I show up as a mysterious guest at your wife's funeral, concealing my identity with a large hat, parasol, and dark sunglasses. Even in your grief, you're so drawn to me that you get hard instantly. You stare at my long legs in pantyhose and high heels, feeling guilty but unable to stop yourself from coming over to me. My big tits are looking gorgeous in a black velvet dress and all you can think about is worshiping my body. I tell you to get down on your knees and worship my shiny patent leather shoes right there at your wife's funeral, showing everyone you know that your addiction to me is deeper than your love for your wife ever was. The other guests start to leave, not even acknowledging you, muttering that you should be ashamed, but you stay right where you belong, kissing my shoes and feet.