My mother-in-law has a really good figure for a mid-fifties lady: Her face is a little tired, maybe, but she has managed to maintain decent legs and just about got her weight under control. Above all, what I really love are her big, hanging breasts, which seem to have grown somewhat in the ten years I have known her. What once aroused me was the way she sided up to me to eye over the recipe I was checking out. Probably without realizing what she was doing, I could feel her left breast pushing slightly against my arm. I stood motionless, half-listening to what she was saying while slowly allowing my arm to dig a little further into the side of her blouse. I felt an awkward hard-on coming. It was a cheap yet exciting moment, and it gave me the urge to do something a bit more daring about those breasts of hers. What I did the very next day was as corny as hell. With the two of us sitting quietly reading in the patio, I peeked over and saw how her breasts were wonderfully filling her blouse. I decided to go for it and proposed a drink. She asked for iced tea. So, off I went to get a couple of glasses, a large bottle of iced tea which I made sure I opened, and then went back with the lot on a tray. As I came up behind her, I faked to stumble. I made sure the bottle tumbled over, thus sending iced tea, although not as much as I would have wanted, onto her shoulder and slightly down the front of her blouse. It was all, “Sorry, sorry,” and, “Not to worry.” I couldn't resist blurting out that she should take her blouse off and that I would get her one of my t-shirts in the meantime. At her mild and awkward surprise, I said, “Come on. It wouldn't be the first time that I have seen a beautiful woman in her bra,” and then I kidded that I wasn't sure I had a t-shirt big enough. She said, rather shyly, that there surely wasn't a great deal of fun to be had from watching an old lady remove her blouse. But, I insisted that I was willing to take the risk, and we both laughed. To my amazement, she then unbuttoned the front, gradually giving me a view of her bulging inner curves. She then whipped it open, and there they were, two large, and no doubt droopy boobs, struggling to stay within the red lace bra she was wearing. It was worth the risk, I assured her, at which she smiled. I inquired as to their size and asked if they had they always been that big. She then gave me their full life history. She said that her boyfriend was obsessed by them and had asked her if she herself would like to have a breast job done. I told her that they looked really quite fine to me, but I would better judge whether she really needed a job on them if only she removed her bra to let me see. She refused at first, but with some gentle persuasion, I all of a sudden found myself unclipping the four clips at the back, one by one. My package was bulging uncontrollably in my pants as I felt the weight drop forward into the loosened cups. As I removed the straps from down over her shoulders and arms, there into view came the full view of her big breasts. “They are beautiful,” I insisted, and said that no breast job was needed! I then said, “Let me just touch them once to make sure!” I was just about allowed to cup and gently massage one beautifully heavy breast in my hand and gently titillate her when she decided that was enough, and there was no convincing her after that. It WAS enough, too, since the reminder of the day my hand fondled her big breast still provides me with wonderful moments.