebecca," George smoothly continued. "Either way, the screening is completely free of charge. Takes about an hour, completely confidential, and gives you peace of mind."

"I really don't—"

"Of course, refusal of screening is also documented in our regional database," George interrupted, his voice lowering significantly. "Not that it indicates guilt, but some insurance companies have started requesting our records when processing fidelity clauses in life insurance policies."

Rebecca's eyes widened slightly. "They do that?"

"Unfortunately," George sighed, feigning sympathy. "The bureaucracy of marriage in modern times. But look, I'm actually heading out for lunch. If you want to skip the waiting list, I could fit you in right afterward. Say, around one o'clock? We have a mobile screening office just outside in the parking lot."

Rebecca glanced at her watch, then down at her shopping bags. The seed of doubt had been planted. What if she did have some **** inclination toward infidelity? What if her husband somehow found out she'd refused a screening? The manipulated logic worked its way through her mind like a virus.

"I... suppose it couldn't hurt," she finally conceded.

George's pulse quickened. "Excellent decision. The peace of mind is worth it, believe me. Let me take your number, and I'll text you when I'm back from lunch to let you know exactly where to meet me."

As Rebecca recited her phone number, George felt his cock stir in his pants. Another fly caught in his web. And this one looked like she'd be fun to break.