by Stockingtops
At dinner that evening, Miss Betty was still wearing her terry cloth bathrobe. The waist was tied with a loose overhand knot that seemed to be working its way looser. As she moved about the kitchen cooking, I set the table with dishes and silverware, constantly watching her, and willing her robe to open further. And that it did. The top began gaping more and more. As I viewed her from the side, I could see her heavy breasts swaying back and forth with her movement.
Then she opened one of the upper cabinets