She laughed, and told me not to worry because she wouldn't kick me, but she was looking forward to stepping on all my shit, and to see how big my dick...was. The rest of the day I was a wreck. I always told myself I would do it, but since this was for real, and with someone whom I see just about every day, I was really questioning myself, and trying to figure a way out of it.When I was about to tell her it might be better if we did it another day, hoping she would forget about it, she whispered. "You in mourning, ma'm?" I asked, counting the black buttons that marched down the valley of her chest and wondering if stays encased those high ribs and narrow waist and pushed up those large mounds."Yes," she said quietly, looking down at her toes. She had rather large feet. I noticed, clad in short, soft boots. "My husband died," she took a breath thrusting forth her pointed breasts, shoulders back unconscious of the effect, "let's see, four, no five months ago. Hereabouts, the tradition is. More

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