Her breasts, obviously.

She finishes up the bacon, shutting off the stove and pulling the cinnamon rolls from the oven. This gives you a tremendous view of her cake, the jiggly form pulling her dress taut before easing back when she stands. When she turns to you, you get to see the meagre amount of cleavage her dress provides. Your mother paces to the table, hips sashaying out of necessity as she does. The food set out, she takes her space across from you. Her top half in full view as she helps herself, you pour her a glass of juice and prepare your next question.

“Would you rather have breasts the size of average cantaloupes or large pumpkins?”

“So big or bigger? If I had to pick one I’d say the cantaloupes. I still need to use my back, hon.”

Her breasts fill out more and more on her chest after finishing her sentence. The dress broadens over her chest, but can’t keep up and her tits begin to spill out slightly through the neck. A small tear appears in the middle, allowing more cleavage to grow until a nice, long rip lets you see a good portion of her melons.

Your hardening member rises further in your boxers. You want more out of her.